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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Frances Kane's Fortune, by L. T. Meade
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Frances Kane's Fortune
+
+Author: L. T. Meade
+
+Release Date: April 22, 2009 [EBook #28589]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRANCES KANE'S FORTUNE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Juliet Sutherland, and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                        FRANCES KANE'S FORTUNE.
+
+
+
+                                   BY
+
+                              L. T. MEADE,
+
+        AUTHOR OF "HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND," "WATER GIPSIES," ETC.
+
+
+
+
+
+                                CHICAGO:
+
+                          M. A. DONOHUE & CO.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Contents
+
+FRANCES KANE'S FORTUNE.
+MONSIEUR THE VISCOUNT'S FRIEND.
+THE YEW-LANE GHOSTS.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+FRANCES KANE'S FORTUNE.
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+THE LETTER.
+
+
+It was a very sunny June day, and a girl was pacing up and down a
+sheltered path in an old-fashioned garden. She walked slowly along the
+narrow graveled walk, now and then glancing at the carefully trimmed
+flowers of an elaborate ribbon border at her right, and stopping for an
+instant to note the promise of fruit on some well-laden peach and
+pear-trees. The hot sun was pouring down almost vertical rays on her
+uncovered head, but she was either impervious to its power, or, like a
+salamander, she rejoiced in its fierce noonday heat.
+
+"We have a good promise of peaches and pears," she said to herself; "I
+will see that they are sold this year. We will just keep a few for my
+father to eat, but the rest shall go. It is a pity Watkins spends so
+much time over the ribbon border; it does not pay, and it uses up so
+many of our bedding plants."
+
+She frowned slightly as she said these last words, and put up her hand
+to shade her face from the sun, as though for the first time she noticed
+its dazzling light and heat.
+
+"Now I will go and look to the cabbages," she said, continuing her
+meditations aloud. "And those early pease ought to be fit for pulling
+now. Oh! is that you, Watkins? Were you calling me? I wanted to speak to
+you about this border. You must not use up so many geraniums and
+calceolarias here. I don't mind the foliage plants, but the others cost
+too much, and can not be made use of to any profit in a border of this
+kind."
+
+"You can't make a ribbon, what's worthy to be called a ribbon, with
+foliage plants," gruffly retorted the old gardener. "Master would be
+glad to see you in the house, Miss Frances, and yer's a letter what
+carrier has just brought."
+
+"Post at this hour?" responded Frances, a little eagerness and interest
+lighting up her face; "that is unusual, and a letter in the middle of
+the day is quite a treat. Well, Watkins, I will go to my father now, and
+see you at six o'clock in the kitchen garden about the cabbages and
+peas."
+
+"As you please, Miss Frances; the wegitables won't be much growed since
+you looked at them yester-night, but I'm your sarvint, miss. Carrier
+called at the post-office and brought two letters: one for you, and
+t'other for master. I'm glad you're pleased to get 'em, Miss Frances."
+
+Watkins's back was a good deal bent; he certainly felt the heat of the
+sun, and was glad to hobble off into the shade.
+
+"Fuss is no word for her," he said; "though she's a good gel, and means
+well--werry well."
+
+After the old gardener had left her, Frances stood quite still; the sun
+beat upon her slight figure, upon her rippling, abundant dark-brown
+hair, and lighted up a face which was a little hard, a tiny bit soured,
+and scarcely young enough to belong to so slender and lithe a figure.
+The eyes, however, now were full of interest, and the lips melted into
+very soft curves as Frances turned her letter round, examined the
+postmarks, looked with interest at the seal, and studied the
+handwriting. Her careful perusal of the outside of the letter revealed
+at a glance how few she got, and how such a comparatively uninteresting
+event in most lives was regarded by her.
+
+"This letter will keep," she said to herself, slipping it into her
+pocket. "I will hear what father has to tell me first. It is a great
+treat to have an unopened letter to look forward to. I wonder where this
+is from. Who can want to write to me from Australia? If Philip were
+alive--" Here she paused and sighed. "In the first place, I heard of his
+death three years ago; in the second, being alive, why should he write?
+It is ten years since we met."
+
+Her face, which was a very bright and practical one, notwithstanding
+those few hard lines, looked pensive for a moment. Then its habitual
+expression of cheerfulness returned to it, and when she entered the
+house Frances Kane looked as practical and business-like a woman as
+could be found anywhere in the whole of the large parish in the north
+of England where she and her father lived.
+
+Squire Kane, as he was called, came of an old family; and in the days
+before Frances was born he was supposed to be rich. Now, however, nearly
+all his lands were mortgaged, and it was with difficulty that the long,
+low, old-fashioned house, and lovely garden which surrounded it, could
+be kept together. No chance at all would the squire have had of spending
+his last days in the house where he was born, and where many generations
+of ancestors had lived and died, but for Frances. She managed the house
+and the gardens, and the few fields which were not let to surrounding
+farmers. She managed Watkins, too, and the under-gardener, and the two
+men-servants; and, most of all, she managed Squire Kane.
+
+He had been a hale and hearty man in his day, with a vigorous will of
+his own, and a marvelous and fatal facility for getting through money;
+but now he leaned on Frances, was guided by her in all things; never
+took an opinion or spent a shilling without her advice; and yet all the
+time he thought himself to be the ruler, and she the ruled. For Frances
+was very tactful, and if she governed with a rod of iron, she was clever
+enough to incase it well in silk.
+
+"I want you, Frances," called a rather querulous old voice.
+
+The squire was ensconced in the sunniest corner of the sunny old parlor;
+his feet were stretched out on a hassock; he wore a short circular cape
+over his shoulders, and a black velvet skull-cap was pushed a little
+crooked over his high bald forehead. He had aquiline features, an
+aristocratic mouth, and sunken but somewhat piercing eyes. As a rule his
+expression was sleepy, his whole attitude indolent; but now he was
+alert, his deep-set eyes were wide open and very bright, and when his
+daughter came in, he held out a somewhat trembling hand, and drew her to
+his side.
+
+"Sit down, Frances--there, in the sun, it's so chilly in the
+shade--don't get into that corner behind me, my dear; I want to look at
+you. What do you think? I have got a letter, and news--great news! It is
+not often that news comes to the Firs in these days. What do you think,
+Frances? But you will never guess. Ellen's child is coming to live with
+us!"
+
+"What?" said Frances. "What! Little Fluff we used to call her? I don't
+understand you, father; surely Ellen would never part with her child."
+
+"No, my dear, that is true. Ellen and her child were bound up in each
+other; but she is dead--died three months ago in India. I have just
+received a letter from that good-for-nothing husband of hers, and the
+child is to leave school and come here. Major Danvers can't have her in
+India, he says, and her mother's wish was--her mother's last wish--that
+she should make her home with us. She will be here within a week after
+the receipt of this letter, Frances. I call it great news; fancy a young
+thing about the house again!"
+
+Frances Kane had dark, straight brows; they were drawn together now with
+a slight expression of surprise and pain.
+
+"I am not so old, father," she said; "compared to you, I am quite young.
+I am only eight-and-twenty."
+
+"My dear," said the squire, "you were never young. You are a good woman,
+Frances, an excellent, well-meaning woman; but you were never either
+child or girl. Now, this little thing--how long is it since she and her
+mother were here, my love?"
+
+"It was just before Cousin Ellen went to India," responded Frances,
+again knitting her brows, and casting back her memory. "Yes, it was six
+years ago; I remember it, because we planted the new asparagus bed that
+year."
+
+"Ay, ay; and a very productive bed it turned out," responded the squire.
+"Fluff was like a ball then, wasn't she?--all curly locks, and dimples,
+and round cheeks, and big blue eyes like saucers! The merriest little
+kitten--she plagued me, but I confess I liked her. How old would she be
+now, Frances?"
+
+"About seventeen," replied Frances. "Almost a grown-up girl; dear, dear,
+how time does fly! Well, father, I am glad you are pleased. I will read
+the letter, if you will let me, by and by, and we must consult as to
+what room to give the child. I hope she won't find it very dull."
+
+"Not she, my dear, not she. She was the giddiest mortal--always
+laughing, and singing, and skipping about in the sunshine. Dear heart!
+it will do me good to see anything so lively again."
+
+"I am glad she is coming," repeated Frances, rising to her feet.
+"Although you must remember, father, that six years make a change. Ellen
+may not be quite so kittenish and frolicsome now."
+
+"Ellen!" repeated the squire; "I'm not going to call the child anything
+so formal. Fluff she always was and will be with me--a kittenish
+creature with a kittenish name; I used to tell her so, and I expect I
+shall again."
+
+"You forget that she has just lost her mother," said Frances. "They
+loved each other dearly, and you can not expect her not to be changed.
+There is also another thing, father; I am sorry to have to mention it,
+but it is necessary. Does Major Danvers propose to give us an allowance
+for keeping his daughter here? Otherwise it will be impossible for us to
+have her except on a brief visit."
+
+The squire pulled himself with an effort out of his deep arm-chair. His
+face flushed, and his eyes looked angry.
+
+"You are a good woman, Frances, but a bit hard," he said. "You don't
+suppose that a question of mere money would keep Ellen's child away from
+the Firs? While I am here she is sure of a welcome. No, there was
+nothing said about money in this letter, but I have no doubt the money
+part is right enough. Now I think I'll go out for a stroll. The sun is
+going off the south parlor, and whenever I get into the shade I feel
+chilly. If you'll give me your arm, my dear, I'll take a stroll before
+dinner. Dear, dear! it seems to me there isn't half the heat in the sun
+there used to be. Let's get up to the South Walk, Frances, and pace up
+and down by the ribbon border--it's fine and hot there--what I like. You
+don't wear a hat, my dear? quite right--let the sun warm you all it
+can."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+"THIS IS WONDERFUL."
+
+
+It was quite late on that same afternoon before Frances found a leisure
+moment to read her own letter. It was not forgotten as it lay in her
+pocket, but she was in no hurry to ascertain its contents.
+
+"Until it is read it is something to look forward to," she said to
+herself; "afterward--oh, of course there can be nothing of special
+interest in it."
+
+She sighed; strong and special interests had never come in her way.
+
+The afternoon which followed the receipt of the two letters was a
+specially busy one. The squire never grew tired of discussing the news
+which his own letter had brought him. He had a thousand conjectures
+which must be dwelt upon and entered into; how and when had Ellen
+Danvers died? what would the child Ellen be like? which bedroom would
+suit her best? would she like the South Walk as much as the old squire
+did himself? would she admire the ribbon border? would she appreciate
+the asparagus which she herself had seen planted?
+
+The old man was quite garrulous and excited, and Frances was pleased to
+see him so interested in anything. When she had walked with him for
+nearly an hour she was obliged to devote some time to Watkins in the
+vegetable garden; then came dinner; but after that meal there always was
+a lull in the day's occupation for Frances, for the squire went to sleep
+over his pipe, and never cared to be aroused or spoken to until his
+strong coffee was brought to him at nine o'clock.
+
+On this particular evening Frances felt her heart beat with a pleased
+and quickened movement. She had her unopened letter to read. She would
+go to the rose arbor, and have a quiet time there while her father
+slept. She was very fond of Keats, and she took a volume of his poems
+under her arm, for, of course, the letter would not occupy her many
+moments. The rose arbor commanded a full view of the whole garden, and
+Frances made a graceful picture in her soft light-gray dress, as she
+stepped into it. She sat down in one of the wicker chairs, laid her copy
+of Keats on the rustic table, spread the bright shawl on her lap, and
+took the foreign letter out of her pocket.
+
+"It is sure to be nothing in the least interesting," she said to
+herself. "Still, there is some excitement about it till it is opened."
+And as she spoke she moved to the door of the arbor.
+
+Once again she played with the envelope and examined the writing. Then
+she drew a closely written sheet out of its inclosure, spread it open on
+her lap, and began to read.
+
+As she did so, swiftly and silently there rose into her cheeks a
+beautiful bloom. Her eyelids quivered, her hand shook; the bloom was
+succeeded by a pallor. With feverish haste her quick eyes flew over the
+paper. She turned the page and gasped slightly for breath. She raised
+her head, and her big, dark eyes were full of tears, and a radiant,
+tender smile parted her lips.
+
+"Thank God!" she said; "oh, this is wonderful! Oh, thank God!"
+
+Once again she read the letter, twice, three times, four times. Then she
+folded it up, raised it to her lips, and kissed it. This time she did
+not return it to her pocket, but, opening her dress, slipped it inside,
+so that it lay against her heart.
+
+"Miss Frances!" old Watkins was seen hobbling down the path. "You hasn't
+said what's to be done with the bees. They are sure to swarm to-morrow,
+and--and--why, miss, I seem to have startled you like--"
+
+"Oh, not at all, Watkins; I will come with you now, and we will make
+some arrangement about the bees."
+
+Frances came out of the arbor. The radiant light was still in her eyes,
+a soft color mantled her cheeks, and she smiled like summer itself on
+the old man.
+
+He looked at her with puzzled, dull wonder and admiration.
+
+"What's come to Miss Frances?" he said to himself. "She looks rare and
+handsome, and she's none so old."
+
+The question of the bees was attended to, and then Frances paced about
+in the mellow June twilight until it was time for her father to have his
+coffee. She came in then, sat down rather in the shadow, and spoke
+abruptly. Her heart was beating with great bounds, and her voice sounded
+almost cold in her effort to steady it.
+
+"Father, I, too, have had a letter to-day."
+
+"Ay, ay, my love. I saw that the carrier brought two. Was it of any
+importance? If not, we might go on with our 'History of Greece.' I was
+interested in where we left off last night. You might read to me for an
+hour before I go to bed, Frances; unless, indeed, you have anything more
+to say about Fluff, dear little soul! Do you know, it occurred to me
+that we ought to get fresh curtains and knickknacks for her room? It
+ought to look nice for her, dear, bright little thing!"
+
+"So it shall, father." There was no shade of impatience in Frances's
+tone. "We will talk of Fluff presently. But it so happens that my
+letter was of importance. Father, you remember Philip Arnold?"
+
+"Arnold--Arnold? Dimly, my dear, dimly. He was here once, wasn't he? I
+rather fancy that I heard of his death. What about him, Frances?"
+
+Frances placed her hand to her fast-beating heart. Strange--her father
+remembered dimly the man she had thought of, and dreamed of, and
+secretly mourned for for ten long years.
+
+"Philip Arnold is not dead," she said, still trying to steady her voice.
+"It was a mistake, a false rumor. He has explained it--my letter was
+from him."
+
+"Really, my love? Don't you think there is a slight draught coming from
+behind that curtain? I am so sensitive to draughts, particularly after
+hot days. Oblige me, Frances, my dear, by drawing that curtain a little
+more to the right. Ah, that is better. So Arnold is alive. To tell the
+truth, I don't remember him very vividly, but of course I'm pleased to
+hear that he is not cut off in his youth. A tall, good-looking fellow,
+wasn't he? Well, well, this matter scarcely concerns us. How about the
+dimity in the room which will be Fluff's? My dear Frances, what is the
+matter? I must ask you not to fidget so."
+
+Frances sprung suddenly to her feet.
+
+"Father, you must listen to me. I am going to say something which will
+startle you. All these quiet years, all the time which has gone by and
+left only a dim memory of a certain man to you, have been spent by me
+smothering down regrets, stifling my youth, crushing what would have
+made me joyous and womanly--for Philip Arnold has not been remembered at
+all dimly by me, father, and when I heard of his death I lived through
+something which seemed to break the spring of energy and hope in me. I
+did not show it, and you never guessed, only you told me to-day that I
+had never been young, that I had never been either child or girl. Well,
+all that is over now, thank God! hope has come back to me, and I have
+got my lost youth again. You will have two young creatures about the
+house, father, and won't you like it?"
+
+"I don't know," said the squire. He looked up at his daughter in some
+alarm; her words puzzled him; he was suddenly impressed too by the
+brightness in her eyes, and the lovely coloring on her cheeks.
+
+"What is all this excitement, Frances?" he said. "Speak out; I never
+understand riddles."
+
+Frances sat down as abruptly as she had risen.
+
+"The little excitement was a prelude to my letter, dear father," she
+said. "Philip is alive, and is coming to England immediately. Ten years
+ago he saw something in me--I was only eighteen then--he saw something
+which gave him pleasure, and--and--more. He says he gave me his heart
+ten years ago, and now he is coming to England to know if I will accept
+him as my husband. That is the news which my letter contains, father.
+You see, after all, my letter is important--as important as yours."
+
+"Bless me!" said the squire. The expression of his face was not
+particularly gratified; his voice was not too cordial. "A proposal of
+marriage to you, Frances? Bless me!--why, I can scarcely remember the
+fellow. He was here for a month, wasn't he? It was the summer before
+your mother died. I think it is rather inconsiderate of you to tell me
+news of this sort just before I go to bed, my dear. I don't sleep
+over-well, and it is bad to lie down with a worry on your pillow. I
+suppose you want me to answer the letter for you, Frances, but I'll do
+nothing of the kind, I can tell you. If you encouraged the young man
+long ago, you must get out of it as best you can now."
+
+"Out of it, father? Oh, don't you understand?"
+
+"Then you mean to tell me you care for him? You want to marry a fellow
+whom you haven't seen for ten years! And pray what am I to do if you go
+away and leave me?"
+
+"Something must be managed," said Frances.
+
+She rose again. Her eyes no longer glowed happily; her lips, so sweet
+five minutes ago, had taken an almost bitter curve.
+
+"We will talk this over quietly in the morning, dear father," she said.
+"I will never neglect you, never cast you aside; but a joy like this can
+not be put out of a life. That is, it can not be lightly put away. I
+have always endeavored to do my duty--God will help me to do it still.
+Now shall I ring for prayers?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+AFTER TEN YEARS.
+
+
+When Frances got to her room she took out pen and ink, and without a
+moment's hesitation wrote an answer to her letter.
+
+     "MY DEAR PHILIP,--I have not forgotten you--I remember the
+     old times, and all the things to which you alluded in your
+     letter. I thought you were dead, and for the last three or
+     four years always remembered you as one who had quite done
+     with this world. Your letter startled me to-day, but your
+     hope about me has been abundantly fulfilled, for I have
+     never for a moment forgotten you. Philip, you have said very
+     good words to me in your letter, and whatever happens, and
+     however matters may be arranged between us in the future, I
+     shall always treasure the words, and bless you for
+     comforting my heart with them. But, Philip, ten years is a
+     long time--in ten years we none of us stay still, and in ten
+     years some of us grow older than others. I think I am one of
+     those who grow old fast, and nothing would induce me to
+     engage myself to you, or even to tell you that I care for
+     you, until after we have met again. When you reach
+     England--I will send this letter to the address you give me
+     in London--come down here. My dear and sweet mother is dead,
+     but I dare say my father will find you a room at the Firs,
+     and if not, there are good lodgings to be had at the White
+     Hart in the village. If you are of the same mind when you
+     reach England as you were when you wrote this letter, come
+     down to the old place, and let us renew our acquaintance.
+     If, after seeing me, you find I am not the Frances you had
+     in your heart all these years, you have only to go away
+     without speaking, and I shall understand. In any case, thank
+     you for the letter, and believe me, yours faithfully,
+
+                                                  "FRANCES KANE."
+
+This letter was quickly written, as speedily directed and stamped, and,
+wrapping her red shawl over her head, Frances herself went out in the
+silent night, walked half a mile to the nearest pillar-box, kissed the
+letter passionately before she dropped it through the slit, and then
+returned home, with the stars shining over her, and a wonderful new
+peace in her heart. Her father's unsympathetic words were forgotten, and
+she lived over and over again on what her hungry heart had craved for
+all these years.
+
+The next morning she was up early; for the post of housekeeper,
+head-gardener, general accountant, factotum, amanuensis, reader, etc.,
+to John Kane, Esq., of the Firs, was not a particularly light post, and
+required undivided attention, strong brains, and willing feet, from
+early morning to late night every day of the week. Frances was by no
+means a grumbling woman, and if she did not go through her allotted
+tasks with the greatest possible cheerfulness and spirit, she performed
+them ungrudgingly, and in a sensible, matter-of-fact style.
+
+On this particular morning, however, the joy of last night was still in
+her face; as she followed Watkins about, her merry laugh rang in the
+air; work was done in half the usual time, and never done better, and
+after breakfast she was at leisure to sit with her father and read to
+him as long as he desired it.
+
+"Well, Frances," he said, in conclusion, after the reader's quiet voice
+had gone on for over an hour and a half, "you have settled that little
+affair of last night, I presume, satisfactorily. I have thought the
+whole matter over carefully, my love, and I have really come to the
+conclusion that I can not spare you. You see you are, so to speak,
+necessary to me, dear. I thought I would mention this to you now,
+because in case you have not yet written to that young Arnold, it will
+simplify matters for you. I should recommend you not to enter on the
+question of your own feelings at all, but state the fact simply--'My
+father can not spare me.'"
+
+"I wrote to Philip last night," said Frances. "I have neither refused
+him nor accepted him. I have asked him on a visit here; can we put him
+up at the Firs?"
+
+"Certainly, my love; that is a good plan. It will amuse me to have a man
+about the house again, and travelers are generally entertaining. I can
+also intimate to him, perhaps with more propriety than you can, how
+impossible it would be for me to spare you. On the whole, my dear, I
+think you have acted with discernment. You don't age well, Frances, and
+doubtless Arnold will placidly acquiesce in my decision. By all means
+have him here."
+
+"Only I think it right to mention to you, father"--here Frances stood up
+and laid her long, slender white hand with a certain nervous yet
+imperative gesture on the table--"I think it right to mention that if,
+after seeing me, Philip still wishes to make me his wife, I shall accept
+him."
+
+"My dear!" Squire Kane started. Then a satisfied smile played over his
+face. "You say this as a sort of bravado, my dear. But we really need
+not discuss this theme; it positively wearies me. Have you yet made up
+your mind, Frances, what room Ellen's dear child is to occupy?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+FLUFF.
+
+
+The day on which Ellen Danvers arrived at the Firs was long remembered,
+all over the place, as the hottest which had been known in that part of
+the country for many a long year. It was the first week of July, and the
+sun blazed fiercely and relentlessly--not the faintest little zephyr of
+a breeze stirred the air--in the middle of the day, the birds altogether
+ceased singing, and the Firs, lying in its sheltered valley, was hushed
+into a hot, slumberous quiet, during which not a sound of any sort was
+audible.
+
+Even the squire preferred a chair in the south parlor, which was never a
+cool room, and into which the sun poured, to venturing abroad; even he
+shuddered at the thought of the South Walk to-day. He was not
+particularly hot--he was too old for that--but the great heat made him
+feel languid, and presently he closed his eyes and fell into a doze.
+
+Frances, who in the whole course of her busy life never found a moment
+for occasional dozes, peeped into the room, smiled with satisfaction
+when she saw him, tripped lightly across the floor to steal a pillow
+comfortably under his white head, arranged the window-curtains so as to
+shade his eyes, and then ran upstairs with that swift and wonderfully
+light movement which was habitual to her. She had a great deal to do,
+and she was not a person who was ever much affected by the rise or fall
+of the temperature. First of all, she paid a visit to a charming little
+room over the porch. It had lattice windows, which opened like doors,
+and all round the sill, and up the sides, and over the top of the
+window, monthly roses and jasmine, wistaria and magnolia, climbed. A
+thrush had built its nest in the honeysuckle over the porch window, and
+there was a faint sweet twittering sound heard there now, mingled with
+the perfume of the roses and jasmine. The room inside was all white, but
+daintily relieved here and there with touches of pale blue, in the shape
+of bows and drapery. The room was small, but the whole effect was light,
+cool, pure. The pretty bed looked like a nest, and the room, with its
+quaint and lovely window, somewhat resembled a bower.
+
+Frances looked round it with pride, gave one or two finishing touches to
+the flowers which stood in pale-blue vases on the dressing-table, then
+turned away with a smile on her lips. There was another room just
+beyond, known in the house as the guest-chamber proper. It was much more
+stately and cold, and was furnished with very old dark mahogany; but it,
+too, had a lovely view over the peaceful homestead, and Frances's eyes
+brightened as she reflected how she and Ellen would transform the room
+with heaps of flowers, and make it gay and lovely for a much-honored
+guest.
+
+She looked at her watch, uttered a hurried exclamation, fled to her own
+rather insignificant little apartment, and five minutes later ran
+down-stairs, looking very fresh, and girlish, and pretty, in a white
+summer dress. She took an umbrella from the stand in the hall, opened it
+to protect her head, and walked fast up the winding avenue toward the
+lodge gates.
+
+"I hear some wheels, Miss Frances," said Watkins's old wife, hobbling
+out of the house. "Eh, but it is a hot day; we'll have thunder afore
+night, I guess. Eh, Miss Frances, but you do look well, surely."
+
+"I feel it," said Frances, with a very bright smile. "Ah, there's my
+little cousin--poor child! how hot she must be. Well, Fluff, so here you
+are, back with your old Fanny again!"
+
+There was a cry--half of rapture, half of pain--from a very small person
+in the lumbering old trap. The horse was drawn up with a jerk, and a
+girl, with very little of the woman about her, for she was still all
+curls, and curves, and child-like roundness, sprung lightly out of the
+trap, and put her arms round Frances's neck.
+
+"Oh, Fan, I am glad to see you again! Here I am back just the same as
+ever; I haven't grown a bit, and I'm as much a child as ever. How is
+your father? I was always so fond of him. Is he as faddy as of old?
+That's right; my mission in life is to knock fads out of people. Frances
+dear, why do you look at me in that perplexed way? Oh, I suppose because
+I'm in white. But I couldn't wear black on a day like this, as it
+wouldn't make mother any happier to know that every breath I drew was a
+torture. There, we won't talk of it. I have a black sash in my pocket;
+it's all crumpled, but I'll tie it on, if you'll help me. Frances dear,
+you never did think, did you, that trouble would come to me? but it did.
+Fancy Fluff and trouble spoken of in the same breath; it's like putting
+a weight of care on a butterfly; it isn't fair--you don't think it fair,
+do you, Fan?"
+
+The blue eyes were full of tears; the rosy baby lips pouted sorrowfully.
+
+"We won't talk of it now, at any rate, darling," said Frances, stooping
+and kissing the little creature with much affection.
+
+Ellen brightened instantly.
+
+"Of course we won't. It's delicious coming here; how wise it was of
+mother to send me! I shall love being with you more than anything. Why,
+Frances, you don't look a day older than when I saw you last."
+
+"My father says," returned Frances, "that I age very quickly."
+
+"But you don't, and I'll tell him so. Oh, no, he's not going to say
+those rude, unpleasant things when I'm by. How old are you, Fan, really?
+I forget."
+
+"I am twenty-eight, dear."
+
+"Are you?"
+
+Fluff's blue eyes opened very wide.
+
+"You don't look old, at any rate," she said presently. "And I should
+judge from your face you didn't feel it."
+
+The ancient cab, which contained Ellen's boxes and numerous small
+possessions, trundled slowly down the avenue; the girls followed it arm
+in arm. They made a pretty picture--both faces were bright, both pairs
+of eyes sparkled, their white dresses touched, and the dark, earnest,
+and sweet eyes of the one were many times turned with unfeigned
+admiration to the bewitchingly round and baby face of the other.
+
+"She has the innocent eyes of a child of two," thought Frances. "Poor
+little Fluff! And yet sorrow has touched even her!"
+
+Then her pleasant thoughts vanished, and she uttered an annoyed
+exclamation.
+
+"What does Mr. Spens want? Why should he trouble my father to-day of all
+days?"
+
+"What is the matter, Frances?"
+
+"That man in the gig," said Frances. "Do you see him? Whenever he comes,
+there is worry; it is unlucky his appearing just when you come to us,
+Fluff. But never mind; why should I worry you? Let us come into the
+house."
+
+At dinner that day Frances incidentally asked her father what Mr. Spens
+wanted.
+
+"All the accounts are perfectly straight," she said. "What did he come
+about? and he stayed for some time."
+
+The slow blood rose into the old squire's face.
+
+"Business," he said; "a little private matter for my own ear. I like
+Spens; he is a capital fellow, a thorough man of business, with no
+humbug about him. By the way, Frances, he does not approve of our
+selling the fruit, and he thinks we ought to make more of the ribbon
+border. He says we have only got the common yellow calceolarias--he does
+not see a single one of the choicer kinds."
+
+"Indeed!" said Frances. She could not help a little icy tone coming into
+her voice. "Fluff, won't you have some cream with your strawberries?--I
+did not know, father, that Mr. Spens had anything to say of our garden."
+
+"Only an opinion, my dear, and kindly meant. Now, Fluff"--the squire
+turned indulgently to his little favorite--"do you think Frances ought
+to take unjust prejudices?"
+
+"But she doesn't," said Fluff. "She judges by instinct, and so do I.
+Instinct told her to dislike Mr. Spens' back as he sat in his gig, and
+so do I dislike it. I hate those round fat backs and short necks like
+his, and I hate of all things that little self-satisfied air."
+
+"Oh, you may hate in that kind of way if you like," said the squire.
+"Hatred from a little midget like you is very different from Frances's
+sober prejudice. Besides, she knows Mr. Spens; he has been our excellent
+man of business for years. But come, Fluff, I am not going to talk over
+weighty matters with you. Have you brought your guitar? If so, we'll go
+into the south parlor and have some music."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+"FRANCES, YOU ARE CHANGED!"
+
+
+"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight--good--nine, ten,
+eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen--excellent! Oh, how out of breath I
+am, and how hot it is! Is that you, Frances? See, I've been skipping
+just before the south parlor window to amuse the squire for the last
+hour. He has gone to sleep now, so I can stop. Where are you going? How
+nice you look! Gray suits you. Oh, Frances, what extravagance! You have
+retrimmed that pretty shady hat! But it does look well. Now where are
+you off to?"
+
+"I thought I would walk up the road a little way," said Frances. Her
+manner was not quite so calm and assured as usual. "Our old friend
+Philip Arnold is coming to-night, you know, and I thought I would like
+to meet him."
+
+"May I come with you? I know I'm in a mess, but what matter? He's the
+man about whom all the fuss is made, isn't he?"
+
+Frances blushed.
+
+"What do you mean, dear?" she asked.
+
+"Oh, don't I know? I heard you giving directions about his room, and
+didn't I see you walking round and round the garden for nearly two hours
+to-day choosing all the sweetest things--moss roses, and sweetbrier, and
+sprays of clematis? Of course there's a fuss made about him, though
+nothing is said. I know what I shall find him--There, I'm not going to
+say it--I would not vex you for worlds, Fan dear."
+
+Frances smiled.
+
+"I must start now, dear," she said, "or he will have reached the house
+before I leave it. Do you want to come with me, Fluff? You may if you
+like."
+
+"No, I won't. I'm ever so tired, and people who are fussed about are
+dreadfully uninteresting. Do start for your walk, Frances, or you won't
+be in time to welcome your hero."
+
+Frances started off at once. She was amused at Fluff's words.
+
+"It is impossible for the little creature to guess anything," she said
+to herself; "that would never do. Philip should be quite unbiased. It
+would be most unfair for him to come here as anything but a perfectly
+free man. Ten years ago he said he loved me; but am I the same Frances?
+I am older; father says I am old for twenty-eight--then I was eighteen.
+Eighteen is a beautiful age--a careless and yet a grave age. Girls are
+so full of desires then; life stretches before them like a brilliant
+line of light. Everything is possible; they are not really at the top of
+the hill, and they feel so fresh and buoyant that it is a pleasure to
+climb. There is a feeling of morning in the air. At eighteen it is a
+good thing to be alive. Now, at eight-and-twenty one has learned to take
+life hard; a girl is old then, and yet not old enough. She is apt to be
+overworried; I used to be, but not since his letter came, and to-night I
+think I am back at eighteen. I hope he won't find me much altered. I
+hope this dress suits me. It would be awful now, when the cup is almost
+at my lips, if anything dashed it away; but, no! God has been very good
+to me, and I will have faith in Him."
+
+All this time Frances was walking up-hill. She had now reached the
+summit of a long incline, and, looking ahead of her, saw a dusty
+traveler walking quickly with the free-and-easy stride of a man who is
+accustomed to all kinds of athletic exercises.
+
+"That is Philip," said Frances.
+
+Her heart beat almost to suffocation; she stood still for a moment, then
+walked on again more slowly, for her joy made her timid.
+
+The stranger came on. As he approached he took off his hat, revealing a
+very tanned face and light short hair; his well-opened eyes were blue;
+he had a rather drooping mustache, otherwise his face was clean shaven.
+If ten years make a difference in a woman, they often effect a greater
+change in a man. When Arnold last saw Frances he was twenty-two; he was
+very slight then, his mustache was little more than visible, and his
+complexion was too fair. Now he was bronzed and broadened. When he came
+up to Frances and took her hand, she knew that not only she herself,
+but all her little world, would acknowledge her lover to be a very
+handsome man.
+
+"Is that really you, Frances?" he began.
+
+His voice was thoroughly manly, and gave the girl who had longed for him
+for ten years an additional thrill of satisfaction.
+
+"Is that really you? Let me hold your hand for an instant; Frances you
+are changed!"
+
+"Older, you mean, Philip."
+
+She was blushing and trembling--she could not hide this first emotion.
+
+He looked very steadily into her face, then gently withdrew his hand.
+
+"Age has nothing to do with it," he said. "You are changed, and yet
+there is some of the old Frances left. In the old days you had a
+petulant tone when people said things which did not quite suit you; I
+hope--I trust--it has not gone. I am not perfect, and I don't like
+perfection. Yes, I see it is still there. Frances, it is good to come
+back to the old country, and to you."
+
+"You got my letter, Philip?"
+
+"Of course; I answered it. Were you not expecting me this evening?"
+
+"Yes: I came out here on purpose to meet you. What I should have said,
+Philip, was to ask you if you agreed to my proposal."
+
+"And what was that?"
+
+"That we should renew our acquaintance, but for the present both be
+free."
+
+Arnold stopped in his walk, and again looked earnestly at the slight
+girl by his side. Her whole face was eloquent--her eyes were bright with
+suppressed feeling, but her words were measured and cold. Arnold was not
+a bad reader of character. Inwardly he smiled.
+
+"Frances was a pretty girl," he said to himself; "but I never imagined
+she would grow into such a beautiful woman."
+
+Aloud he made a quiet reply.
+
+"We will discuss this matter to-morrow, Frances. Now tell me about your
+father. I was greatly distressed to see by your letter that your mother
+is dead."
+
+"She died eight years ago, Philip. I am accustomed to the world without
+her now; at first it was a terrible place to me. Here we are, in the
+old avenue again. Do you remember it? Let us get under the shade of the
+elms. Oh, Fluff, you quite startled me!"
+
+Fluff, all in white--she was never seen in any other dress, unless an
+occasional black ribbon was introduced for the sake of propriety--came
+panting up the avenue. Her face was flushed, her lips parted, her words
+came out fast and eagerly:
+
+"Quick, Frances, quick! The squire is ill; I tried to awake him, and I
+couldn't. Oh, he looks so dreadful!"
+
+"Take care of Philip, and I will go to him," said Frances. "Don't be
+frightened, Fluff; my father often sleeps heavily. Philip, let me
+introduce my little cousin, Ellen Danvers. Now, Nelly, be on your best
+behavior, for Philip is an old friend, and a person of importance."
+
+"But we had better come back to the house with you, Frances," said
+Arnold. "Your father may be really ill. Miss--Miss Danvers seems
+alarmed."
+
+"But I am not," said Frances, smiling first at Philip and then at her
+little cousin. "Fluff--we call this child Fluff as a pet name--does not
+know my father as I do. He often sleeps heavily, and when he does his
+face gets red, and he looks strange. I know what to do with him. Please
+don't come in, either of you, for half an hour. Supper will be ready
+then."
+
+She turned away, walking rapidly, and a bend in the avenue soon hid her
+from view.
+
+Little Ellen had not yet quite recovered her breath. She stood holding
+her hand to her side, and slightly panting.
+
+"You seem frightened," said Arnold, kindly.
+
+"It is not that," she replied. Her breath came quicker, almost in gasps.
+Suddenly she burst into tears. "It's all so dreadful," she said.
+
+"What do you mean?" said Arnold.
+
+To his knowledge he had never seen a girl cry in his life. He had come
+across very few girls while in Australia. One or two women he had met,
+but they were not particularly worthy specimens of their sex; he had not
+admired them, and had long ago come to the conclusion that the only
+perfect, sweet, and fair girl in existence was Frances Kane. When he saw
+Fluff's tears he discovered that he was mistaken--other women were sweet
+and gracious, other girls were lovable.
+
+"Do tell me what is the matter," he said, in a tone of deep sympathy;
+for these fast-flowing tears alarmed him.
+
+"I'm not fit for trouble," said Fluff. "I'm afraid of trouble, that's
+it. I'm really like the butterflies--I die if there's a cloud. It is not
+long since I lost my mother, and--now, now--I know the squire is much
+more ill than Frances thinks. Oh, I know it! What shall I do if the
+squire really gets very ill--if he--he dies? Oh, I'm so awfully afraid
+of death!"
+
+Her cheeks paled visibly, her large, wide-open blue eyes dilated; she
+was acting no part--her terror and distress were real. A kind of
+instinct told Arnold what to say to her.
+
+"You are standing under these great shady trees," he said. "Come out
+into the sunshine. You are young and apprehensive. Frances is much more
+likely to know the truth about Squire Kane than you are. She is not
+alarmed; you must not be, unless there is really cause. Now is not this
+better? What a lovely rose! Do you know, I have not seen this
+old-fashioned kind of cabbage rose for over ten years!"
+
+"Then I will pick one for you," said Fluff.
+
+She took out a scrap of cambric, dried her eyes like magic, and began to
+flit about the garden, humming a light air under her breath. Her dress
+was of an old-fashioned sort of book-muslin--it was made full and
+billowy; her figure was round and yet lithe, her hair was a mass of
+frizzy soft rings, and when the dimples played in her cheeks, and the
+laughter came back to her intensely blue eyes, Arnold could not help
+saying--and there was admiration in his voice and gaze:
+
+"What fairy godmother named you so appropriately?"
+
+"What do you mean? My name is Ellen."
+
+"Frances called you Fluff; Thistledown would be as admirably
+appropriate."
+
+While he spoke Fluff was handing him a rose. He took it, and placed it
+in his button-hole. He was not very skillful in arranging it, and she
+stood on tiptoe to help him. Just then Frances came out of the house.
+The sun was shining full on the pair; Fluff was laughing, Arnold was
+making a complimentary speech. Frances did not know why a shadow seemed
+to fall between her and the sunshine which surrounded them. She walked
+slowly across the grass to meet them. Her light dress was a little
+long, and it trailed after her. She had put a bunch of Scotch roses into
+her belt. Her step grew slower and heavier as she walked across the
+smoothly kept lawn, but her voice was just as calm and clear as usual as
+she said gently:
+
+"Supper is quite ready. You must be so tired and hungry, Philip."
+
+"Not at all," he said, leaving Fluff and coming up to her side. "This
+garden rests me. To be back here again is perfectly delightful. To
+appreciate an English garden and English life, and--and English
+ladies--here his eyes fell for a brief moment on Fluff--one most have
+lived for ten years in the backwoods of Australia. How is your father,
+Frances? I trust Miss Danvers had no real cause for alarm?"
+
+"Oh, no; Ellen is a fanciful little creature. He did sleep rather
+heavily. I think it was the heat; but he is all right now, and waiting
+to welcome you in the supper-room. Won't you let me show you the way to
+your room? You would like to wash your hands before eating."
+
+Frances and Arnold walked slowly in the direction of the house. Fluff
+had left them; she was engaged in an eager game of play with an
+overgrown and unwieldly pup and a Persian kitten. Arnold had observed
+with some surprise that she had forgotten even to inquire for Mr. Kane.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+"I WILL NOT SELL THE FIRS."
+
+
+On the morning after Arnold's arrival the squire called his daughter
+into the south parlor.
+
+"My love," he said, "I want a word with you."
+
+As a rule Frances was very willing to have words with her father. She
+was always patient and gentle and sweet with him; but she would have
+been more than human if she had not cast some wistful glances into the
+garden, where Philip was waiting for her. He and she also had something
+to talk about that morning, and why did Fluff go out, and play those
+bewitching airs softly to herself on the guitar? And why did she sing in
+that wild-bird voice of hers? and why did Philip pause now and then in
+his walk, as though he was listening--which indeed he was, for it would
+be difficult for any one to shut their ears to such light and
+harmonious sounds. Frances hated herself for feeling jealous. No--of
+course she was not jealous; she could not stoop to anything so mean.
+Poor darling little Fluff! and Philip, her true lover, who had remained
+constant to her for ten long years.
+
+With a smile on her lips, and the old look of patience in her steady
+eyes, she turned her back to the window and prepared to listen to what
+the squire had to say.
+
+"The fact is, Frances--" he began. "Sit down, my dear, sit down; I hate
+to have people standing, it fidgets me so. Oh! you want to be out with
+that young man; well, Fluff will amuse him--dear little thing,
+Fluff--most entertaining. Has a way of soothing a man's nerves, which
+few women possess. You, my dear, have often a most irritating way with
+you; not that I complain--we all have our faults. You inherit this
+intense overwrought sort of manner from your mother, Frances."
+
+Frances, who was standing absolutely quiet and still again, smiled
+slightly.
+
+"You had something to talk to me about," she said, in her gentlest of
+voice.
+
+"To be sure I had. I can tell you I have my worries--wonder I'm
+alive--and since your mother died never a bit of sympathy do I get from
+mortal. There, read that letter from Spens, and see what you make of it.
+Impudent? uncalled for? I should think so; but I really do wonder what
+these lawyers are coming to. Soon there'll be no distinctions between
+man and man anywhere, when a beggarly country lawyer dares to write to a
+gentleman like myself in that strain. But read the letter, Frances;
+you'll have to see Spens this afternoon. _I'm_ not equal to it."
+
+"Let me see what Mr. Spens says," answered Frances.
+
+She took the lawyer's letter from the squire's shaking old fingers, and
+opened it. Then her face became very pale, and as her eyes glanced
+rapidly over the contents, she could not help uttering a stifled
+exclamation.
+
+"Yes, no wonder you're in a rage," said the squire. "The impudence of
+that letter beats everything."
+
+"But what does Mr. Spens mean?" said Frances. "He says here--unless you
+can pay the six thousand pounds owing within three months, his client
+has given him instructions to sell the Firs. What does he mean, father?
+I never knew that we owed a penny. Oh, this is awful!"
+
+"And how do you suppose we have lived?" said the squire, who was feeling
+all that undue sense of irritation which guilty people know so well.
+"How have we had our bread and butter? How has the house been kept up?
+How have the wages been met? I suppose you thought that that garden of
+yours--those vegetables and fruit--have kept everything going? That's
+all a woman knows. Besides, I've been unlucky--two speculations have
+failed--every penny I put in lost in them. Now, what's the matter,
+Frances? You have a very unpleasant manner of staring."
+
+"There was my mother's money," said Frances, who was struggling hard to
+keep herself calm. "That was always supposed to bring in something over
+two hundred pounds a year. I thought--I imagined--that with the help I
+was able to give from the garden and the poultry yard that we--we lived
+within our means."
+
+Her lips trembled slightly as she spoke. Fluff was playing "Sweethearts"
+on her guitar, and Arnold was leaning with his arms folded against the
+trunk of a wide-spreading oak-tree. Was he listening to Fluff, or
+waiting for Frances? She felt like a person struggling through a
+horrible nightmare.
+
+"I thought we lived within our means," she said, faintly.
+
+"Just like you--women are always imagining things. We have no means to
+live on; your mother's money has long vanished--it was lost in that
+silver mine in Peru. And the greater part of the six thousand pounds
+lent by Spens has one way or another pretty nearly shared the same fate.
+I've been a very unlucky man, Frances, and if your mother were here,
+she'd pity me. I've had no one to sympathize with me since her death."
+
+"I do, father," said his daughter. She went up and put her arms round
+his old neck. "It was a shock, and I felt half stunned. But I fully
+sympathize."
+
+"Not that I am going to sell the Firs," said the squire, not returning
+Frances's embrace, but allowing her to take his limp hand within her
+own. "No, no; I've no idea of that. Spens and his client, whoever he is,
+must wait for their money, and that's what you have got to see him
+about, Frances. Come, now, you must make the best terms you can with
+Spens--a woman can do what she likes with a man when she knows how to
+manage."
+
+"But what am I to say, father?"
+
+"Say? Why, that's your lookout. Never heard of a woman yet who couldn't
+find words. Say? Anything in the world you please, provided you give him
+to clearly to understand that come what may I will not sell the Firs."
+
+Frances stood still for two whole minutes. During this time she was
+thinking deeply--so deeply that she forgot the man who was waiting
+outside--she forgot everything but the great and terrible fact that,
+notwithstanding all her care and all her toil, beggary was staring them
+in the face.
+
+"I will see Mr. Spens," she said at last, slowly: "it is not likely that
+I shall be able to do much. If you have mortgaged the Firs to this
+client of Mr. Spens, he will most probably require you to sell, in order
+to realize his money; but I will see him, and let you know the result."
+
+"You had better order the gig, then, and go now; he is sure to be in at
+this hour. Oh, you want to talk to the man that you fancy is in love
+with you; but lovers can wait, and business can't. Understand clearly,
+once for all, Frances, that if the Firs is sold, I die."
+
+"Dear father," said Frances--again she took his unwilling hand in
+hers--"do you suppose I want the Firs to be sold? Don't I love every
+stone of the old place, and every flower that grows here? If words can
+save it, they won't be wanting on my part. But you know better than I do
+that I am absolutely powerless in the matter."
+
+She went out of the room, and the squire sat with the sun shining full
+on him, and grumbled. What was a blow to Frances, a blow which half
+stunned her in its suddenness and unexpectedness, had come gradually to
+the squire. For years past he knew that while his daughter was doing her
+utmost to make two ends meet--was toiling early and late to bring in a
+little money to help the slender household purse--she was only
+postponing an evil day which could never be averted. From the first,
+Squire Kane in his own small way had been a speculator--never at any
+time had he been a lucky one, and now he reaped the results.
+
+After a time he pottered to his feet, and strolled out into the garden.
+Frances was nowhere visible, but Arnold and Ellen were standing under a
+shady tree, holding an animated conversation together.
+
+"Here comes the squire," said Fluff, in a tone of delight. She flew to
+his side, put her hand through his arm, and looked coaxingly and
+lovingly into his face.
+
+"I am so glad you are not asleep," she said. "I don't like you when you
+fall asleep and get so red in the face; you frightened me last night--I
+was terrified--I cried. Didn't I, Mr. Arnold?"
+
+"Yes," replied Arnold, "you seemed a good deal alarmed. Do you happen to
+know where your daughter is, Mr. Kane?"
+
+"Yes; she is going into Martinstown on business for me. Ah, yes, Fluff,
+you always were a sympathizing little woman." Here the squire patted the
+dimpled hand; he was not interested in Philip Arnold's inquiries.
+
+"If Frances is going to Martinstown, perhaps she will let me accompany
+her," said Arnold. "I will go and look for her."
+
+He did not wait for the squire's mumbling reply, but started off quickly
+on his quest.
+
+"Frances does want the gift of sympathy," said the squire, once more
+addressing himself with affection to Ellen. "Do you know, Fluff, that I
+am in considerable difficulty; in short, that I am going through just
+now a terrible trouble--oh, nothing that you can assist me in, dear.
+Still, one does want a little sympathy, and poor dear Frances, in that
+particular, is sadly, painfully deficient."
+
+"Are you really in great trouble?" said Fluff. She raised her eyes with
+a look of alarm.
+
+"Oh, I am dreadfully sorry! Shall I play for you, shall I sing
+something? Let me bring this arm-chair out here by this pear-tree; I'll
+get my guitar; I'll sing you anything you like--'Robin Adair,' or 'Auld
+Robin Gray,' or 'A Man's a Man;' you know how very fond you are of
+Burns."
+
+"You are a good little girl," said the squire. "Place the arm-chair just
+at that angle, my love. Ah, that's good! I get the full power of the sun
+here. Somehow it seems to me, Fluff, that the summers are not half as
+warm as they used to be. Now play 'Bonnie Dundee'--it will be a treat to
+hear you."
+
+Fluff fingered her guitar lovingly. Then she looked up into the wizened,
+discontented face of the old man opposite to her.
+
+"Play," said the squire. "Why don't you begin?"
+
+"Only that I'm thinking," said the spoiled child, tapping her foot
+petulantly. "Squire, I can't help saying it--I don't think you are quite
+fair to Frances."
+
+"Eh, what?" said Squire Kane, in a voice of astonishment.
+"Highty-tighty, what next! Go on with your playing, miss."
+
+"No, I won't! It isn't right of you to say she's not sympathetic."
+
+"Not right of me! What next, I wonder! Let me tell you, Fluff, that
+although you're a charming little chit, you are a very saucy one."
+
+"I don't care whether I'm saucy or not. You ought not to be unfair to
+Frances."
+
+These rebellious speeches absolutely made the squire sit upright in his
+chair.
+
+"What do you know about it?" he queried.
+
+"Because she is sympathetic; she has the dearest, tenderest, most
+unselfish heart in the world. Oh, she's a darling! I love her!"
+
+"Go on with your playing, Fluff," said the squire.
+
+Two bright spots of surprise and anger burned on his cheeks, but there
+was also a reflective look on his face.
+
+Fluff's eyes blazed. Her fair cheeks crimsoned, and she tried to thunder
+out a spirited battle march on her poor little guitar.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+NO OTHER WAY.
+
+
+Arnold went quickly round to the back of the house. Although he had been
+absent for ten years, he still remembered the ways of the old place, and
+knew where to find the almost empty stables, and the coach-houses which
+no longer held conveyances.
+
+"This place requires about four thousand pounds a year to keep it up
+properly," murmured Arnold to himself, "and from the looks of things I
+should say these dear good folks had not as many hundreds. I wonder if
+Frances will have me--I wonder if--" here he paused.
+
+His heart was full of Frances this morning, but it was also full of a
+strange kind of peace and thanksgiving. He was not greatly anxious; he
+had a curious sensation of being rested all over. The fact was, he had
+gone through the most hair-breadth escapes, the most thrilling
+adventures, during the last ten years. He had escaped alive, at the most
+fearful odds. He had known hunger and thirst; he had been many, many
+times face to face with death. For more than half the time of his exile
+things had gone against him, and hard indeed had been his lot; then the
+tide had slowly turned, and after five more years Philip Arnold had been
+able to return to his native land, and had felt that it was allowed to
+him to think with hope of the girl he had always loved.
+
+He was in the same house with Frances now. She had not yet promised to
+be his, but he did not feel anxious. The quiet of the English home, the
+sweet, old-fashioned peace of the garden, the shade under the trees, the
+songs of the old-fashioned home birds, the scent of the old-fashioned
+home flowers, and the bright eyes and gentle voice of the prettiest
+little English girl he had ever seen, had a mesmerizing effect upon him.
+He wanted Frances; Frances was his one and only love; but he felt no
+particular desire to hurry on matters, or to force an answer from her
+until she was ready to give it.
+
+He strolled into the stable-yard, where Pete, the under-gardener,
+message-boy and general factotum, a person whom Watkins, the chief
+manager, much bullied, was harnessing a shaggy little pony to a very
+shaky-looking market cart. The cart wanted painting, the pony grooming,
+and the harness undoubtedly much mending.
+
+"What are you doing, Pete?" said Arnold.
+
+"This yer is for Miss Frances," drawled the lad. "She's going into
+Martinstown, and I'm gwine with her to hold the pony."
+
+"No, you're not," said Arnold. "I can perform that office. Go and tell
+her that I'm ready when she is."
+
+Pete sauntered away, but before he reached the back entrance to the
+house Frances came out. She walked slowly, and when she saw Philip her
+face did not light up. He was startled, not at an obvious, but an
+indefinable change in her. He could not quite tell where it lay, only he
+suddenly knew that she was quite eight-and-twenty, that there were hard
+lines round the mouth which at eighteen had been very curved and
+beautiful. He wished she would wear the pretty hat she had on last
+night; he did not think that the one she had on was particularly
+becoming. Still, she was his Frances, the girl whose face had always
+risen before him during the five years of horror through which he had
+lived, and during the five years of hope which had succeeded them.
+
+He came forward and helped her to get into the little old-fashioned
+market cart. Then, as she gathered up the reins, and the pony was moving
+off, he prepared to vault into the vacant seat by her side. She laid her
+hand on it, however, and turned to him a very sad and entreating face.
+
+"I think you had better not, Philip," she said. "It will be very hot in
+Martinstown to-day. I am obliged to go on a piece of business for my
+father. I am going to see Mr. Spens, our lawyer, and I may be with him
+for some time. It would be stupid for you to wait outside with the pony.
+Pete had better come with me. Go back to the shade of the garden,
+Philip. I hear Fluff now playing her guitar."
+
+"I am going with you," said Arnold. "Forgive me, Frances, but you are
+talking nonsense. I came here to be with you, and do you suppose I mind
+a little extra sunshine?"
+
+"But I am a rather dull companion to-day," she said, still objecting. "I
+am very much obliged to you--you are very kind, but I really have
+nothing to talk about. I am worried about a bit of business of father's.
+It is very good of you, Philip, but I would really rather you did not
+come into Martinstown."
+
+"If that is so, of course it makes a difference," said Arnold. He looked
+hurt. "I won't bother you," he said. "Come back quickly. I suppose we
+can have a talk after dinner?"
+
+"Perhaps so; I can't say. I am very much worried about a piece of
+business of my father's."
+
+"Pete, take your place behind your mistress," said Arnold.
+
+He raised his hat, there was a flush on his face as Frances drove down
+the shady lane.
+
+"I have offended him," she said to herself; "I suppose I meant to. I
+don't see how I can have anything to say to him now; he can't marry a
+beggar; and, besides, I must somehow or other support my father. Yes,
+it's at an end--the brightest of dreams. The cup was almost at my lips,
+and I did not think God would allow it to be dashed away so quickly. I
+must manage somehow to make Philip cease to care for me, but I think I
+am the most miserable woman in the world."
+
+Frances never forgot that long, hot drive into Martinstown. She reached
+the lawyer's house at a little before noon, and the heat was then so
+great that when she found herself in his office she nearly fainted.
+
+"You look really ill, Miss Kane," said the man of business, inwardly
+commenting under his breath on how very rapidly Frances was ageing. "Oh,
+you have come from your father; yes, I was afraid that letter would be a
+blow to him; still, I see no way out of it--I really don't!"
+
+"I have never liked you much, Mr. Spens," said Frances Kane. "I have
+mistrusted you, and been afraid of you; but I will reverse all my former
+opinions--all--now, if you will only tell me the exact truth with regard
+to my father's affairs."
+
+The lawyer smiled and bowed.
+
+"Thank you for your candor," he remarked. "In such a case as yours the
+plain truth is best, although it is hardly palatable. Your father is an
+absolutely ruined man. He can not possibly repay the six thousand pounds
+which he has borrowed. He obtained the money from my client by
+mortgaging the Firs to him. Now my client's distinct instructions are to
+sell, and realize what we can. The property has gone much to seed. I
+doubt if we shall get back what was borrowed; at any rate, land, house,
+furniture, all must go."
+
+"Thank you--you have indeed spoken plainly," said Frances. "One question
+more: when must you sell?"
+
+"In three months from now. Let me see; this is July. The sale will take
+place early in October."
+
+Frances had been sitting. She now rose to her feet.
+
+"And there is really no way out of it?" she said, lingering for a
+moment.
+
+"None; unless your father can refund the six thousand pounds."
+
+"He told me, Mr. Spens, that if the Firs is sold he will certainly die.
+He is an old man, and feeble now. I am almost sure that he speaks the
+truth when he says such a blow will kill him."
+
+"Ah! painful, very," said the lawyer. "These untoward misfortunes
+generally accompany rash speculation. Still, I fear--I greatly
+fear--that this apprehension, if likely to be realized, will not affect
+my client's resolution."
+
+"Would it," said Frances, "would it be possible to induce your client to
+defer the sale till after my father's death? Indeed--indeed--indeed, I
+speak the truth when I say I do not think he will have long to wait for
+his money. Could he be induced to wait, Mr. Spens, if the matter were
+put to him very forcibly?"
+
+"I am sure he could not be induced, Miss Kane; unless, indeed, you could
+manage to pay the interest at five per cent. on his six thousand pounds.
+That is, three hundred a year."
+
+"And then?" Frances's dark eyes brightened.
+
+"I would ask him the question; but such a thing is surely impossible."
+
+"May I have a week to think it over? I will come to you with my decision
+this day week."
+
+"Well, well, I say nothing one way or another. You can't do
+impossibilities, Miss Kane. But a week's delay affects no one, and I
+need not go on drawing up the particulars of sale until I hear from you
+again."
+
+Frances bowed, and left the office without even shaking hands with Mr.
+Spens.
+
+"She's a proud woman," said the lawyer to himself, as he watched her
+driving away. "She looks well, too, when her eyes flash, and she puts on
+that haughty air. Odd that she should be so fond of that cantankerous
+old father. I wonder if the report is true which I heard of an
+Australian lover turning up for her. Well, there are worse-looking women
+than Frances Kane. I thought her very much aged when she first came into
+the office, but when she told me that she didn't much like me, she
+looked handsome and young enough."
+
+Instead of driving home, Frances turned the pony's head in the direction
+of a long shady road which led into a westerly direction away from
+Martinstown. She drove rapidly for about half an hour under the trees.
+Then she turned to the silent Pete.
+
+"Pete, you can go back now to the Firs, and please tell your master and
+Miss Danvers that I shall not be home until late this evening. See, I
+will send this note to the squire."
+
+She tore a piece of paper out of her pocket-book, and scribbled a few
+lines hastily.
+
+     "DEAR FATHER,--I have seen Mr. Spens. Don't despair. I am
+     doing my best for you.
+                         FRANCES."
+
+"I shall be back before nightfall," said Frances, giving the note to the
+lad. "Drive home quickly, Pete. See that Bob has a feed of oats, and a
+groom-down after his journey. I shall be home at latest by nightfall."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+FOR THE SAKE OF THREE HUNDRED A YEAR.
+
+
+For nearly another quarter of a mile Frances walked quickly under the
+friendly elm-trees. Then she came to some massive and beautifully
+wrought iron gates, and paused for an instant, pressing her hand to her
+brow.
+
+"Shall I go on?" said she to herself. "It means giving up Philip--it
+means deliberately crushing a very bright hope."
+
+She remained quite still for several seconds longer. Her lips, which
+were white and tired-looking, moved silently. She raised her eyes, and
+looked full into the blue deep of the sky; and then she turned in at one
+of the gates, and walked up an exquisitely kept carriage drive.
+
+Some ladies in a carriage bowled past her; the ladies bent forward,
+bowed, and smiled.
+
+"Why, that is Frances Kane," they said one to another. "How good of her
+to call--and this is one of Aunt Lucilla's bad days. If she will consent
+to see Frances it will do her good."
+
+Frances walked on. The avenue was considerably over a mile in length.
+Presently she came to smaller gates, which were flung open. She now
+found herself walking between velvety greenswards, interspersed with
+beds filled with all the bright flowers of the season. Not a leaf was
+out of place; not an untidy spray was to be seen anywhere; the garden
+was the perfection of what money and an able gardener could achieve.
+
+The avenue was a winding one, and a sudden bend brought Frances in full
+view of a large, square, massive-looking house--a house which contained
+many rooms, and was evidently of modern date. Frances mounted the steps
+which led to the wide front entrance, touched an electric bell, and
+waited until a footman in livery answered her summons.
+
+"Is Mrs. Passmore at home?"
+
+"I will inquire, madame. Will you step this way?"
+
+Frances was shown into a cool, beautifully furnished morning-room.
+
+"What name, madame?"
+
+"Miss Kane, from the Firs. Please tell Mrs. Passmore that I will not
+detain her long."
+
+The man bowed, and, closing the door softly after him, withdrew.
+
+Her long walk, and all the excitement she had gone through, made Frances
+feel faint. It was past the hour for lunch at the Firs, and she had not
+eaten much at the early breakfast. She was not conscious, however, of
+hunger, but the delicious coolness of the room caused her to close her
+eyes gratefully--gave her a queer sensation of sinking away into
+nothing, and an odd desire, hardly felt before it had vanished, that
+this might really be the case, and so that she might escape the hard
+rôle of duty.
+
+The rustling of a silk dress was heard in the passage--a quick, light
+step approached--and a little lady most daintily attired, with a
+charming frank face, stepped briskly into the room.
+
+"My dear Frances, this is delightful--how well--no, though, you are not
+looking exactly the thing, poor dear. So you have come to have lunch
+with me; how very, very nice of you! The others are all out, and I am
+quite alone."
+
+"But I have come to see you on business, Carrie."
+
+"After luncheon, then, dear. My head is swimming now, for I have been
+worrying over Aunt Lucilla's accounts. Ah, no, alas! this is not one of
+her good days. Come into the next room, Frances--if you have so little
+time to spare, you busy, busy creature, you can at least talk while we
+eat."
+
+Mrs. Passmore slipped her hand affectionately through Frances's arm, and
+led her across the wide hall to another cool and small apartment where
+covers were already placed for two.
+
+"I am very glad of some lunch, Carrie," said Frances. "I left home early
+this morning. I am not ashamed to say that I am both tired and hungry."
+
+"Eat then, my love, eat--these are lamb cutlets; these pease are not to
+be compared with what you can produce at the Firs, but still they are
+eatable. Have a glass of this cool lemonade. Oh, yes, we will help
+ourselves. You need not wait Smithson."
+
+The footman withdrew. Mrs. Passmore flitted about the table, waiting on
+her guest with a sort of loving tenderness. Then she seated herself
+close to Frances, pretended to eat a mouthful or two, and said suddenly:
+
+"I know you are in trouble. And yet I thought--I hoped--that you would
+be bringing me good news before long. Is it true, Frances, that Philip
+Arnold is really alive after all, and has returned to England?"
+
+"It is perfectly true, Carrie. At this moment Philip is at the Firs."
+
+Mrs. Passmore opened her lips--her bright eyes traveled all over
+Frances's face.
+
+"You don't look well," she said, after a long pause. "I am puzzled to
+account for your not looking well now."
+
+"What you think is not going to happen, Carrie. Philip is not likely to
+make a long visit. He came yesterday; he may go again to-morrow or next
+day. We won't talk of it. Oh, yes, of course it is nice to think he is
+alive and well. Carrie, does your aunt Lucilla still want a companion?"
+
+Mrs. Passmore jumped from her seat--her eyes lighted up; she laid her
+two dimpled, heavily ringed hands on Frances's shoulders.
+
+"My dear, you can't mean it! You can't surely mean that you would come?
+You know what you are to auntie; you can do anything with her. Why, you
+would save her, Frances; you would save us all."
+
+"I do think of accepting the post, if you will give it to me," said
+Frances.
+
+"Give it to you? you darling! As if we have not been praying and longing
+for this for the last two years!"
+
+"But, Carrie, I warn you that I only come because necessity presses
+me--and--and--I must make conditions--I must make extravagant demands."
+
+"Anything, dearest. Is it a salary? Name anything you fancy. You know
+Aunt Lucilla is rolling in money. Indeed, we all have more than we know
+what to do with. Money can't buy everything, Frances. Ah, yes, I have
+proved that over and over again; but if it can buy you, it will for once
+have done us a good turn. What do you want, dear? Don't be afraid to
+name your price--a hundred a year? You shall have it with pleasure."
+
+"Carrie, I know what you will think of me, but if I am never frank again
+I must be now. I don't come here to oblige you, or because I have a
+real, deep, anxious desire to help your aunt. I come--I come alone
+because of a pressing necessity; there is no other way out of it that I
+can see, therefore my demand must be extravagant. If I take the post of
+companion to your aunt Lucilla, I shall want three hundred pounds a
+year."
+
+Mrs. Passmore slightly started, and for the briefest instant a frown of
+disappointment and annoyance knit her pretty brows. Then she glanced
+again at the worn face of the girl who sat opposite to her; the
+steadfast eyes looked down, the long, thin, beautifully cut fingers
+trembled as Frances played idly with her fork and spoon.
+
+"No one could call Frances Kane mercenary," she said to herself. "Poor
+dear, she has some trouble upon her. Certainly her demand is exorbitant;
+never before since the world was known did a companion receive such a
+salary. Still, where would one find a second Frances?"
+
+"So be it, dear," she said, aloud. "I admit that your terms are high,
+but in some ways your services are beyond purchase. No one ever did or
+ever will suit Aunt Lucilla as you do. Now, when will you come?"
+
+"I am not quite sure yet, Carrie, that I can come at all. If I do it
+will probably be in a week from now. Yes, to-morrow week; if I come at
+all I will come then; and I will let you know certainly on this day
+week."
+
+"My dear, you are a great puzzle to me; why can't you make up your mind
+now?"
+
+"My own mind is made up, Carrie, absolutely and fully, but others have
+really to decide for me. I think the chances are that I shall have my
+way. Carrie dear, you are very good; I wish I could thank you more."
+
+"No, don't thank me. When you come you will give as much as you get.
+Your post won't be a sinecure."
+
+"Sinecures never fell in my way," said Frances. "May I see your aunt for
+a few minutes to-day?"
+
+"Certainly, love--you know her room. You will find her very poorly and
+fractious this afternoon. Will you tell her that you are coming to live
+with her, Frances?"
+
+"No; that would be cruel, for I may not be able to come, after all.
+Still, I think I shall spend some time in doing my utmost to help you
+and yours, Carrie."
+
+"God bless you, dear! Now run up to auntie. You will find me in the
+summer-house whenever you like to come down. I hope you will spend the
+afternoon with me, Frances, and have tea; I can send you home in the
+evening."
+
+"You are very kind, Carrie, but I must not stay. I will say good-bye to
+you now, for I must go back to Martinstown for a few minutes early this
+afternoon. Good-bye, thank you. You are evidently a very real friend in
+need."
+
+Frances kissed Mrs. Passmore, and then ran lightly up the broad and
+richly carpeted stairs. Her footsteps made no sound on the thick
+Axminster. She flitted past down a long gallery hung with portraits,
+presently stopped before a baize door, paused for a second, then opened
+it swiftly and went in.
+
+She found herself in an anteroom, darkened and rendered cool with soft
+green silk drapery. The anteroom led to a large room beyond. She tapped
+at the door of the inside room, and an austere-looking woman dressed as
+a nurse opened it immediately. Her face lighted up when she saw Frances.
+
+"Miss Kane, you're just the person of all others my mistress would like
+to see. Walk in, miss, please. Can you stay for half an hour? If so,
+I'll leave you."
+
+"Yes, Jennings. I am sorry Mrs. Carnegie is so ill to-day."
+
+Then she stepped across the carpeted floor, the door was closed behind
+her, and she found herself in the presence of a tall thin woman, who was
+lying full length on a sofa by the open window. Never was there a more
+peevish face than the invalid wore. Her brows were slightly drawn
+together, her lips had fretful curves; the pallor of great pain, of
+intense nervous suffering, dwelt on her brow. Frances went softly up to
+her.
+
+"How do you do, Mrs. Carnegie?" she said, in her gentle voice.
+
+The sound was so low and sweet that the invalid did not even start. A
+smile like magic chased the furrows from her face.
+
+"Sit down, Frances, there's a dear child," she said. "Now, I have been
+wishing for you more than for any one. I'm at my very worst to-day,
+dear. My poor back is so bad--oh, the nerves, dear child, the nerves! I
+really feel that I can not speak a civil word to any one, and Jennings
+is so awkward, painfully awkward--her very step jars me; and why will
+she wear those stiff-starched caps and aprons? But there, few understand
+those unfortunates who are martyrs to nerves."
+
+"You have too much light on your eyes," said Frances. She lowered the
+blind about an inch or two.
+
+"Now tell me, have you been down-stairs to-day?"
+
+"How can you ask me, my love, when I can't even crawl? Besides, I assure
+you, dear, dearest one"--here Mrs. Carnegie took Frances's hand and
+kissed it--"that they dislike having me. Freda and Alicia quite show
+their dislike in their manner. Carrie tries to smile and look friendly,
+but she is nothing better than a hypocrite. I can read through them all.
+They are only civil to me; they only put up with their poor old aunt
+because I am rich, and they enjoy my comfortable house. Ah! they none of
+them know what nerves are--the rack, the tear, to the poor system, that
+overstrained nerves can give. My darling, you understand, you pity me."
+
+"I am always very sorry for you, Mrs. Carnegie, but I think when you are
+better you ought to exert yourself a little more, and you must not
+encourage morbid thoughts. Now shall I tell you what I did with that
+last five-pound note you gave me?"
+
+"Ah, yes, love, that will be interesting. It is nice to feel that even
+such a useless thing as money can make some people happy. Is it really,
+seriously the case, Frances, that there are any creatures so destitute
+in the world as not to know where to find a five-pound note?"
+
+"There are thousands and thousands who don't even know where to find a
+shilling," replied Frances.
+
+Mrs. Carnegie's faded blue eyes lighted up.
+
+"How interesting!" she said. "Why, it must make existence quite keen.
+Fancy being anxious about a shilling! I wish something would make life
+keen for me; but my nerves are in such a state that really everything
+that does not thrill me with torture, palls."
+
+"I will tell you about the people who have to find their shillings,"
+responded Frances.
+
+She talked with animation for about a quarter of an hour, then kissed
+the nervous sufferer, and went away.
+
+Half an hour's brisk walking brought her back to Martinstown. She
+reached the lawyer's house, and was fortunate in finding him within.
+
+"Will you tell your client, Mr. Spens, that if he will hold over the
+sale of the Firs until after my father's death, I will engage to let him
+have five per cent. on his money? I have to-day accepted the post of
+companion to Mrs. Carnegie, of Arden. For this I am to have a salary of
+three hundred pounds a year."
+
+"Bless me!" said the lawyer. "Such a sacrifice! Why! that woman can't
+keep even a servant about her. A heartless, selfish hypochondriac! even
+her nieces will scarcely stay in the house with her. I think she would
+get you cheap at a thousand a year, Miss Kane; but you must be joking."
+
+"I am in earnest," responded Frances. "Please don't make it harder for
+me, Mr. Spens. I know what I am undertaking. Will you please tell your
+client that I can pay him his interest? If he refuses to accept it, I am
+as I was before; if he consents, I go to Arden. You will do me a great
+favor by letting me know his decision as soon as possible."
+
+The lawyer bowed.
+
+"I will do so," he said. Then he added, "I hope you will forgive me,
+Miss Kane, for saying that I think you are a very brave and unselfish
+woman, but I don't believe even you will stand Mrs. Carnegie for long."
+
+"I think you are mistaken," responded Frances, gently. "I do it for the
+sake of three hundred pounds a year, to save the Firs for my father
+during his lifetime."
+
+The lawyer thought he had seldom seen anything sadder than Frances'
+smile. It quite haunted him as he wrote to his client, urging him to
+accept her terms.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+UNDER THE ELMS.
+
+
+Squire Kane had spent by no means an unhappy day. The misfortune, which
+came like a sudden crash upon Frances, he had been long prepared for.
+Only last week Mr. Spens had told him that he might expect some such
+letter as had been put into his hands that morning. He had been a little
+nervous while breaking his news to Frances--a little nervous and a
+little cross. But when once she was told, he was conscious of a feeling
+of relief; for all his hard words to her, he had unbounded faith in this
+clever managing daughter of his; she had got him out of other scrapes,
+and somehow, by hook or by crook, she would get him out of this.
+
+Except for Fluff's rather hard words to him when he spoke to her about
+Frances, he had rather an agreeable day. He was obliged to exert himself
+a little, and the exertion did him good and made him less sleepy than
+usual. Both Fluff and Philip did their best to make matters pass
+agreeably for him, and when Frances at last reached home, in the cool of
+the evening, she found herself in the midst of a very cheerful domestic
+scene.
+
+At this hour the squire was usually asleep in the south parlor; on this
+night he was out-of-doors. His circular cape, it is true, was over his
+shoulders, and Fluff had tucked a white shawl round his knees, but still
+he was sitting out-of-doors, cheering, laughing, and applauding while
+Arnold and Miss Danvers sung to him. Fluff had never looked more lovely.
+Her light gossamery white dress was even more cloudy than usual; a
+softer, richer pink mantled her rounded cheeks; her big blue eyes were
+lustrous, and out of her parted lips poured a melody as sweet as a
+nightingale's. Arnold was standing near her--he also was singing--and as
+Frances approached he did not see her, for his glance, full of
+admiration, was fixed upon Miss Danvers.
+
+"Halloo! here we are, Frances!" called out the squire, "and a right
+jolly time we've all had. I'm out-of-doors, as you see; broken away from
+my leading-strings when you're absent; ah, ah! How late you are, child!
+but we didn't wait dinner. It doesn't agree with me, as you know, to be
+kept waiting for dinner."
+
+"You look dreadfully tired, Frances," said Philip.
+
+He dropped the sheet of music he was holding, and ran to fetch a chair
+for her. He no longer looked at Ellen, for Frances's pallor and the
+strained look in her eyes filled him with apprehension.
+
+"You don't look at all well," he repeated.
+
+And he stood in front of her, shading her from the gaze of the others.
+
+Frances closed her eyes for a second.
+
+"It was a hot, long walk," she said then, somewhat faintly. And she
+looked up and smiled at him. It was the sweetest of smiles, but Arnold,
+too, felt, as well as the lawyer, that there was something unnatural and
+sad in it.
+
+"I don't understand it," he said to himself. "There's some trouble on
+her; what can it be? I'm afraid it's a private matter, for the squire's
+right enough. Never saw the old boy looking jollier." Aloud he said,
+turning to Fluff, "Would it not be a good thing to get a cup of tea for
+Frances? No?--now I insist. I mean you must let us wait on you, Frances;
+Miss Danvers and I will bring the tea out here. We absolutely forbid you
+to stir a step until you have taken it."
+
+His "we" meant "I."
+
+Frances was only too glad to lie back in the comfortable chair, and
+feel, if only for a few minutes, she might acknowledge him her master.
+
+The squire, finding all this fuss about Frances wonderfully uncongenial,
+had retired into the house, and Arnold and Fluff served her
+daintily--Arnold very solicitous for comfort, and Fluff very merry, and
+much enjoying her present office of waiting-maid.
+
+"I wish this tea might last forever," suddenly exclaimed Frances.
+
+Her words were spoken with energy, and her dark eyes, as they glanced at
+Arnold, were full of fire.
+
+It was not her way to speak in this fierce and spasmodic style, and the
+moment the little sentence dropped from her lips she blushed.
+
+Arnold looked at her inquiringly.
+
+"Are you too tired to have a walk with me?" he said. "Not far--down
+there under the shade of the elm-trees. You need not be cruel, Frances.
+You can come with me as far as that."
+
+Frances blushed still more vividly.
+
+"I am really very tired," she answered. There was unwillingness in her
+tone.
+
+Arnold gazed at her in surprise and perplexity.
+
+"Perhaps," he said, suddenly, looking at Fluff, "perhaps, if you are
+quite too tired even to stir a few steps, Frances, Miss Danvers would
+not greatly mind leaving us alone here for a little."
+
+Before she could reply, he went up to the young girl's side and took her
+hand apologetically.
+
+"You don't mind?" he said. "I mean, you won't think me rude when I tell
+you that I have come all the way from Australia to see Frances?"
+
+"Rude? I am filled with delight," said Fluff.
+
+Her eyes danced; she hummed the air of "Sweethearts" quite in an
+obtrusive manner as she ran into the house.
+
+"Oh, squire," she said, running up to the old man, who had seated
+himself in his favorite chair in the parlor. "I have discovered such a
+lovely secret."
+
+"Ah, what may that be, missy? By the way, Fluff, you will oblige me very
+much if you will call Frances here. This paraffine lamp has never been
+trimmed--if I light it, it will smell abominably; it is really careless
+of Frances to neglect my comforts in this way. Oblige me by calling her,
+Fluff; she must have finished her tea by this time."
+
+"I'm not going to oblige you in that way," said Fluff. "Frances is
+particularly engaged--she can't come. Do you know he came all the way
+from Australia on purpose? What can a lamp matter?"
+
+"What a lot of rubbish you're talking, child! Who came from Australia?
+Oh, that tiresome Arnold! A lamp does matter, for I want to read."
+
+"Well, then, I'll attend to it," said Fluff. "What is the matter with
+it?"
+
+"The wick isn't straight--the thing will smell, I tell you."
+
+"I suppose I can put it right. I never touched a lamp before in my life.
+Where does the wick come?"
+
+"Do be careful, Ellen, you will smash that lamp--it cost three and
+sixpence. There, I knew you would; you've done it now."
+
+The glass globe lay in fragments on the floor. Fluff gazed at the broken
+pieces comically.
+
+"Frances would have managed it all right," she said. "What a useless
+little thing I am! I can do nothing but dance and sing and talk. Shall I
+talk to you, squire? We don't want light to talk, and I'm dying to tell
+you what I've discovered."
+
+"Well, child, well--I hate a mess on the floor like that. Well, what is
+it you've got to say to me, Fluff? It's really unreasonable of Frances
+not to come. She must have finished her tea long ago."
+
+"Of course she has finished her tea; she is talking to Mr. Arnold. He
+came all the way from Australia to have this talk with her. I'm so glad.
+You'll find out what a useful, dear girl Frances is by and by, when you
+never have her to trim your lamps."
+
+"What do you mean, you saucy little thing? When I don't have Frances;
+what do you mean?"
+
+"Why, you can't have her when she's--she's married. It must be
+wonderfully interesting to be married; I suppose I shall be some day.
+Weren't you greatly excited long, long ago, when you married?"
+
+"One would think I lived in the last century, miss. As to Frances,
+well--well, she knows my wishes. Where did you say she was? Really, I'm
+very much disturbed to-day; I had a shock, too, this morning--oh!
+nothing that you need know about; only Frances might be reasonable.
+Listen to me, Fluff; your father is in India, and, it so happens, can
+not have you with him at present, and your mother, poor soul, poor, dear
+soul! she's dead; it was the will of Heaven to remove her, but if there
+is a solemn duty devolving upon a girl, it is to see to her parents,
+provided they are with her. Frances has her faults, but I will say, as a
+rule, she knows her duty in this particular."
+
+The squire got up restlessly as he spoke, and, try as she would, Fluff
+found she could no longer keep him quiet in the dark south parlor. He
+went to the open window and called his daughter in a high and peevish
+voice. Frances, however, was nowhere within hearing.
+
+The fact was, when they were quite alone, Philip took her hand and said,
+almost peremptorily:
+
+"There is a seat under the elm-trees; we can talk there without being
+disturbed."
+
+"It has come," thought Frances. "I thought I might have been spared
+to-night. I have no answer ready--I don't know what is before me. The
+chances are that I must have nothing to say to Philip; every chance is
+against our marrying, and yet I can not--I know I can not refuse him
+to-night."
+
+They walked slowly together through the gathering dusk. When they
+reached the seat under the elm-tree Arnold turned swiftly, took
+Frances's hand in his, and spoke.
+
+"Now, Frances, now; and at last!" he said. "I have waited ten years for
+this moment. I have loved you with all my heart and strength for ten
+years."
+
+"It was very--very good of you, Philip."
+
+"Good of me! Why do you speak in that cold, guarded voice? Goodness had
+nothing to say to the matter. I could not help myself. What's the
+matter, Frances? A great change has come over you since the morning. Are
+you in trouble? Tell me what is troubling you, my darling?"
+
+Frances began to cry silently.
+
+"You must not use loving words to me," she said; "they--they wring my
+heart. I can not tell you what is the matter, Philip, at least for a
+week. And--oh! if you would let me answer you in a week--and oh! poor
+Philip, I am afraid there is very little hope."
+
+"Why so, Frances; don't you love me?"
+
+"I--I--ought not to say it. Let me go back to the house now."
+
+"I shall do nothing of the kind. Do you love me?"
+
+"Philip, I said I would give you an answer in a week."
+
+"This has nothing to say to your answer. You surely know now whether you
+love me or not."
+
+"I--Philip, can't you see? Need I speak?"
+
+"I see that you have kept me at a distance, Frances; that you have left
+me alone all day; that you seem very tired and unhappy. What I see--yes,
+what I see--does not, I confess, strike me in a favorable light."
+
+Frances, who had been standing all this time, now laid her hand on
+Arnold's shoulder. Her voice had grown quiet, and her agitation had
+disappeared.
+
+"A week will not be long in passing," she said. "A heavy burden has been
+laid upon me, and the worst part is the suspense. If you have waited
+ten years, you can wait another week, Philip. I can give you no other
+answer to-night."
+
+The hand which unconsciously had been almost caressing in its light
+touch was removed, and Frances returned quickly to the house. She came
+in by a back entrance, and, going straight to her own room, locked the
+door. Thus she could not hear her father when he called her.
+
+But Philip remained for a long time in the elm-walk, hurt, angry, and
+puzzled.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+"FLUFF WILL SUIT HIM BEST."
+
+
+Frances spent a very unhappy night. She could not doubt Philip's
+affection for her, but she knew very little about men, and was just then
+incapable of grasping its depth. Like many another woman, she overlooked
+the fact that in absolutely sacrificing herself she also sacrificed the
+faithful heart of the man who had clung to her memory for ten long
+years.
+
+Frances was too humble to suppose it possible that any man could be in
+serious trouble because he could not win her.
+
+"I know what will happen," she said to herself, as she turned from side
+to side of her hot, unrestful pillow. "I know exactly how things will
+be. The man to whom my father owes the money will accept the interest
+from me. Yes, of course, that is as it should be. That is what I ought
+to wish for and pray for. In about a week from now I shall go to live at
+Arden, and the next few years of my life will be taken up soothing Mrs.
+Carnegie's nerves. It is not a brilliant prospect, but I ought to be
+thankful if in that way I can add to my poor father's life. Of course,
+as soon as I hear from Mr. Spens, I must tell Philip I can have nothing
+to say to him. I must give Philip up. I must pretend that I don't love
+him. Perhaps he will be disappointed for awhile; but of course he will
+get over it. He'll get another wife by and by; perhaps he'll choose
+Fluff. Fluff is just the girl to soothe a man and make him happy. She is
+so bright, and round, and sweet, she has no hard angles anywhere, and
+she is so very pretty. I saw Philip looking at her with great admiration
+to-night. Then she is young, too. In every way she is more suited to
+him than I am. Oh, it won't be at all difficult for Philip to transfer
+his affections to Fluff! Dear little girl, she will make him happy. They
+will both be happy, and I must hide the pain in my heart somehow. I do
+believe, I do honestly believe, that Fluff is more suited to Philip than
+I am; for now and then, even if I had the happiest lot, I must have my
+sad days. I am naturally grave, and sometimes I have a sense of
+oppression. Philip would not have liked me when I was not gay. Some days
+I must feel grave and old, and no man would like that. No doubt
+everything would be for the best; at least, for Philip, and yet how
+much--how much I love him!"
+
+Frances buried her head in the bed-clothes, and sobbed, long and sadly.
+After this fit of crying she fell asleep.
+
+It was early morning, and the summer light was filling the room when she
+woke. She felt calmer now, and she resolutely determined to turn her
+thoughts in practical directions. There was every probability that the
+proposal she had made to Mr. Spens would be accepted, and if that were
+so she had much to do during the coming week.
+
+She rose at her usual early hour, and, going down-stairs, occupied
+herself first in the house, and then with Watkins in the garden. She
+rather dreaded Philip's appearance, but if he were up early he did not
+come out, and when Frances met him at breakfast his face wore a tired,
+rather bored expression. He took little or no notice of her, but he
+devoted himself to Fluff, laughing at her gay witty sallies, and trying
+to draw her out.
+
+After breakfast Frances had a long conversation with her father. She
+then told him what she meant to do in order that he might continue to
+live at the Firs. She told her story in a very simple, ungarnished
+manner, but she said a few words in a tone which rather puzzled the
+squire at the end.
+
+"I will now tell you," she said, "that when Philip wrote to me asking me
+to be his wife I was very, very glad. For all the long years of his
+absence I had loved him, and when I thought he was dead I was
+heart-broken. I meant to marry him after he wrote me that letter, but I
+would not say so at once, for I knew that I had grown much older, and I
+thought it quite possible that when he saw me he might cease to love me.
+That is not the case; last night he let me see into his heart, and he
+loves me very, very deeply. Still, if your creditor consents to the
+arrangement I have proposed, I can not marry Philip--I shall then
+absolutely and forever refuse him. But I do this for you, father, for my
+heart is Philip's. I wish you to understand, therefore, that I could not
+give up more for you than I am doing. It would be a comfort for me if,
+in return, you would give me a little affection."
+
+Frances stood tall and straight and pale by her father's side. She now
+looked full into his face. There were no tears in her eyes, but there
+was the passion of a great cry in the voice which she tried to render
+calm.
+
+The squire was agitated in spite of himself; he was glad Fluff was not
+present. He had an uneasy consciousness of certain words Fluff had said
+to him yesterday.
+
+"You are a good girl, Frances," he said, rising to his feet and laying
+his trembling old hand on her arm. "I love you after my fashion,
+child--I am not a man of many words. By and by, when you are old
+yourself, Frances, you won't regret having done something to keep your
+old father for a short time longer out of his grave. After all, even
+with your utmost endeavor, I am not likely to trouble any one long. When
+I am dead and gone, you can marry Philip Arnold, Frances."
+
+"No father."
+
+Frances's tone was quiet and commonplace now.
+
+"Sit down, please; don't excite yourself. I am not a woman to keep any
+man waiting for me. I trust, long before you are dead, father, Philip
+will be happy with another wife."
+
+"What! Fluff, eh?" said the old man. "What a capital idea! You will
+forgive my saying that she will suit him really much better than you,
+Frances. Ah, there they go down the elm-walk together. She certainly is
+a fascinating little thing. It will comfort you, Frances, to know that
+you do Philip no injury by rejecting him; for he really gets a much more
+suitable wife in that pretty young girl--you are decidedly _passée_, my
+love."
+
+Frances bit her lips hard.
+
+"On the whole, then, you are pleased with what I have done," she said,
+in a constrained voice.
+
+"Very much pleased, my dear. You have acted well, and really with
+uncommon sense for a woman. There is only one drawback that I can see
+to your scheme. While you are enjoying the luxuries and comforts of
+Arden, who is to take care of me at the Firs?"
+
+"I have thought of that," said Frances. "I acknowledge there is a slight
+difficulty; but I think matters can be arranged. First of all, father,
+please disabuse yourself of the idea that I shall be in a state of
+comfort and luxury. I shall be more or less a close prisoner; I shall be
+in servitude. Make of that what you please."
+
+"Yes, yes, my love--a luxurious house, carriages, and horses--an
+affectionate and most devoted friend in Lucilla Carnegie--the daintiest
+living, the most exquisitely furnished rooms. Yes, yes, I'm not
+complaining. I'm only glad your lot has fallen in such pleasant places,
+Frances. Still, I repeat, what is to become of me?"
+
+"I thought Mrs. Cooper, our old housekeeper, would come back and manage
+matters for you, father. She is very skillful and nice, and she knows
+your ways. Watkins quite understands the garden, and I myself, I am
+sure, will be allowed to come over once a fortnight or so. There is one
+thing--you must be very, very careful of your money, and Watkins must
+try to sell all the fruit and vegetables he can. Fluff, of course, can
+not stay here. My next thought is to arrange a home for her, but even if
+I have to leave next week, she need not hurry away at once. Now, father,
+if you will excuse me, I will go out to Watkins, for I have a great deal
+to say to him."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+EDGE TOOLS.
+
+
+"I have something to say to you, Fluff," said Frances.
+
+The young girl was standing in her white dress, with her guitar hung in
+its usual attitude by her side. She scarcely ever went anywhere without
+this instrument, and she was fond of striking up the sweetest, wildest
+songs to its accompaniment at any moment.
+
+Fluff, for all her extreme fairness and babyishness, had not a doll's
+face. The charming eyes could show many emotions, and the curved lips
+reveal many shades either of love or dislike. She had not a passionate
+face; there were neither heights nor depths about little Fluff; but she
+had a very warm heart, and was both truthful and fearless.
+
+She had been waiting in a sheltered part of the garden for over an hour
+for Arnold. He had promised to go down with her to the river--he was to
+sketch, and she was to play. It was intensely hot, even in the shadiest
+part of the squire's garden, but by the river there would be coolness
+and a breeze. Fluff was sweet-tempered, but she did not like to wait an
+hour for any man, and she could not help thinking it aggravating of
+Arnold to go on pacing up and down in the hot sun by the squire's side.
+What could the squire and Arnold have to say to each other? And why did
+the taller and younger man rather stoop as he walked? And why was his
+step so depressed, so lacking in energy that even Fluff, under her shady
+tree in the distance, noticed it?
+
+She was standing so when Frances came up to her; now and then her
+fingers idly touched her guitar, her rosy lips pouted, and her glowing
+dark-blue eyes were fixed reproachfully on Arnold's distant figure.
+
+Frances looked pale and fagged; she was not in the becoming white dress
+which she had worn during the first few days of Arnold's visit; she was
+in gray, and the gray was not particularly fresh nor cool in texture.
+
+"Fluff, I want to speak to you," she said.
+
+And she laid her hand on the girl's shoulder--then her eyes followed
+Fluff's; she saw Arnold, and her cheeks grew a little whiter than
+before.
+
+"Fluff misses him already," she whispered to her heart. "And he likes
+her. They are always together. Yes, I see plainly that I sha'n't do
+Philip any serious injury when I refuse him."
+
+"What is it, Frances?" said Fluff, turning her rather aggrieved little
+face full on the new-comer. "Do you want to say anything to me very
+badly? I do call it a shame of Mr. Arnold; he and the squire have
+chatted together in the South Walk for over an hour. It's just too bad,
+I might have been cooling myself by the river now; I'm frightfully hot."
+
+"No, you're not really very hot," said Frances, in the peculiarly
+caressing tone she always employed when speaking to her little cousin.
+"But I own it is very annoying to have to wait for any one--more
+particularly when you are doing nothing. Just lay your guitar on the
+grass, Fluff, and let us walk up and down under the shade here. I have
+something to say to you, and it will help to pass the time."
+
+Fluff obeyed at once.
+
+"You don't look well, Frances," she said, in her affectionate way, linking
+her hand through her cousin's arm. "I have noticed that you haven't looked
+yourself ever since the day you went to Martinstown--nearly a week ago now.
+Now I wonder at that, for the weather has been so perfect, and everything
+so sweet and nice; and I must say it is a comfort to have a pleasant man
+like Mr. Arnold in the house. I have enjoyed myself during the past week,
+and I greatly wonder you haven't, Frances."
+
+"I am glad you have been happy, dear," said Frances, ignoring the parts
+of Fluff's speech which related to herself. "But it is on that very
+subject I want now to speak to you. You like living at the Firs, don't
+you, Fluff?"
+
+"Why, of course, Frances. It was poor mamma's"--here the blue eyes
+brimmed with tears--"it was darling mother's wish that I should come
+here to live with you and the squire. I never could be so happy anywhere
+as at the Firs; I never, never want to leave it."
+
+"But of course you will leave it some day, little Fluff, for in the
+ordinary course of things you will fall in love and you will marry, and
+when this happens you will love your new home even better than this.
+However, Fluff, we need not discuss the future now, for the present is
+enough for us. I wanted to tell you, dear, that it is very probable,
+almost certain, that I shall have to go away from home. What is the
+matter, Fluff?"
+
+"You go away? Then I suppose that is why you look ill. Oh, how you have
+startled me!"
+
+"I am sorry to have to go, Fluff, and I can not tell you the reason. You
+must not ask me, for it is a secret. But the part that concerns you,
+dear, is that, if I go, I do not see how you can stay on very well at
+the Firs."
+
+"Of course I should not dream of staying, Francie. With you away, and
+Mr. Arnold gone"--here she looked hard into Frances's face--"it would be
+dull. Of course, I am fond of the squire, but I could not do without
+another companion. Where are you going, Frances? Could not I go with
+you?"
+
+"I wish you could, darling. I will tell you where I am going to-morrow
+or next day. It is possible that I may not go, but it is almost certain
+that I shall."
+
+"Oh, I trust, I hope, I pray that you will not go."
+
+"Don't do that, Fluff, for that, too, means a great trouble. Oh, yes, a
+great trouble and desolation. Now, dear, I really must talk to you about
+your own affairs. Leave me out of the question for a few moments, pet. I
+must find out what you would like to do, and where you would like to go.
+If I go away I shall have little or no time to make arrangements for
+you, so I must speak to you now. Have you any friends who would take you
+in until you would hear from your father, Fluff?"
+
+"I have no special friends. There are the Harewoods, but they are silly
+and flirty, and I don't care for them. They talk about dress--you should
+hear how they go on--and they always repeat the silly things the men
+they meet say to them. No, I won't go to the Harewoods. I think if I
+must leave you, Frances, I had better go to my old school-mistress, Mrs.
+Hopkins. She would be always glad to have me."
+
+"That is a good thought, dear. I will write to her to-day just as a
+precautionary measure. Ah, and here comes Philip. Philip, you have tried
+the patience of this little girl very sadly."
+
+In reply to Frances' speech Arnold slightly raised his hat; his face
+looked drawn and worried; his eyes avoided Frances's, but turned with a
+sense of refreshment to where Fluff stood looking cool and sweet, and
+with a world of tender emotion on her sensitive little face.
+
+"A thousand apologies," he said. "The squire kept me. Shall I carry your
+guitar? No, I won't sketch, thanks; but if you will let me lie on my
+back in the long grass by the river, and if you will sing me a song or
+two, I shall be grateful ever after."
+
+"Then I will write to Mrs. Hopkins, Fluff," said Frances. And as the two
+got over a stile which led down a sloping meadow to the river, she
+turned away. Arnold had neither looked at her nor addressed her again.
+
+"My father has been saying something to him," thought Frances. And she
+was right.
+
+The squire was not a man to take up an idea lightly and then drop it. He
+distinctly desired, come what might, that his daughter should not marry
+Arnold; he came to the sage conclusion that the best way to prevent
+such a catastrophe was to see Arnold safely married to some one else.
+The squire had no particular delicacy of feeling to prevent his alluding
+to topics which might be avoided by more sensitive men. He contrived to
+see Arnold alone, and then, rudely, for he did not care to mince his
+words, used expressions the reverse of truthful, which led Arnold, whose
+faith was already wavering in the balance, to feel almost certain that
+Frances never had cared for him, and never would do so. He then spoke of
+Fluff, praising her enthusiastically, and without stint, saying how
+lucky he considered the man who won not only a beautiful, but a wealthy
+bride, and directly suggested to Arnold that he should go in for her.
+
+"She likes you now," said the squire; "bless her little heart, she'd
+like any one who was kind to her. She's just the pleasantest companion
+any man could have--a perfect dear all round. To tell the truth, Arnold,
+even though she is my daughter, I think you are well rid of Frances."
+
+"I'm ashamed to hear you say so, sir. If what you tell me is true, your
+daughter has scarcely behaved kindly to me; but, notwithstanding that, I
+consider Frances quite the noblest woman I know."
+
+"Pshaw!" said the squire. "You agree with Fluff--she's always praising
+her, too. Of course, I have nothing to say against my daughter--she's my
+own uprearing, so it would ill beseem me to run her down. But for a
+wife, give me a fresh little soft roundabout, like Fluff yonder."
+
+Arnold bit his lip.
+
+"You have spoken frankly to me, and I thank you," he said. "If I am so
+unfortunate as not to win Miss Kane's regard, there is little use in my
+prolonging my visit here; but I have yet to hear her decision from her
+own lips. If you will allow me, I will leave you now, squire, for I
+promised Miss Danvers to spend some of this afternoon with her by the
+river."
+
+"With Fluff? Little puss--very good--very good--Ah!
+
+     'The time I've spent in wooing'
+
+never wasted, my boy--never wasted. I wish you all success from the
+bottom of my heart."
+
+"Insufferable old idiot!" growled Arnold, under his breath.
+
+But he was thoroughly hurt and annoyed, and when he saw Frances, could
+not bring himself even to say a word to her.
+
+The squire went back to the house to enjoy his afternoon nap, and to
+reflect comfortably on the delicious fact that he had done himself a
+good turn.
+
+"There is no use playing with edge tools," he murmured. "Frances means
+well, but she confessed to me she loved him. What more likely, then,
+that she would accept him, and, notwithstanding her good resolutions,
+leave her poor old father in the lurch? If Frances accepts Arnold, it
+will be ruin to me, and it simply must be prevented at all hazards."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+THE CUNNING LITTLE MOUSE.
+
+
+Fluff found her companion strangely dull. They reached the river, where
+Arnold, true to his promise, did stretch himself at full length in the
+long fragrant grass; and Fluff, true to her promise, touched her guitar
+gently, and gently, softly, and sympathetically sung a song or two. She
+sung about the "Auld acquaintance" who should never be forgot; she sung
+of "Robin Adair;" and, lastly, her clear little notes warbled out the
+exquisite Irish melody, "She is far from the land." Never had Fluff sung
+better. She threw feeling and sympathy into her notes--in short, she
+excelled herself in her desire to please. But when at the end of the
+third song Arnold still made no response, when not the flicker of an
+eyelid or the faintest dawn of a smile showed either approbation or
+pleasure, the spoiled child threw her guitar aside, and spoke pettishly.
+
+"I won't amuse you any more," she said. "I don't like sulky people; I am
+going home to my darling Frances. She is often troubled--oh, yes, she
+knows what trouble is--but she never sulks, never!"
+
+"Look here, Fluff," said Arnold. "I may call you Fluff, may I not?"
+
+"I don't mind."
+
+Fluff's big eyes began to dilate. She stretched out her hand to draw
+her guitar once more to her side. She was evidently willing to be
+reasonable.
+
+"Look here," repeated Arnold. He rose hastily, and leaning on a low wall
+which stood near, looked down at the bright little girl at his feet.
+"Fluff," he said, "should you greatly mind if I threw conventionality to
+the winds, and spoke frankly to you?"
+
+"I should not mind at all," said Fluff. "I don't know what you have got
+to say, but I hate conventionalities."
+
+"The fact is, I am very much bothered."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"And I haven't a soul to consult."
+
+Another "Oh!" and an upward glance of two lovely long-fringed eyes.
+
+"And I think you have a kind, affectionate heart, Fluff."
+
+"I have."
+
+"And you won't misunderstand a man who is half distracted?"
+
+"I am sorry you are half distracted. No, I won't misunderstand you."
+
+"That is right, and what I expected. I was thinking of all this, and
+wondering if I might speak frankly to you when you were singing those
+songs. That is the reason I did not applaud you, or say thank you, or
+anything else commonplace."
+
+"I understand now," said Fluff. "I'm very glad. I was puzzled at first,
+and I thought you rude. Now I quite understand."
+
+"Thank you, Fluff; if I may sit by your side I will tell you the whole
+story. The fact is, I want you to help me, but you can only do so by
+knowing everything. Why, what is the matter? Are you suddenly offended?"
+
+"No," answered little Ellen; "but I'm surprised. I'm so astonished that
+I'm almost troubled, and yet I never was so glad in my life. You are the
+very first person who has ever asked me to help them. I have amused
+people--oh, yes, often; but helped--you are the very first who has asked
+me that."
+
+"I believe you are a dear little girl," said Arnold, looking at her
+affectionately; "and if any one can set things right now, you are the
+person. Will you listen to my story? May I begin?"
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"Remember, I am not going to be conventional."
+
+"You said that before."
+
+"I want to impress it upon you. I am going to say the sort of things
+that girls seldom listen to."
+
+"You make me feel dreadfully curious," said Fluff. "Please begin."
+
+"The beginning is this: Ten years ago I came here. I stayed here for a
+month. I fell in love with Frances."
+
+"Oh--oh! darling Frances. And you fell in love with her ten years ago?"
+
+"I did. I went to Australia. For five years I had an awful time there;
+my friends at home supposed me to be dead. The fact is, I was taken
+captive by some of the bushmen. That has nothing to say to my story,
+only all the time I thought of Frances. I remained in Australia five
+more years. During that five years I was making my fortune. As I added
+pound to pound, I thought still of Frances. I am rich now, and I have
+come home to marry her."
+
+"Oh," said little Fluff, with a deep-drawn sigh, "what a lovely story!
+But why, then, is not Frances happy?"
+
+"Ah, that is where the mystery comes in; that is what I want you to find
+out. I see plainly that Frances is very unhappy. She won't say either
+yes or no to my suit. Her father gives me to understand that she does
+not love me; that she never loved me. He proposes that instead of
+marrying Frances I should try to make you my wife. He was urging me to
+do so just now when I kept you waiting. All the time he was telling me
+that Frances never could or would love me, and that you were the wife of
+all others for me."
+
+"Why do you tell me all this?" said Fluff. Her cheeks had crimsoned, and
+tears trembled on her eyelashes. "Why do you spoil a beautiful story by
+telling me this at the end?"
+
+"Because the squire will hint it to you, Fluff; because even Frances
+herself will begin to think that I am turning my affections in your
+direction; because if you help me as I want you to help me, we must be
+much together; because I must talk very freely to you; in short, because
+it is absolutely necessary that we should quite understand each other."
+
+"Yes," said Fluff. "I see now what you mean; it is all right; thank you
+very much." She rose to her feet. "I will be a sort of sister to you,"
+she said, laying her little hand in his; "for I love Frances better than
+any sister, and when you are her husband you will be my brother."
+
+"No brother will ever be truer to you, Fluff; but, alas, and alas! is it
+ever likely that Frances can be my wife?"
+
+"Of course she will," said Fluff. "Frances is so unhappy because she
+loves you."
+
+"Nonsense."
+
+"Well, I think so, but I'll soon find out."
+
+"You will? If you were my real sister, I would call you a darling."
+
+"You may call me anything you please. I am your sister to all intents
+and purposes, until you are married to my darling, darling Frances. Oh,
+won't I give it to the squire! I think he's a perfectly horrid old man,
+and I used to be fond of him."
+
+"But you will be careful, Fluff--a rash word might do lots of mischief."
+
+"Of course I'll be careful. I have lots of tact."
+
+"You are the dearest girl in the world, except Frances."
+
+"Of course I am. That was a very pretty speech, and I am going to reward
+you. I am going to tell you something."
+
+"What is that?"
+
+"Frances is going away."
+
+Arnold gave a slight start.
+
+"I did not know that," he said. "When?"
+
+"She told me when you were talking to the squire. She is going away very
+soon, and she wants me to go too. I am to go back to my old
+school-mistress, Mrs. Hopkins. Frances is very sorry to go, and yet when
+I told her that I hoped she would not have to, she said I must not wish
+that, for that would mean a great calamity. I don't understand Frances
+at present, but I shall soon get to the bottom of everything."
+
+"I fear it is all too plain," said Arnold, lugubriously. "Frances goes
+away because she does not love me, and she is unhappy because she does
+not wish to give me pain."
+
+"You are quite wrong, sir. Frances is unhappy on her own account, not on
+yours. Well, I'll find out lots of things to-night, and let you know.
+I'm going to be the cunningest little mouse in the world; but oh, won't
+the squire have a bad time of it!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+"LITTLE GIRLS IMAGINE THINGS."
+
+
+The morning's post brought one letter. It was addressed to Miss Kane,
+and was written in a business hand. The squire looked anxiously at his
+daughter as she laid it unopened by her plate. Fluff, who was dressed
+more becomingly than usual, whose eyes were bright, and who altogether
+seemed in excellent spirits, could not help telegraphing a quick glance
+at Arnold; the little party were seated round the breakfast-table, and
+the squire, who intercepted Fluff's glance, chuckled inwardly. He was
+very anxious with regard to the letter which Frances so provokingly left
+unopened, but he also felt a pleasing thrill of satisfaction.
+
+"Ha! ha!" he said to himself, "my good young man, you are following my
+advice, for all you looked so sulky yesterday. Fluff, little dear, I do
+you a good turn when I provide you with an excellent husband, and I
+declare, poor as I am, I won't see you married without giving you a
+wedding present."
+
+After breakfast the squire rose, pushed aside his chair, and was about
+to summon his daughter to accompany him to the south parlor, when Fluff
+ran up to his side.
+
+"I want to speak to you most particularly," she said. "I have a secret
+to tell you," and she raised her charming, rounded, fresh face to his.
+He patted her on the cheek.
+
+"Is it very important?" he said, a little uneasily, for he noticed that
+Philip and Frances were standing silently, side by side in the
+bay-window, and that Frances had removed her letter from its envelope,
+and was beginning to read it.
+
+"She'll absolutely tell that fellow the contents of the most important
+letter she ever received," inwardly grumbled the squire. "He'll know
+before her father knows." Aloud he said, "I have a little business to
+talk over with Frances just now, Ellen. I am afraid your secret must
+wait, little puss."
+
+"But that's what it can't do," answered Fluff. "Don't call Frances;
+she's reading a letter. What a rude old man you are, to think of
+disturbing her! I'm quite ashamed of you. Now come with me, for I must
+tell you my important secret."
+
+The squire found himself wheedled and dragged into the south parlor.
+There he was seated in his most comfortable chair, just as much sunlight
+as he liked best was allowed to warm him, a footstool was placed under
+his feet, and Fluff, drawing a second forward, seated herself on it,
+laid her hand on his knee, and looked at him with an expression of
+pleased affection.
+
+"Aren't you dreadfully curious?" she said.
+
+"Oh, yes, Fluff--quite devoured with curiosity. I wonder now what
+Frances is doing; the fact is, she has received an important letter.
+It's about my affairs. I am naturally anxious to know its contents. Tell
+your secret as quickly as possible, little woman, and let me get to more
+important matters."
+
+"More important matters? I'm ashamed of you," said Fluff, shaking her
+finger at him. "The fact is, squire, you mustn't be in a hurry about
+seeing Frances--you must curb your impatience; it's very good for you to
+curb it--it's a little discipline, and discipline properly administered
+always turns people out delightful. You'll be a very noble old man when
+you have had a little of the proper sort of training. Now, now--why, you
+look quite cross; I declare you're not a bit handsome when you're cross.
+Frances can't come to you at present--she's engaged about her own
+affairs."
+
+"And what may they be, pray, miss?"
+
+"Ah, that's my secret!"
+
+Fluff looked down; a becoming blush deepened the color in her cheeks;
+she toyed idly with a rosebud which she held in her hand. Something in
+her attitude, and the significant smile on her face, made the squire
+both angry and uneasy.
+
+"Speak out, child," he said. "You know I hate mysteries."
+
+"But I can't speak out," said Fluff. "The time to speak out hasn't
+come--I can only guess. Squire, I'm so glad--I really do think that
+Frances is in love with Philip."
+
+"You really do?" said the squire. He mimicked her tone sarcastically,
+red, angry spots grew on his old cheeks. "Frances in love with Philip,
+indeed! You have got pretty intimate with that young Australian, Fluff,
+when you call him by his Christian name."
+
+"Oh, yes; we arranged that yesterday. He's like a brother to me. I told
+you some time ago that he was in love with Frances. Now, I'm so
+delighted to be able to say that I think Frances is in love with him."
+
+"Tut--tut!" said the squire. "Little girls imagine things. Little girls
+are very fanciful."
+
+"Tut--tut!" responded Fluff, taking off his voice to the life. "Little
+girls see far below the surface; old men are very obtuse."
+
+"Fluff, if that's your secret, I don't think much of it. Run away now,
+and send my daughter to me."
+
+"I'll do nothing of the kind, for if she's not reading her letter she's
+talking to her true love. Oh, you must have a heart of stone to wish to
+disturb them!"
+
+The squire, with some difficulty, pushed aside his footstool, hobbled to
+his feet, and walked to the window where the southern sun was pouring
+in. In the distance he saw the gray of Frances's dress through the
+trees, and Philip's square, manly, upright figure walking slowly by her
+side.
+
+He pushed open the window, and hoarsely and angrily called his
+daughter's name.
+
+"She doesn't hear you," said Fluff. "I expect he's proposing for her
+now; isn't it lovely? Aren't you delighted? Oh, where's my guitar? I'm
+going to play 'Sweethearts.' I do hope, squire, you'll give Frances a
+very jolly wedding."
+
+But the squire had hobbled out of the room.
+
+He was really very lame with rheumatic gout; but the sight of that gray,
+slender figure, pacing slowly under the friendly sheltering trees, was
+too much for him; he was overcome with passion, anxiety, rage.
+
+"She's giving herself away," he murmured. "That little vixen, Fluff, is
+right--she's in love with the fellow, and she's throwing herself at his
+head; it's perfectly awful to think of it. She has forgotten all about
+her old father. I'll be a beggar in my old age; the Firs will have to
+go; I'll be ruined, undone. Oh, was there ever such an undutiful
+daughter? I must go to her. I must hobble up to that distant spot as
+quickly as possible; perhaps when she sees me she may pause before she
+irrevocably commits so wicked an act. Oh, how lame I am! what agonies
+I'm enduring! Shall I ever be in time? He's close to her--he's almost
+touching her--good gracious, he'll kiss her if I'm not quick! that
+little wretch Fluff could have reached them in a twinkling, but she
+won't do anything to oblige me this morning. Hear her now, twanging away
+at that abominable air, 'Sweethearts'--oh--oh--puff--puff--I'm quite
+blown! This walk will kill me! Frances--I say, Frances, Frances."
+
+The feeble, cracked old voice was borne on the breeze, and the last high
+agonized note reached its goal.
+
+"I am coming, father," responded his daughter. She turned to Arnold and
+held out her hand.
+
+"God bless you!" she said.
+
+"Is your answer final, Frances?"
+
+"Yes--yes. I wish I had not kept you a week in suspense; it was cruel to
+you, but I thought--oh, I must not keep my father."
+
+"Your father has you always, and this is my last moment. Then you'll
+never, never love me?"
+
+"I can not marry you, Philip."
+
+"That is no answer. You never loved me."
+
+"I can not marry you."
+
+"I won't take 'no' unless you say with it, 'I never loved you; I never
+can love you.'"
+
+"Look at my father, Philip; he is almost falling. His face is crimson. I
+must go to him. God bless you!"
+
+She took his hand, and absolutely, before the squire's horrified eyes,
+raised it to her lips, then flew lightly down the path, and joined the
+old man.
+
+"Is anything wrong, father? How dreadful you look!"
+
+"You--you have accepted the fellow! You have deserted me; I saw you kiss
+his hand. Fah! it makes me sick. You've accepted him, and I am ruined!"
+
+"On the contrary, I have refused Philip. That kiss was like one we give
+to the dead. Don't excite yourself; come into the house. I am yours
+absolutely from this time out."
+
+"Hum--haw--you gave me an awful fright, I can tell you." The squire
+breathed more freely. "You set that little Fluff on to begin it, and you
+ended it. I won't be the better of this for some time. Yes, let me lean
+on you, Frances; it's a comfort to feel I'm not without a daughter. Oh,
+it would have been a monstrous thing had you deserted me! Did I not rear
+you, and bring you up? But in cases of the affections--I mean in cases
+of those paltry passions, women are so weak."
+
+"But not your daughter, Frances Kane. I, for your sake, have been
+strong. Now, if you please, we will drop the subject; I will not discuss
+it further. You had better come into the house, father, until you get
+cool."
+
+"You had a letter this morning, Frances--from Spens, was it not?"
+
+"Oh, yes; I had forgotten; your creditors will accept my terms for the
+present. I must drive over to Arden this afternoon, and arrange what day
+I go there."
+
+"I shall miss you considerably, Frances. It's a great pity you couldn't
+arrange to come home to sleep; you might see to my comforts then by
+rising a little earlier in the morning. I wish, my dear, you would
+propose it to Mrs. Carnegie; if she is a woman of any consideration she
+will see how impossible it is that I should be left altogether."
+
+"I can not do that, father. Even you must pay a certain price for a
+certain good thing. You do not wish to leave the Firs, but you can not
+keep both the Firs and me. I will come and see you constantly, but my
+time from this out belongs absolutely to Mrs. Carnegie. She gives me an
+unusually large salary, and, being her servant, I must endeavor in all
+particulars to please her, and must devote my time to her to a certain
+extent day and night."
+
+"Good gracious, Frances, I do hope that though adversity has come to the
+house of Kane, you are not going so far to forget yourself as to stoop
+to menial work at Arden. Why, rather than that--rather than that, it
+would be better for us to give up the home of our fathers."
+
+"No work need be menial, done in the right spirit," responded Frances.
+
+Her eyes wandered away, far up among the trees, where Arnold still
+slowly paced up and down. In the cause of pride her father might even be
+induced to give up the Firs. Was love, then, to weigh nothing in the
+scale?
+
+She turned suddenly to the father.
+
+"You must rest now," she said. "You need not be the least anxious on
+your own account any more. You must rest and take things quietly, and
+do your best not to get ill. It would be very bad for you to be ill now,
+for there would be no one to nurse you. Remember that, and be careful.
+Now go and sit in the parlor and keep out of draughts. I can not read to
+you this morning, for I shall be very busy, and you must not call me nor
+send for me unless it is absolutely necessary. Now, good-bye for the
+present."
+
+Frances did not, as her usual custom was, establish her father in his
+easy-chair; she did not cut his morning paper for him, nor attend to the
+one or two little comforts which he considered essential; she left him
+without kissing him, only her full, grave, sorrowful eyes rested for one
+moment with a look of great pathos on his wrinkled, discontented old
+face, then she went away.
+
+The squire was alone; even the irritating strain of "Sweethearts" no
+longer annoyed him. Fluff had ceased to play--Fluff's gay little figure
+was no longer visible; the man who had paced up and down under the
+distant trees had disappeared; Frances's gray dress was nowhere to be
+seen.
+
+The whole place was still, oppressively still--not a bee hummed, not a
+bird sung. The atmosphere was hot and dry, but there was no sunshine;
+the trees were motionless, there was a feeling of coming thunder in the
+air.
+
+The squire felt calmed and triumphant, at the same time he felt
+irritated and depressed. His anxiety was over; his daughter had done
+what he wished her to do--the Firs was saved, at least for his
+lifetime--the marriage he so dreaded was never to be. At the same time,
+he felt dull and deserted; he knew what it was to have his desire, and
+leanness in his soul. It would be very dull at the Firs without Frances;
+he should miss her much when she went away. He was a feeble old man, and
+he was rapidly growing blind. Who would read for him, and chat with him,
+and help to while away the long and tedious hours? He could not spend
+all his time eating and sleeping. What should he do now with all the
+other hours of the long day and night? He felt pleased with Frances--he
+owned she was a good girl; but at the same time he was cross with her;
+she ought to have thought of some other way of delivering him. She was a
+clever woman--he owned she was a clever woman; but she ought not to
+have effected his salvation by deserting him.
+
+The squire mumbled and muttered to himself. He rose from his arm-chair
+and walked to the window; he went out and paced up and down the terrace;
+he came in again. Was there ever such a long and tiresome morning? He
+yawned; he did not know what to do with himself.
+
+A little after noon the door of the south parlor was quickly opened and
+Arnold came in.
+
+"I have just come to say good-bye, sir."
+
+The squire started in genuine amazement. He did not love Arnold, but
+after two hours of solitude he was glad to hear any human voice. It
+never occurred to him, too, that any one should feel Frances such a
+necessity as to alter plans on her account.
+
+"You are going away?" he repeated. "You told me yesterday you would stay
+here for at least another week or ten days."
+
+"Exactly, but I have changed my mind," said Arnold. "I came here for an
+object--my object has failed. Good-bye."
+
+"But now, really--" the squire strove to retain the young man's hand in
+his clasp. "You don't seriously mean to tell me that you are leaving a
+nice place like the Firs in this fine summer weather because Frances has
+refused you."
+
+"I am going away on that account," replied Arnold, stiffly. "Good-bye."
+
+"You astonish me--you quite take my breath away. Frances couldn't accept
+you, you know. She had me to see after. I spoke to you yesterday about
+her, and I suggested that you should take Fluff instead. A dear little
+thing, Fluff. Young, and with money; who would compare the two?"
+
+"Who would compare the two?" echoed Arnold. "I repeat, squire, that I
+must now wish you good-bye, and I distinctly refuse to discuss the
+subject of my marriage any further."
+
+Arnold's hand scarcely touched Squire Kane's. He left the south parlor,
+and his footsteps died away in the distance.
+
+Once more there was silence and solitude. The sky grew darker, the
+atmosphere hotter and denser--a growl of thunder was heard in the
+distance--a flash of lightning lighted up the squire's room. Squire Kane
+was very nervous in a storm--at all times he hated to be long alone--now
+he felt terrified, nervous, aggrieved. He rang his bell pretty sharply.
+
+"Jane," he said to the servant who answered his summons, "send Miss Kane
+to me at once."
+
+"Miss Kane has gone to Martinstown, sir. She drove in in the pony-cart
+an hour go."
+
+"Oh--h'm--I suppose Mr. Arnold went with her?"
+
+"No, sir. Mr. Arnold took a short cut across the fields; he says the
+carrier is to call for his portmanteau, and he's not a-coming back."
+
+"H'm--most inconsiderate--I hate parties broken up in a hurry like this.
+What a vivid flash that was! Jane, I'm afraid we are going to have an
+awful storm."
+
+"It looks like it, sir, and the clouds is coming direct this way.
+Watkins says as the strength of the storm will break right over the
+Firs, sir."
+
+"My good Jane, I'll thank you to shut the windows, and ask Miss Danvers
+to have the goodness to step this way."
+
+"Miss Danvers have a headache, sir, and is lying down. She said as no
+one is to disturb her."
+
+The squire murmured something inarticulate. Jane lingered for a moment
+at the door, but finding nothing more was required of her, softly
+withdrew.
+
+Then in the solitude of his south parlor the squire saw the storm come
+up--the black clouds gathered silently from east and west, a slight
+shiver shook the trees, a sudden wind agitated the slowly moving
+clouds--it came between the two banks of dark vapor, and then the
+thunder rolled and the lightning played. It was an awful storm, and the
+squire, who was timid at such times, covered his face with his trembling
+hands, and even feebly tried to pray. It is possible that if Frances had
+come to him then he would, in the terror fit which had seized him, have
+given her her heart's desire. Even the Firs became of small account to
+Squire Kane, while the lightning flashed in his eyes and the thunder
+rattled over his head. He was afraid--he would have done anything to
+propitiate the Maker of the storm--he would have even sacrificed himself
+if necessary.
+
+But the clouds rolled away, the sunshine came out. Fear vanished from
+the squire's breast, and when dinner was announced he went to partake of
+it with an excellent appetite. Fluff and he alone had seats at the
+board; Arnold and Frances were both away.
+
+Fluff's eyes were very red. She was untidy, too, and her whole
+appearance might best be described by the word "disheveled." She
+scarcely touched her dinner, and her chattering, merry tongue was
+silent.
+
+The squire was a man who never could abide melancholy in others. He had
+had a fright; his fright was over. He was therefore exactly in the mood
+to be petted and humored, to have his little jokes listened to and
+applauded, to have his thrice-told tales appreciated. He was just in the
+mood, also, to listen to pretty nothings from a pretty girl's lips, to
+hear her sing, perhaps to walk slowly with her by and by in the
+sunshine.
+
+Fluff's red eyes, however, Fluff's disordered, untidy appearance, her
+downcast looks, her want of appetite, presented to him, just then, a
+most unpleasing picture. As his way was, he resented it, and began to
+grumble.
+
+"I have had a very dull morning," he began.
+
+"Indeed, sir? I won't take any pease, thank you, Jane; I'm not hungry."
+
+"I hate little girls to come to table who are not hungry," growled the
+squire. "Bring the pease here, Jane."
+
+"Shall I go up to my room again?" asked Fluff, laying down her knife and
+fork.
+
+"Oh, no, my love; no, not by any means."
+
+The squire was dreadfully afraid of having to spend as solitary an
+afternoon as morning.
+
+"I am sorry you are not quite well, Fluff," he said, hoping to pacify the
+angry little maid; "but I suppose it was the storm. Most girls are very
+much afraid of lightning. It is silly of them; for really in a room with
+the windows shut--glass, you know, my dear, is a non-conductor--there is
+not much danger. But there is no combating the terrors of the weaker sex. I
+can fancy you, Fluff, burying that pretty little head of yours under the
+bed-clothes. That doubtless accounts for its present rough condition. You
+should have come to me, my love; I'd have done my best to soothe your
+nervous fears."
+
+Fluff's blue eyes were opened wide.
+
+"I don't know what you are talking about," she said. "I afraid of the
+storm, and burying my head under the bed-clothes, as if I were a baby or
+a silly old man! Yes, of course I knew there was a storm, but I didn't
+notice it much, I was too busy packing."
+
+This last remark effectually distracted the squire's attention.
+
+"Packing! good gracious, child, you are not going away too?"
+
+"Of course I am; you don't suppose I am going to stay here without my
+darling Francie?"
+
+"But what am I to do, Fluff?"
+
+"I don't know, squire. I suppose you'll stay on at the Firs."
+
+"Alone! Do you mean I'm to stay here alone?"
+
+"I suppose so, now that you have sent Frances away."
+
+"I have not sent her away. What do you mean, miss?"
+
+"I'm not going to say what I mean," said Fluff. "Dear Frances is very
+unhappy, and I'm very unhappy too, and Philip, I think, is the most
+miserable of all. As far as I can tell, all this unhappiness has been
+caused by you, squire, so I suppose you are happy; but if you think I am
+going to stay at the Firs without Frances you are very much mistaken. I
+would not stay with you now on any account, for you are a selfish old
+man, and I don't love you any longer."
+
+This angry little speech was uttered after Jane had withdrawn, and even
+while Fluff spoke she pushed some fruit toward the squire.
+
+"You are a selfish old man," she continued, her cheeks burning and her
+eyes flashing; "you want your comforts, you want to be amused, and to
+get the best of everything; and if that is so you don't care for others.
+Well, here is the nicest fruit in the garden--eat it; and by and by I'll
+sing for you, if my singing gives you pleasure. I'll do all this while I
+stay, but I'm going away the day after to-morrow. But I don't love you
+any more, for you are unkind to Frances."
+
+The squire was really too much astonished to reply. Nobody in all his
+life had ever spoken to him in this way before; he felt like one who was
+assaulted and beaten all over. He was stunned, and yet he still clung in
+a sort of mechanical way to the comforts which were dearer to him than
+life. He picked out the finest strawberries which Fluff had piled on his
+plate, and conveyed them to his lips. Fluff flew out of the room for her
+guitar, and when she returned she began to sing a gay Italian air in a
+very sprightly and effective manner. In the midst of her song the squire
+broke in with a sudden question.
+
+"What do you mean by saying I am unkind to Frances?"
+
+Fluff's guitar dropped with a sudden clatter to the floor.
+
+"You won't let her marry Philip--she loves him with all her heart, and
+he loves her. They have cared for each other for ten long years, and now
+you are parting them. You are a dreadfully, dreadfully selfish old man,
+and I hate you!"
+
+Here the impulsive little girl burst into tears and ran out of the room.
+The squire sat long over his strawberries.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+"I HATE THE SQUIRE."
+
+
+It was arranged that Frances should take up her abode at Arden on the
+following Friday, and on Thursday Fluff was to go to London, to
+stay--for a time, at least--under the sheltering wings of her late
+school-mistress, Mrs. Hopkins. With regard to her departure, Fluff made
+an extraordinary request--she earnestly begged that Frances should not
+accompany her to Martinstown. She gave no reason for this desire; but
+she enforced it by sundry pettings, by numerous embraces, by both tears
+and smiles--in short, by the thousand and one fascinations which the
+little creature possessed. A certain Mrs. Mansfield was to escort Fluff
+to London; and Frances arranged that the two should meet at the railway
+station, and catch the twelve-o'clock train for town.
+
+"I don't want you to introduce her to me, darling," said Fluff. "I can't
+possibly mistake her, for she is tall, and has a hooked nose, and always
+wears black, you say. And you know what I am, just exactly like my name;
+so it will be impossible for us not to recognize each other."
+
+Thus Fluff got her way, and Frances saw her off, not from the railway
+platform, but standing under the elm-trees where Fluff had first seen
+her and Arnold together.
+
+When a turn in the road quite hid Frances Kane from the little girl's
+view she clasped her hands with a mixture of ecstasy and alarm.
+
+"Now I can have my way," she said to herself, "and dear Frances will
+never, never suspect."
+
+A cab had been sent for to Martinstown to fetch away Fluff and her
+belongings. The driver was a stranger, and Fluff thought it extremely
+unlikely that, even if he wished to do so he would be able to tell
+tales. She arrived in good time at the railway station, instantly
+assumed a business-like air, looked out for no tall lady with a hooked
+nose in black, but calmly booked her luggage for a later train, and
+calling the same cabman, asked him to drive her to the house of the
+lawyer, Mr. Spens.
+
+The lawyer was at home, and the pretty, excitable little girl was
+quickly admitted into his presence. Mr. Spens thought he had seldom seen
+a more radiant little vision than this white-robed, eager, childish
+creature--childish and yet womanly just then, with both purpose and
+desire in her face.
+
+"You had my letter, hadn't you?" said Fluff. "I am Ellen Danvers; Miss
+Kane is my cousin, and my dearest, and most dear friend."
+
+"I have had your letter, Miss Danvers, and I remained at home in
+consequence. Won't you sit down? What a beautiful day this is!"
+
+"Oh, please, don't waste time over the weather. I am come to talk to you
+about Frances. You have got to prevent it, you know."
+
+"My dear young lady, to prevent what?"
+
+"Well, she's not to go to Arden. She's not to spend the rest of her days
+with a dreadful, fanciful old woman! She's to do something else quite
+different. You've got to prevent Frances making herself and--and--others
+miserable all her life. Do you hear, Mr. Spens?"
+
+"Yes, I certainly hear, Miss Danvers. But how am I to alter or affect
+Miss Kane's destiny is more than I can at present say. You must explain
+yourself. I have a very great regard for Miss Kane; I like her
+extremely. I will do anything in my power to benefit her; but as she
+chose entirely of her own free will--without any one, as far as I am
+aware, suggesting it to her--to become companion to Mrs. Carnegie, I do
+not really see how I am to interfere."
+
+"Yes, you are," said Fluff, whose eyes were now full of tears. "You are
+to interfere because you are at the bottom of the mystery. You know why
+Frances is going to Mrs. Carnegie, and why she is refusing to marry
+Philip Arnold, who has loved her for ten years, and whom she loves with
+all her heart. Oh, I can't help telling you this! It is a secret, a kind
+of secret, but you have got to give me another confidence in return."
+
+"I did not know about Arnold, certainly," responded Spens. "That alters
+things. I am truly sorry; I am really extremely sorry. Still I don't see
+how Miss Kane can act differently. She has promised her father now: it
+is the only way to save him. Poor girl! I am sorry for her, but it is
+the only way to save the squire."
+
+"Oh, the squire!" exclaimed Fluff, jumping up in her seat, and clasping
+her hands with vexation. "Who cares for the squire? Is he to have
+everything. Is nobody to be thought of but him? Why should Frances make
+all her days wretched on his account? Why should Frances give up the man
+she is so fond of, just to give him a little more comfort and luxuries
+that he doesn't want? Look here, Mr. Spens, it is wrong--it must not be!
+I won't have it!"
+
+Mr. Spens could not help smiling.
+
+"You are very eager and emphatic," he said. "I should like to know how
+you are going to prevent Miss Kane taking her own way."
+
+"It is not her own way; it is the squire's way."
+
+"Well, it comes to the same thing. How are you to prevent her taking the
+squire's way?"
+
+"Oh, you leave that to me! I have an idea. I think I can work it
+through. Only I want you, Mr. Spens, to tell me the real reason why
+Frances is going away from the Firs, and why she has to live at Arden.
+She will explain nothing; she only says it is necessary. She won't give
+any reason either to Philip or me."
+
+"Don't you think, Miss Danvers, I ought to respect her confidence? If
+she wished you to know, she would tell you herself."
+
+"Oh, please--please tell me! Do tell me! I won't do any mischief, I
+promise you. Oh, if only you knew how important it is that I should find
+out!"
+
+The lawyer considered for a moment. Fluff's pretty words and beseeching
+gestures were having an effect upon him. After all, if there was any
+chance of benefiting Miss Kane, why should the squire's miserable
+secret be concealed? After a time he said:
+
+"You look like a child, but I believe you have sense. I suppose whatever
+I tell you, you intend to repeat straight-way to Mr. Arnold?"
+
+"Well, yes; I certainly mean to tell him."
+
+"Will you promise to tell no one but Arnold?"
+
+"Yes, I can promise that."
+
+"Then the facts are simple enough. The squire owes six thousand pounds
+to a client of mine in London. My client wants to sell the Firs in order
+to recover his money. The squire says if he leaves the Firs he must die.
+Miss Kane comes forward and offers to go as companion to Mrs. Carnegie,
+Mrs. Carnegie paying her three hundred pounds a year, which sum she
+hands over to my client as interest at five per cent. on the six
+thousand pounds. These are the facts of the case in a nutshell, Miss
+Danvers. Do you understand them?"
+
+"I think I do. I am very much obliged to you. What is the name of your
+client?"
+
+"You must excuse me, young lady--I can not divulge my client's name."
+
+"But if Philip wanted to know very badly, you would tell him?"
+
+"That depends on the reason he gave for requiring the information."
+
+"I think it is all right, then," said Fluff, rising to her feet.
+"Good-bye, I am greatly obliged to you. Oh, that dear Frances. Mr.
+Spens, I think I hate the squire."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+"MR. LOVER."
+
+
+If there was a girl that was a prime favorite with her school-fellows,
+that girl was Ellen Danvers. She had all the qualifications which insure
+success in school life. She was extremely pretty, but she was
+unconscious of it; she never prided herself on her looks, she never
+tried to heighten her loveliness by a thousand little arts which
+school-girls always find out and despise. She had always plenty of
+money, which at school, if not elsewhere, is much appreciated. She was
+generous, she was bright, she was loving; she was not sufficiently
+clever to make any one envious of her, but at the same time she was so
+very smart and quick that not the cleverest girl in the school could
+despise her.
+
+When Fluff went away from Merton House the tribulation experienced on
+all sides was really severe. The girls put their heads together, and
+clubbed to present her with a gold bangle, and she in return left them
+her blessing, a kiss all round, and a pound's worth of chocolate creams.
+
+The school was dull when Fluff went away; she took a place which no one
+else quite held. She was not at all weak or namby-pamby, but she was a
+universal peace-maker. Fluff made peace simply by throwing oil on
+troubled waters, for she certainly was not one to preach; and as to
+pointing a moral, she did not know the meaning of the word.
+
+It was with great rejoicing, therefore, that the young ladies of Mrs.
+Hopkins' select seminary were informed on a certain Thursday morning
+that their idol was about to return to them. She was no longer to take
+her place in any of the classes; she was to be a parlor boarder, and go
+in and out pretty much as she pleased; but she was to be in the house
+again, and they were to see her bright face, and hear her gay laugh, and
+doubtless she would once more be every one's confidante and friend.
+
+In due course Fluff arrived. It was late when she made her appearance,
+for she had missed the train by which Frances had intended her to
+travel. But late as the hour was--past nine o'clock--Fluff found time to
+pay a visit to the school-room, where the elder girls were finishing
+preparations for to-morrow, to rush through the dormitories, and kiss
+each expectant little one.
+
+"It's just delicious!" whispered Sibyl Lake, the youngest scholar in the
+school. "We have you for the last fortnight before we break up. Just
+fancy, you will be there to see me if I get a prize!"
+
+"Yes, Sibyl, and if you do I'll give you sixpennyworth of chocolate
+creams."
+
+Sibyl shouted with joy.
+
+The other children echoed her glee. One of the teachers was obliged to
+interfere. Fluff vanished to the very select bedroom that she was now to
+occupy, and order was once more restored.
+
+Fluff's name was now in every one's mouth. Didn't she look prettier than
+ever? Wasn't she nicer than ever? Hadn't she a wonderfully grown-up air?
+
+One day it was whispered through the school that Fluff had got a lover.
+This news ran like wildfire from the highest class to the lowest. Little
+Sibyl asked what a lover meant, and Marion Jones, a lanky girl of
+twelve, blushed while she answered her.
+
+"It isn't proper to speak about lovers," said Katie Philips. "Mother
+said we weren't to know anything about them. I asked her once, and that
+was what she said. She said it wasn't proper for little girls to know
+about lovers."
+
+"But grown girls have them," responded Marion, "I think it must be
+captivating. I wish I was grown up."
+
+"You're much too ugly, Marion, to have a lover," responded Mary Mills.
+"Oh, for goodness' sake, don't get so red and angry! She's going to
+strike me! Save me, girls!"
+
+"Hush!" exclaimed Katie, "hush! come this way. Look through the lattice.
+Look through the wire fence just here. Can you see? There's Fluff, and
+there's her lover. He's rather old, isn't he? But hasn't he _l'air
+distingué_? Isn't Fluff pretty when she blushes? The lover is rather
+tall. Oh, do look, Mary, can you see--can you see?"
+
+"Yes, he has fair hair," responded Mary. "It curls. I'm sorry it is fair
+and curly, for Fluff's is the same. He should be dark, like a Spaniard.
+Oh, girls, girls, he has got such lovely blue eyes, and such white
+teeth! He smiled just now, and I saw them."
+
+"Let me peep," said Marion. "I haven't got one peep yet."
+
+But here the voices became a little loud, and the lovers, if they were
+lovers, passed out of sight behind the yew hedge.
+
+"That's it," said Fluff when she had finished her story; "it's all
+explained now. I hope you're obliged to me."
+
+"No brother could love you better, nor appreciate you more than I do,
+Fluff."
+
+"Thank you; I'll tell you how much I care for those words when you let
+me know what you are going to do."
+
+Arnold put his hand to his forehead; his face grew grave, he looked
+with an earnest, half-puzzled glance at the childish creature by his
+side.
+
+"I really think you are the best girl in the world, and one of the
+cleverest," he said. "I have a feeling that you have an idea in your
+head, but I am sorry to say nothing very hopeful up to the present time
+has occurred to me. It does seem possible, after your explanation, that
+Frances may love me, and yet refuse me; yes, certainly, that does now
+seem possible."
+
+"How foolish you are to speak in that doubting tone," half snapped Fluff
+(certainly, if the girls had seen her now they would have thought she
+was quarreling with her lover). "How can you say perhaps Frances loves
+you? Loves you! She is breaking her heart for you. Oh! I could cry when
+I think of Frances's pain!"
+
+"Dear little friend!" said Arnold. "Then if that is so--God grant it,
+oh, God grant it--Frances and I must turn to you to help us."
+
+Fluff's face brightened.
+
+"I will tell you my plan," she said. "But first of all you must answer
+me a question."
+
+"What is it? I will answer anything."
+
+"Mr. Arnold--"
+
+"You said you would call me Philip."
+
+"Oh, well, Philip--I rather like the name of Philip--Philip, are you a
+rich man?"
+
+"That depends on what you call riches, Fluff. I have brought fifteen
+thousand pounds with me from the other side of the world. I took five
+years earning it, for all those five years I lived as a very poor man, I
+was adding penny to penny, and pound to pound, to Frances's fortune."
+
+"That is right," exclaimed Fluff, clapping her hands. "Frances's
+fortune--then, of course, then you will spend it in saving her."
+
+"I would spend every penny to save her, if I only knew how."
+
+"How stupid you are," said Fluff. "Oh, if only I were a man!"
+
+"What would you do, if you were?"
+
+"What would I not do? You have fifteen thousand pounds, and Frances is
+in all this trouble because of six thousand pounds. Shall I tell you,
+must I tell you what you ought to do?"
+
+"Please--pray tell me."
+
+"Oh, it is so easy. You must get the name of the old horror in London to
+whom the squire owes six thousand pounds, and you must give him six out
+of your fifteen, and so pay off the squire's debt. You must do this
+and--and--"
+
+"Yes, Fluff; I really do think you are the cleverest little girl I ever
+came across."
+
+"The best part is to come now," said Fluff. "Then you go to the squire;
+tell him that you will sell the Firs over his head, unless he allows you
+to marry Frances. Oh, it is so easy, so, so delightful!"
+
+"Give me your hand, Fluff. Yes, I see light--yes. God bless you, Fluff!"
+
+"There is no doubt she has accepted him," reported Mary Mills to her
+fellows. "They have both appeared again around the yew hedge, and he has
+taken her hand, and he is smiling. Oh, he is lovely when he smiles!"
+
+"I wish I was grown up," sighed Marion, from behind. "I'd give anything
+in all the world to have a lover."
+
+"It will be interesting to watch Fluff at supper to-night," exclaimed
+Katie Philips. "Of course she'll look intensely happy. I wonder if
+she'll wear an engagement-ring."
+
+The supper hour came. Fluff took her seat among the smaller girls; her
+face was radiant enough to satisfy the most exacting, but her small
+dimpled fingers were bare.
+
+"Why do you all stare at my hands so?" she exclaimed once.
+
+"It's on account of the ring," whispered little Sibyl. "Hasn't he given
+you the ring yet?"
+
+"Who is 'he,' dear?"
+
+"Oh, I wasn't to say. His name is Mr. Lover."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+SWEETLY ROMANTIC.
+
+
+Mrs. Carnegie could scarcely be considered the most cheerful companion
+in the world. There was a general sense of rejoicing when Frances took
+up her abode at Arden, but the victim who was to spend the greater part
+of her life in Mrs. Carnegie's heated chambers could scarcely be
+expected to participate in it. This good lady having turned her thoughts
+inward for so long, could only see the world from this extremely narrow
+standpoint. She was hypochondriacal, she was fretful, and although
+Frances managed her, and, in consequence, the rest of the household
+experienced a good deal of ease, Frances herself, whose heart just now
+was not of the lightest, could not help suffering. Her cheeks grew
+paler, her figure slighter and thinner. She could only cry at night, but
+then she certainly cried a good deal.
+
+On a certain sunny afternoon, Mrs. Carnegie, who thought it her bounden
+duty on all occasions to look out for grievances, suddenly took it upon
+herself to complain of Frances's looks.
+
+"It is not that you are dull, my dear," she remarked. "You are fairly
+cheerful, and your laugh is absolutely soothing; but you are pale,
+dreadfully pale, and pallor jars on my nerves, dear. Yes, I assure you,
+in the sensitive state of my poor nerves a pale face like yours is
+absolutely excruciating to them, darling."
+
+"I am very sorry," replied Frances. She had been a month with Mrs.
+Carnegie now, and the changed life had certainly not improved her. "I am
+very sorry." Then she thought a moment. "Would you like to know why I am
+pale?"
+
+"How interesting you are, my love--so different from every other
+individual that comes to see me. It is good for my poor nerves to have
+my attention distracted to any other trivial matter? Tell me, dearest,
+why you are so pallid. I do trust the story is exciting--I need
+excitement, my darling. Is it an affair of the heart, precious?"
+
+Frances's face grew very red. Even Mrs. Carnegie ought to have been
+satisfied for one brief moment with her bloom.
+
+"I fear I can only give you a very prosaic reason," she said, in her
+gentle, sad voice. "I have little or no color because I am always shut
+up in hot rooms, and because I miss the open-air life to which I was
+accustomed."
+
+Mrs. Carnegie tried to smile, but a frown came between her brows.
+
+"That means," she said, "that you would like to go out. You would leave
+your poor friend in solitude."
+
+"I would take my friend with me," responded Frances. "And she should
+have the pleasure of seeing the color coming back into my cheeks."
+
+"And a most interesting sight it would be, darling. But oh, my poor,
+poor nerves! The neuralgia in my back is positively excruciating at this
+moment, dearest. I am positively on the rack; even a zephyr would slay
+me."
+
+"On the contrary," replied Frances in a firm voice, "you would be
+strengthened and refreshed by the soft, sweet air outside. Come, Mrs.
+Carnegie, I am your doctor and nurse, as well as your friend, and I
+prescribe a drive in the open air for you this morning. After dinner,
+too, your sofa, shall be placed in the arbor; in short, I intend you to
+live out-of-doors while this fine weather lasts."
+
+"Ah, dear imperious one! And yet you will kill me with this so-called
+kindness."
+
+"On the contrary, I will make you a strong woman if I can. Now I am
+going to ring to order the carriage."
+
+She bustled about, had her way, and to the amazement of every one Mrs.
+Carnegie submitted to a drive for an hour in an open carriage.
+
+All the time they were out Frances regaled her with the stories of the
+poor and suffering people. She told her stories with great skill,
+knowing just where to leave off, and just the points that would be most
+likely to interest her companion. So interesting did she make herself
+that never once during the drive was Mrs. Carnegie heard to mention the
+word "nerves," and so practical and to the point were her words that the
+rich woman's purse was opened, and two five-pound notes were given to
+Frances to relieve those who stood most in need of them.
+
+"Positively I am better," explained Mrs. Carnegie, as she ate her dainty
+dinner with appetite.
+
+An hour later she was seated cosily in the arbor which faced down the
+celebrated Rose Walk, a place well known to all the visitors at Arden.
+
+"You are a witch," she said to Frances; "for positively I do declare the
+racking, torturing pain in my back is easier. The jolting of the
+carriage ought to have made it ten times worse, but it didn't. I
+positively can't understand it, my love."
+
+"You forget," said Frances, "that although the jolting of the carriage
+might have tried your nerves a very little, the soft, sweet air and
+change of scene did them good."
+
+"And your conversation, dearest--the limpid notes of that sweetest
+voice. Ah, Frances, your tales were harrowing!"
+
+"Yes; but they were more harrowing to be lived through. You, dear Mrs.
+Carnegie, to-day have relieved a certain amount of this misery."
+
+"Ah, my sweet, how good your words sound! They are like balm to this
+tempest-tossed heart and nerve-racked form. Frances dear, we have an
+affinity one for the other. I trust it may be our fate to live and die
+together."
+
+Frances could scarcely suppress a slight shudder. Mrs. Carnegie suddenly
+caught her arm.
+
+"Who is that radiant-looking young creature coming down the Rose Walk?"
+she exclaimed. "See--ah, my dear Frances, what a little beauty! What
+style! what exquisite bloom!"
+
+"Why, it is Fluff!" exclaimed Frances.
+
+She rushed from Mrs. Carnegie's side, and the next moment Miss Danvers's
+arms were round her neck.
+
+"Yes, I've come, Frances," she exclaimed. "I have really come back. And
+who do you think I am staying with?"
+
+"Oh, Fluff--at the Firs! It would be kind of you to cheer my poor old
+father up with a visit."
+
+"But I'm not cheering him up with any visit--I'm not particularly fond
+of him. I'm staying with Mr. and Mrs. Spens."
+
+Frances opened her eyes very wide; she felt a kind of shock, and a
+feeling almost of disgust crept over her.
+
+"Mr. Spens? Surely you don't mean my father's lawyer, Mr. Spens, who
+lives in Martinstown, Fluff?"
+
+"Yes, I don't mean anybody else."
+
+"But I did not think you knew him."
+
+"I did not when last I saw you, but I do now--very well, oh, very well
+indeed. He's a darling."
+
+"Fluff! How can you speak of dull old Mr. Spens in that way? Well, you
+puzzle me. I don't know why you are staying with him."
+
+"You are not going to know just at present, dearest Francie. There's a
+little bit of a secret afloat. Quite a harmless, innocent secret, which
+I promise you will break nobody's heart. I like so much being with Mr.
+Spens, and so does Philip--Philip is there, too."
+
+"Philip? Then they are engaged," thought Frances. "It was very soon. It
+is all right, of course, but it is rather a shock. Poor little
+Fluff--dear Philip--may they be happy!"
+
+She turned her head away for a moment, then, with a white face, but
+steady, quiet eyes, said in her gentlest tones:
+
+"Am I to congratulate you, then, Fluff?"
+
+"Yes, you are--yes, you are. Oh, I am so happy, and everything is
+delicious! It's going on beautifully. I mean the--the affair--the
+secret. Frances, I left Philip at the gate. He would like to see you so
+much. Won't you go down and have a chat with him?"
+
+"I can not; you forget that I am Mrs. Carnegie's companion. I am not my
+own mistress."
+
+"That thin, cross-looking woman staring at us out of the bower yonder?
+Oh, I'll take care of her. I promise you I'll make myself just as
+agreeable as you can. There, run down, run down--I see Philip coming to
+meet you. Oh, what a cold wretch you are, Frances! You don't deserve a
+lover like Philip Arnold--no, you don't."
+
+"He is not my lover, he is yours."
+
+"Mine? No, thank you--there, he is walking down the Rose-path. He is
+sick of waiting, poor fellow! I am off to Mrs. Carnegie. Oh, for
+goodness' sake, Francie, don't look so foolish!"
+
+Fluff turned on her heel, put wings to her feet, and in a moment,
+panting and laughing, stood by Mrs. Carnegie's side.
+
+"Oh, I beg your pardon," she exclaimed when she could speak. "I know who
+you are, and I am dear Frances's cousin, Fluff. I know you would not
+mind giving the poor thing a chance, and allowing me to stay and try to
+entertain you for a little."
+
+"Sit down, my dear, sit down. You really are a radiant little vision. It
+is really most entertaining to me to see anything so fresh and pretty. I
+must congratulate you on the damask roses you wear in your cheeks, my
+pretty one."
+
+"Thank you very much; I know I have plenty of color. Do you mind sitting
+a little bit, just so--ah, that is right. Now we'll have our backs to
+the poor things, and they'll feel more comfortable."
+
+"My dear, extraordinary, entertaining little friend, what poor things do
+you mean?"
+
+"Why, Frances and--"
+
+"Frances--my companion--Frances Kane?"
+
+"Yes, your companion. Only she oughtn't to be your companion, and she
+won't be long. Your companion, and my darling cousin, Frances Kane, and
+her lover."
+
+"Her lover! I knew there was a love affair. That accounts for the
+pallor! Oh, naughty Frances; oh, cruel maiden, to deceive your Lucilla!
+I felt it, I guessed it, it throbbed in the air. Frances and her lover!
+My child, I adore lovers--let me get a peep at him. Dear Frances, dear
+girl! And is the course of true love going smoothly, miss--miss--I
+really don't know your name, my little charmer."
+
+"My name is Fluff--please don't look round. It's a very melancholy love
+affair just at present, but I'm making it right."
+
+"My little bewitching one, I would embrace you, but my poor miserable
+nerves won't permit of the least exertion. And so Frances, my Frances,
+has a lover! It was wrong of her, darling, not to tell of this."
+
+"She gave him up to come to you."
+
+"Oh, the noble girl! But do you think, my child, I would permit such a
+sacrifice? No, no; far rather would Lucilla Carnegie bury her sorrows in
+the lonely tomb. Lend me your handkerchief, sweet one--I can't find my
+own, and my tears overflow. Ah, my Frances, my Frances, I always knew
+you loved me, but to this extent--oh, it is too much!"
+
+"But she didn't do it for you," said Fluff. "She wanted the money to
+help her father--he's such a cross, selfish old man. He wouldn't let her
+marry Philip, although Philip loved her for ten years, and saved all his
+pence in Australia to try and get enough money to marry her, and was
+nearly eaten himself by the blacks, but never forgot her day or
+night--and she loved him beyond anything. Don't you think, Mrs.
+Carnegie, that they ought to be married? Don't you think so?"
+
+"My child, my little fair one, you excite me much. Oh, I shall suffer
+presently! But now your enthusiasm carries that of Lucilla Carnegie
+along with you. Yes, they ought to be married."
+
+"Mrs. Carnegie, they must be married. I'm determined, and so is Philip,
+and so is Mr. Spens. Won't you be determined too?"
+
+"Yes, my child. But, oh, what shall I not lose in my Frances? Forgive
+one tear for myself--my little rose in June."
+
+"You needn't fret for yourself at all. You'll be ever so happy when
+you've done a noble thing. Now listen. This is our little plot--only
+first of all promise, promise most faithfully, that you won't say a word
+to Frances."
+
+"I promise, my child. How intensely you arouse my curiosity! Really I
+begin to live."
+
+"You won't give Frances a hint?"
+
+"No, no, you may trust me, little bright one."
+
+"Well, I do trust you. I know you won't spoil all our plans. You'll
+share them and help us. Oh, what a happy woman you'll be by and by! Now
+listen."
+
+Then Fluff seated herself close to Mrs. Carnegie, and began to whisper
+an elaborately got-up scheme into that lady's ear, to all of which she
+listened with glowing eyes, her hands clasping Fluff's, her attention
+riveted on the sweet and eager face.
+
+"It's my plot," concluded the narrator. "Philip doesn't much like
+it--not some of it--but I say that I will only help him in my own way."
+
+"My dear love, I don't think I ever heard anything more clever and
+original, and absolutely to the point."
+
+"Now did you? I can't sleep at night, thinking of it--you'll be sure to
+help me?"
+
+"Help you? With my heart, my life, my purse!"
+
+"Oh, we don't want your purse. You see there's plenty of money; there's
+the fortune Philip made for Frances. It would be a great pity anything
+else should rescue her from this dilemma."
+
+"Oh, it is so sweetly romantic!" said Mrs. Carnegie, clasping her hands.
+
+"Yes, that's what I think. You'll be quite ready when the time comes?"
+
+"Oh, quite. More than ready, my brightest fairy!"
+
+"Well, here comes Frances--remember, you're not to let out a word, a
+hint. I think I've amused Mrs. Carnegie quite nicely, Francie."
+
+Frances's cheeks had that delicate bloom on them which comes now and
+then as a special and finishing touch, as the last crown of beauty to
+very pale faces. Her eyes were soft, and her dark eyelashes were still a
+little wet with some tears which were not unhappy ones.
+
+"Philip wrung a confession out of me," she whispered to her little
+cousin. "No, Fluff--no, dear Fluff, it does no good--no good whatever.
+Still, I am almost glad I told him."
+
+"You told him what?"
+
+"I won't say. It can never come to anything."
+
+"I know what you said--you have made Philip very happy, Frances. Now I
+must run away."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+THE FIRS OR FRANCES?
+
+
+It is necessary for some people to go away to be missed. There are
+certain very quiet people in the world, who make no fuss, who think
+humbly of themselves, who never on any occasion blow their own trumpets,
+who under all possible circumstances keep in the background, but who yet
+have a knack of filling odd corners, of smoothing down sharp angles, of
+shedding the sunshine of kindness and unselfishness over things
+generally. There are such people, and they are seldom very much missed
+until they go away.
+
+Then there is a hue and cry. Who did this? Whose duty was the other?
+Where is such a thing to be found? Will nobody attend to this small but
+necessary want? The person who never made any talk, but did all the
+small things, and made all the other people comfortable, is suddenly
+missed, and in an instant his or her virtues are discovered.
+
+This was the case at the Firs when Frances on a certain morning drove
+away.
+
+Watkins missed her--the stable-boy, the house-servant--the cat, the
+dog--many other domestic pets--and most of all, Squire Kane.
+
+He was not neglected, but he had a sense of loneliness which began at
+the moment he awoke, and never left him till he went to sleep again.
+
+He had his meals regularly; he was called in good time in the morning;
+the new housekeeper lighted his candle and brought it to him at night;
+his favorite fruit and his favorite flowers were still set before him,
+and the newspaper he liked best always lay by his plate at
+breakfast-time. Watkins was really an excellent gardener, and the ribbon
+border still bloomed and flourished, the birds sung in the trees as of
+yore, the lawn was smoothly kept. It was early September now, but the
+old place never looked gayer, sweeter, brighter. Still, somehow or other
+the squire was dull. His newspaper was there, but there was no one to
+cut it, no one to read it aloud to him. The flowers were making a
+wonderful bloom, but there was no special person to talk them over with.
+He had no one to tell his thoughts to, no one to criticise, no one to
+praise, and--saddest want of all to a nature like his--not a soul in the
+world to blame.
+
+Really, Frances was very much missed; he could not quite have believed
+it before she went, for she was such a quiet, grave woman, but there
+wasn't the least doubt on the subject. She had a way of making a place
+pleasant and home-like. Although she was so quiet herself, wherever she
+went the sun shone. It was quite remarkable how she was missed--even the
+Firs, even the home of his ancestors, was quite dull without her.
+
+Frances had been away for five weeks, and the squire was beginning to
+wonder if he could endure much more of his present monotonous life, when
+one day, as he was passing up and down in the sunny South Walk, he was
+startled, and his attention pleasingly diverted by the jangling sweet
+sound of silver bells. A smart little carriage, drawn by a pair of Arab
+ponies, and driven by a lady, drew up somewhere in the elm avenue; a
+girl in white jumped lightly out, and ran toward him.
+
+"Good gracious!" he said to himself, "why, it's that dear little Fluff.
+Well, I am glad to see her."
+
+He hobbled down the path as fast as he could, and as Fluff drew near,
+sung out cheerily:
+
+"Now this is a pleasing surprise! But welcome to the Firs, my
+love--welcome most heartily to the Firs."
+
+"Thank you, squire," replied Fluff. "I've come to see you on a most
+important matter. Shall we go into the house, or may I talk to you
+here?"
+
+"I hope, my dear, that you have come to say that you are going to pay me
+another visit--I do hope that is your important business. Your little
+room can be got ready in no time, and your guitar--I hope you've brought
+your guitar, my dear. It really is a fact, but I haven't had one scrap
+of entertainment since Frances went away--preposterous, is it not?"
+
+"Well, of course I knew you'd miss her," said Fluff in a tranquil voice.
+"I always told you there was no one in the world like Frances."
+
+"Yes, my dear, yes--I will own, yes, undoubtedly, Frances, for all she
+is so quiet, and not what you would call a young person, is a good deal
+missed in the place. But you have not answered my query yet, Fluff. Have
+you come to stay?"
+
+"No, I've not come to stay; at least, I think not. Squire, I am glad you
+appreciate dear Frances at last."
+
+"Of course, my love, of course. A good creature--not young, but a good,
+worthy creature. It is a great affliction to me, being obliged, owing to
+sad circumstances, to live apart from my daughter. I am vexed that you
+can not pay me a little visit, Fluff. Whose carriage was that you came
+in? and what part of the world are you staying in at present?"
+
+"That dear little pony-trap belongs to Mrs. Carnegie, of Arden; and her
+niece, Mrs. Passmore, drove me over. I am staying with Mr. and Mrs.
+Spens, at Martinstown."
+
+"Spens the lawyer?"
+
+"Yes, Spens the lawyer. I may stay with him if I like, may I not? I am a
+great friend of his. He sent me over here to-day to see you on most
+important business."
+
+"My dear Fluff! Really, if Spens has business with me, he might have the
+goodness to come here himself."
+
+"He couldn't--he has a very bad influenza cold; he's in bed with it.
+That was why I offered to come. Because the business is so very
+important."
+
+"How came he to talk over my affairs with a child like you?"
+
+"Well, as you'll learn presently, they happen to be my affairs too. He
+thought, as he couldn't stir out of his bed, and I knew all the
+particulars, that I had better come over and explain everything to you,
+as the matter is of such great importance, and as a decision must be
+arrived at to-day."
+
+Fluff spoke with great eagerness. Her eyes were glowing, her cheeks
+burning, and there wasn't a scrap of her usual fun about her.
+
+In spite of himself the squire was impressed.
+
+"I can not imagine what you have to say to me," he said; "but perhaps we
+had better go into the house."
+
+"I think we had," said Fluff; "for as what I have got to say will
+startle you a good deal, you had better sit in your favorite arm-chair,
+and have some water near you in case you feel faint."
+
+As she spoke she took his hand, led him through the French windows into
+his little parlor, and seated him comfortably in his favorite chair.
+
+"Now I'll begin," said Fluff. "You must not interrupt me, although I'm
+afraid you will be a little startled. You have mortgaged the Firs for
+six thousand pounds."
+
+"My dear Ellen!"--an angry flush rose in the squire's cheeks. "Who has
+informed you with regard to my private affairs? Frances has done very--"
+
+"Frances has had nothing to say to it; I won't go on if you interrupt
+me. You have mortgaged the Firs for six thousand pounds, to some people
+of the name of Dawson & Blake, in London. Frances lives at Arden, in
+order to pay them three hundred pounds a year interest on the mortgage."
+
+"Yes, yes; really, Frances--really, Spens--"
+
+"Now do stop talking; how can I tell my story if you interrupt every
+minute? Messrs. Dawson & Blake were very anxious to get back their
+money, and they wanted to sell the Firs in order to realize it. Mr.
+Spens had the greatest work in the world to get them to accept Frances's
+noble offer. He put tremendous pressure to bear, and at last, very
+unwillingly, they yielded."
+
+"Well, well, my dear"--the squire wiped the moisture from his
+brow--"they have yielded, that is the great thing--that is the end of
+the story; at least, for the present."
+
+"No, it is not the end of the story," said Fluff, looking up angrily
+into the old man's face. "You were quite satisfied, for it seemed all
+right to you; you were to stay on quietly here, and have your comforts,
+and the life you thought so pleasant; and Frances was to give up Philip
+Arnold, whom she loves, and go away to toil and slave and be miserable.
+Oh, it was all right for you, but it was bitterly all wrong for
+Frances!"
+
+"My dear little Fluff, my dear Ellen, pray try and compose yourself; I
+assure you my side of the bargain is dull, very dull. I am alone; I
+have no companionship. Not a living soul who cares for me is now to be
+found at the Firs. My side is not all sunshine, Fluff; and I own
+it--yes, I will own it, Fluff; I miss Frances very much."
+
+"I am glad of that; I am very glad. Now I am coming to the second part
+of my story. A week ago Mr. Spens had a letter from Messrs. Dawson &
+Blake to say that they had sold their mortgage on the Firs to a
+stranger--a man who had plenty of money, but who had taken a fancy to
+the Firs, and who wished to get it cheap."
+
+The squire sat upright on his chair.
+
+"Mr. Spens wrote at once to the new owner of the mortgage, and asked him
+if he would take five per cent. interest on his money, and not disturb
+you while you lived. Mr. Spens received a reply yesterday, and it is
+because of that I am here now."
+
+The squire's face had grown very white; his lips trembled a little.
+
+"What was the reply?" he asked. "Really--really, a most extraordinary
+statement; most queer of Spens not to come to me himself about it. What
+was the reply, Fluff?"
+
+"I told you Mr. Spens was ill and in bed. The stranger's reply was not
+favorable to your wishes. He wishes for the Firs; he has seen the place,
+and would like to live there. He says you must sell; or, there is
+another condition."
+
+"What is that? This news is most alarming and disquieting. What is the
+other condition--the alternative?"
+
+Fluff rose, yawned slightly, and half turned her back to the squire.
+
+"It is scarcely worth naming," she said, in a light and indifferent
+voice; "for as Frances loves Philip, of course she would not think of
+marrying any one else. But it seems that this stranger, when he was
+poking about the place, had caught sight of Frances, and he thought her
+very beautiful and very charming. In short, he fell in love with her,
+and he says if you will let him marry her, that he and she can live
+here, and you need never stir from the Firs. I mention this," said
+Fluff; "but of course there's no use in thinking of it, as Frances loves
+Philip."
+
+"But there is a great deal of use in thinking of it, my dear; I don't
+know what you mean by talking in that silly fashion. A rich man falls in
+love with my daughter. Really, Frances must be much better-looking than
+I gave her credit for. This man, who practically now owns the Firs,
+wishes to release me from all difficulties if I give him Frances. Of
+course I shall give him Frances. It is an admirable arrangement. Frances
+would be most handsomely provided for, and I shall no longer be lonely
+with my daughter and son-in-law residing at the Firs."
+
+"But Frances loves Philip!"
+
+"Pooh! a boy-and-girl affair. My dear, I never did, and never will,
+believe in anything between Frances and Arnold. I always said Arnold
+should be your husband."
+
+"I don't want him, thank you."
+
+"Frances was always a good girl," continued the squire; "an excellent,
+good, obedient girl. She refused Philip because I told her to, and now
+she'll marry this stranger because I wish her to. Really, my dear, on
+the whole, your news is pleasant; only, by the way, you have not told me
+the name of the man who now holds my mortgage."
+
+"He particularly wishes his name to be kept a secret for the present,
+but he is a nice fellow; I have seen him. I think, if Frances could be
+got to consent to marry him, he would make her an excellent husband."
+
+"My dear, she must consent. Leave my daughter to me; I'll manage her."
+
+"Well, the stranger wants an answer to-day."
+
+"How am I to manage that? I must write to Frances, or see her. Here she
+is at this moment, driving down the avenue with Mrs. Carnegie. Well,
+that is fortunate. Now, Fluff, you will take my part; but, of course,
+Frances will do what I wish."
+
+"You can ask her, squire. I'm going to walk about outside with Mrs.
+Carnegie."
+
+"And you won't take my part?"
+
+"I won't take anybody's part. I suppose Frances can make up her own
+mind."
+
+When Miss Kane came into her father's presence her eyes were brighter,
+and her lips wore a happier expression than the squire had seen on them
+for many a long day. She stepped lightly, and looked young and fresh.
+
+Fluff and Mrs. Carnegie paced up and down in the South Walk. Mrs.
+Carnegie could walk now, and she was certainly wonderfully improved in
+appearance.
+
+"Beloved little fairy," she whispered to her companion, "this excitement
+almost overpowers me. It was with the utmost difficulty I could control
+myself as we drove over. Our sweet Frances looks happy, but I do not
+think she suspects anything. Dear little one, are you certain, quite
+certain, that the hero of the hour has really arrived?"
+
+"Philip? I have locked him up in the dining-room," said Fluff, "and he
+is pacing up and down there now like a caged lion. I do hope the squire
+will be quick, or he'll certainly burst the lock of the door."
+
+The two ladies paced the South Walk side by side.
+
+"We'll give them half an hour," said Fluff.
+
+When this time had expired, she took Mrs. Carnegie's hand, and they both
+approached the open windows of the squire's parlor. When the squire saw
+them he rose and confronted them. Angry red spots were on his cheeks;
+his hands trembled. Frances was seated at the table; she looked very
+pale, and as the two ladies approached she was wiping some tears
+silently from her eyes.
+
+"Yes, look at her," said the squire, who was almost choking with anger.
+"She refuses him--she absolutely refuses him! She is satisfied that her
+poor old father shall end his days in the work-house, rather than unite
+herself to an amiable and worthy man, who can amply provide for her. Oh,
+it is preposterous! I have no patience with her; she won't even listen
+to me. Not a word I say has the smallest effect."
+
+"Because, father--"
+
+"No, Frances, I won't listen to any of your 'becauses.' But never, never
+again even profess to care for your father. Don't waste words, my child;
+for words are empty when they are not followed by deeds."
+
+"I must take an answer to Mr. Spens to-day," said Fluff. "Perhaps, if
+Frances thought a little, she would change her mind."
+
+These words seemed to sting Frances, who rose quickly to her feet.
+
+"You know why I can not help my father in this particular," she said.
+"Oh, I think, between you all, you will drive me mad."
+
+"Perhaps," said Fluff, suddenly--"perhaps if you saw the gentleman,
+Frances, you might be able to give a different answer. He really is very
+nice, and--and--the fact is, he's very impatient. He has arrived--he is
+in the dining room."
+
+"The gentleman who has purchased the mortgage is in the dining-room!"
+said the squire.
+
+He rubbed his hands gleefully.
+
+"Excellent! Frances will never be so rude as to refuse a rich man to his
+face. I look upon him already as our deliverer. I, for my part, shall
+give him a hearty welcome, and will assure him, if he will only give me
+time, that I will not leave a stone unturned to overcome my daughter's
+absurd infatuation. Frances, do you hear me? I desire you to behave
+politely to the stranger when he comes."
+
+"Perhaps I had better go away," said Frances.
+
+"No, no, dear Frances; do stay," pleaded Fluff. "I'll go and fetch the
+gentleman; I know him; he is really very nice."
+
+She darted away.
+
+Frances turned her back to the window.
+
+"You know, father, all I have done for you," she said, her beautiful
+eyes shining and her slim figure very erect. "I have loved Philip--oh,
+so deeply, so faithfully!--for ten years. For five of these years I
+thought he was in his grave; and my heart went there, too, with him.
+Then he came back, and I was very happy; for I found that he had loved
+me, and thought of me alone, also, all that long, long time. I was happy
+then, beyond words, and no woman ever more fervently thanked God.
+Then--then--you know what happened. I gave Philip up. I consented to let
+my light, my hope, and my joy die out. I did that for you; but I did not
+consent to let my love die; and I tell you now, once and for all, that
+my love will never die; and that, as I so love Philip, I can never, even
+for your sake, marry any one but Philip!"
+
+"Oh, Francie! Francie!" suddenly exclaimed a joyful little voice. "No
+one in all the world wants you to marry any one else! The stranger isn't
+a stranger. Say 'Yes' to your father and to Philip at the same time."
+
+Frances turned; Arnold stepped in through the open window and put his
+arm round her.
+
+"Now, sir," he said, holding Frances's hand, and turning to the squire,
+"which am I to have--the Firs or Frances?"
+
+Of course everybody present knew the answer, so there is no need to
+record it here.
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+MONSIEUR THE VISCOUNT'S FRIEND.
+
+A TALE IN THREE CHAPTERS
+
+    "Sweet are the vses of aduersitie
+    Which like the toad, ougly and venemous,
+    Weares yet a precious Iewell in his head."
+
+                              AS YOU LIKE IT: A.D. 1623.
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+
+It was the year of grace 1779. In one of the most beautiful corners of
+beautiful France stood a grand old chateau. It was a fine old building,
+with countless windows large and small, with high pitched roofs and
+pointed towers, which, in good taste or bad, did its best to be
+everywhere ornamental, from the gorgon heads which frowned from its
+turrets to the long row of stables and the fantastic dovecotes. It stood
+(as became such a castle) upon an eminence, and looked down. Very
+beautiful indeed was what it looked upon. Terrace below terrace glowed
+with the most brilliant flowers, and broad flights of steps led from one
+garden to the other. On the last terrace of all, fountains and jets of
+water poured into one large basin, in which were gold and silver fish.
+Beyond this were shady walks, which led to a lake on which floated
+waterlilies and swans. From the top of the topmost flight of steps you
+could see the blazing gardens one below the other, the fountains and the
+basin, the walks and the lake, and beyond these the trees, and the
+smiling country, and the blue sky of France.
+
+Within the castle, as without, beauty reigned supreme. The sunlight,
+subdued by blinds and curtains, stole into rooms furnished with every
+grace and luxury that could be procured in a country that then accounted
+itself the most highly-civilized in the world. It fell upon beautiful
+flowers and beautiful china, upon beautiful tapestry and pictures; and
+it fell upon Madame the Viscountess, sitting at her embroidery. Madame
+the Viscountess was not young, but she was not the least beautiful
+object in those stately rooms. She had married into a race of nobles who
+(themselves famed for personal beauty) had been scrupulous in the choice
+of lovely wives. The late Viscount (for Madame was a widow) had been one
+of the handsomest of the gay courtiers of his day; and Madame had not
+been unworthy of him. Even now, though the roses on her cheeks were more
+entirely artificial than they had been in the days of her youth, she was
+like some exquisite piece of porcelain. Standing by the embroidery frame
+was Madame's only child, a boy who, in spite of his youth, was already
+Monsieur the Viscount. He also was beautiful. His exquisitely-cut mouth
+had a curl which was the inheritance of scornful generations, but which
+was redeemed by his soft violet eyes and by natural amiability reflected
+on his face. His hair was cut square across the forehead, and fell in
+natural curls behind. His childish figure had already been trained in
+the fencing school, and had gathered dignity from perpetually treading
+upon shallow steps and in lofty rooms. From the rosettes on his little
+shoes to his _chapeau à plumes_, he also was like some porcelain figure.
+Surely, such beings could not exist except in such a chateau as this,
+where the very air (unlike that breathed by common mortals) had in the
+ante-rooms a faint aristocratic odor, and was for yards round Madame the
+Viscountess dimly suggestive of frangipani! Monsieur the Viscount did
+not stay long by the embroidery frame; he was entertaining to-day a
+party of children from the estate, and had come for the key of an old
+cabinet of which he wished to display the treasures. When tired of this,
+they went out on to the terrace, and one of the children who had not
+been there before exclaimed at the beauty of the view.
+
+"It is true," said the little Viscount, carelessly, "and all, as far as
+you can see, is the estate."
+
+"I will throw a stone to the end of your property, Monsieur," said one
+of the boys, laughing; and he picked one off the walk, and stepping
+back, flung it with all his little strength. The stone fell before it
+had passed the fountains, and the failure was received with shouts of
+laughter.
+
+"Let us see who can beat that," they cried; and there was a general
+search for pebbles, which were flung at random among the flower-beds.
+
+"One may easily throw such as those," said the Viscount, who was poking
+under the wall of the first terrace; "but here is a stone that one may
+call a stone. Who will send this into the fish-pond? It will make a
+fountain of itself."
+
+The children drew round him as, with ruffles turned back, he tugged and
+pulled at a large dirty-looking stone, which was half-buried in the
+earth by the wall. "Up it comes!" said the Viscount, at length; and sure
+enough, up it came; but underneath it, his bright eyes shining out of
+his dirty wrinkled body--horror of horrors!--there lay a toad. Now, even
+in England, toads are not looked upon with much favor, and a party of
+English children would have been startled by such a discovery. But with
+French people, the dread of toads is ludicrous in its intensity. In
+France toads are believed to have teeth, to bite, and to spit poison; so
+my hero and his young guests must be excused for taking flight at once
+with a cry of dismay. On the next terrace, however, they paused, and
+seeing no signs of the enemy, crept slowly back again. The little
+Viscount (be it said) began to feel ashamed of himself and led the way,
+with his hand upon the miniature sword which hung at his side. All eyes
+were fixed upon the fatal stone, when from behind it was seen slowly to
+push forth, first a dirty wrinkled leg, and then half a dirty wrinkled
+head, with one gleaming eye. It was too much; with cries of, "It is he!
+he comes! he spits! he pursues us!" the young guests of the chateau fled
+in good earnest, and never stopped until they reached the fountain and
+the fish-pond.
+
+But Monsieur the Viscount stood his ground. At the sudden apparition the
+blood rushed to his heart, and made him very white, then it flooded
+back again and made him very red, and then he fairly drew his sword, and
+shouting, "_Vive la France!_" rushed upon the enemy. The sword if small
+was sharp, and stabbed the poor toad would most undoubtedly have been,
+but for a sudden check received by the valiant little nobleman. It came
+in the shape of a large heavy hand that seized Monsieur the Viscount
+with the grasp of a giant, while a voice which could only have belonged
+to the owner of such a hand said in slow deep tones,
+
+"_Que faites-vous?_" ("What are you doing?")
+
+It was the tutor, who had been pacing up and down the terrace with a
+book, and who now stood holding the book in his right hand, and our hero
+in his left.
+
+Monsieur the Viscount's tutor was a remarkable man. If he had not been
+so, he would hardly have been tolerated at the chateau, since he was not
+particularly beautiful, and not especially refined. He was in holy
+orders, as his tonsured head and clerical costume bore witness--a
+costume which, from its tightness and simplicity, only served to
+exaggerate the unusual proportions of his person. Monsieur the
+Preceptor, had English blood in his veins, and his northern origin
+betrayed itself in his towering height and corresponding breadth, as
+well as by his fair hair and light blue eyes. But the most remarkable
+parts of his outward man were his hands, which were of immense size,
+especially about the thumbs. Monsieur the Preceptor was not exactly in
+keeping with his present abode. It was not only that he was wanting in
+the grace and beauty that reigned around him, but that his presence made
+those very graces and beauties to look small. He seemed to have a gift
+the reverse of that bestowed upon King Midas--the gold on which his
+heavy hand was laid seemed to become rubbish. In the presence of the
+late Viscount, and in that of Madame his widow, you would have felt
+fully the deep importance of your dress being _à la mode_, and your
+complexion _à la_ strawberries and cream (such influences still exist);
+but let the burly tutor appear upon the scene, and all the magic died at
+once out of brocaded silks and pearl-colored stockings, and dress and
+complexion became subjects almost of insignificance. Monsieur the
+Preceptor was certainly a singular man to have been chosen as an inmate
+of such a household; but, though young, he had unusual talents, and
+added to them the not more usual accompaniments of modesty and
+trustworthiness. To crown all, he was rigidly pious in times when piety
+was not fashionable, and an obedient son of the church of which he was a
+minister. Moreover, a family that fashion does not permit to be
+demonstratively religious, may gain a reflected credit from an austere
+chaplain; and so Monsieur the Preceptor remained in the chateau and went
+his own way. It was this man who now laid hands on the Viscount, and, in
+a voice that sounded like amiable thunder, made the inquiry, "_Que
+faites-vous?_"
+
+"I am going to kill this animal--this hideous horrible animal," said
+Monsieur the Viscount, struggling vainly under the grasp of the tutor's
+finger and thumb.
+
+"It is only a toad," said Monsieur the Preceptor, in his laconic tones.
+
+"_Only_ a toad, do you say, Monsieur?" said the Viscount. "That is
+enough, I think. It will bite--it will spit--it will poison; it is like
+that dragon you tell me of, that devastated Rhodes--I am the good knight
+that shall kill it."
+
+Monsieur the Preceptor laughed heartily "You are misled by a vulgar
+error. Toads do not bite--they have no teeth; neither do they spit
+poison."
+
+"You are wrong, Monsieur," said the Viscount; "I have seen their teeth
+myself. Claude Mignon, at the lodge, has two terrible ones, which he
+keeps in his pocket as a charm."
+
+"I have seen them," said the tutor, "in Monsieur Claude's pocket. When
+he can show me similar ones in a toad's head I will believe. Meanwhile,
+I must beg of you, Monsieur, to put up your sword. You must not kill
+this poor animal, which is quite harmless, and very useful in a
+garden--it feeds upon many insects and reptiles which injure the
+plants."
+
+"It shall not be useful in this garden," said the little Viscount,
+fretfully. "There are plenty of gardeners to destroy the insects, and
+if needful, we can have more. But the toad shall not remain. My mother
+would faint if she saw so hideous a beast among her beautiful flowers."
+
+"Jacques!" roared the tutor to a gardener who was at some distance.
+Jacques started as if a clap of thunder had sounded in his ear, and
+approached with low bows. "Take that toad, Jacques, and carry it to the
+_potager_. It will keep the slugs from your cabbages."
+
+Jacques bowed low and lower, and scratched his head, and then did
+reverence again with Asiatic humility, but at the same time moved
+gradually backwards, and never even looked at the toad.
+
+"You also have seen the contents of Monsieur Claude's pocket?" said the
+tutor, significantly, and quitting his hold of the Viscount, he stooped
+down, seized the toad in his huge finger and thumb, and strode off in
+the direction of the _potager_, followed at a respectful distance by
+Jacques, who vented his awe and astonishment in alternate bows and
+exclamations at the astounding conduct of the incomprehensible
+Preceptor.
+
+"What is the use of such ugly beasts?" said the Viscount to his tutor,
+on his return from the _potager_. "Birds and butterflies are pretty, but
+what can such villains as these toads have been made for?"
+
+"You should study natural history, Monsieur--" began the priest, who was
+himself a naturalist.
+
+"That is what you always say," interrupted the Viscount, with the
+perverse folly of ignorance; "but if I knew as much as you do, it would
+not make me understand why such ugly creatures need have been made."
+
+"Nor," said the priest, firmly, "is it necessary that you should
+understand it, particularly if you do not care to inquire. It is enough
+for you and me if we remember Who made them, some six thousand years
+before either of us was born."
+
+With which Monsieur the Preceptor (who had all this time kept his place
+in the little book with his big thumb) returned to the terrace, and
+resumed his devotions at the point where they had been interrupted;
+which exercise he continued till he was joined by the Curé of the
+village, and the two priests relaxed in the political and religious
+gossip of the day.
+
+Monsieur the Viscount rejoined his young guests, and they fed the gold
+fish and the swans, and played _Colin Millard_ in the shady walks, and
+made a beautiful bouquet for Madame, and then fled indoors at the first
+approach of evening chill, and found that the Viscountess had prepared a
+feast of fruit and flowers for them in the great hall. Here, at the head
+of the table, with the Madame at his right hand, his guests around, and
+the liveried lackeys waiting his commands, Monsieur the Viscount forgot
+that anything had ever been made which could mar beauty and enjoyment;
+while the two priests outside stalked up and down under the falling
+twilight, and talked ugly talk of crime and poverty that were
+_somewhere_ now, and of troubles to come hereafter.
+
+And so night fell over the beautiful sky, the beautiful chateau, and the
+beautiful gardens; and upon the secure slumbers of beautiful Madame and
+her beautiful son, and beautiful, beautiful France.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+
+It was the year of grace 1792, thirteen years after the events related
+in the last chapter. It was the 2d of September, and Sunday, a day of
+rest and peace in all Christian countries, and even more in gay,
+beautiful France--a day of festivity and merriment. This Sunday,
+however, seemed rather an exception to the general rule. There were no
+gay groups of bannered processions; the typical incense and the public
+devotion of which it is the symbol were alike wanting; the streets in
+some places seemed deserted, and in others there was an ominous crowd,
+and the dreary silence was now and then broken by a distant sound of
+yells and cries, that struck terror into the hearts of the Parisians.
+
+It was a deserted by-street overlooked by some shut-up warehouses, and
+from the cellar of one of these a young man crept up on to the pathway.
+His dress had once been beautiful, but it was torn and soiled; his face
+was beautiful still, but it was marred by the hideous eagerness of a
+face on which famine has laid her hand--he was starving. As this man
+came out from the warehouse, another man came down the street. His dress
+was not beautiful, neither was he. There was a red look about him--he
+wore a red flannel cap, tricolor ribbons, and had something red upon his
+hands, which was neither ribbon nor flannel. He also looked hungry; but
+it was not for food. The other stopped when he saw him, and pulled
+something from his pocket. It was a watch, a repeater, in a gold
+filigree case of exquisite workmanship, with raised figures depicting
+the loves of an Arcadian shepherd and shepherdess; and, as it lay on the
+white hand of its owner, it bore an evanescent fragrance that seemed to
+recall scenes as beautiful and as completely past as the days of
+pastoral perfection, when--
+
+    "All the world and love were young,
+    And truth in every shepherd's tongue."
+
+The young man held it up to the other and spoke.
+
+"It is my mother's," he said, with an appealing glance of violet eyes;
+"I would not part with it, but that I am starving. Will you get me
+food?"
+
+"You are hiding?" said he of the red cap.
+
+"Is that a crime in these days?" said the other, with a smile that would
+in other days have been irresistible.
+
+The man took the watch, shaded the donor's beautiful face with a rough
+red cap and tricolor ribbon, and bade him follow him. He, who had but
+lately come to Paris, dragged his exhausted body after his conductor,
+hardly noticed the crowds in the streets, the signs by which the man got
+free passage for them both, or their entrance by a little side-door into
+a large dark building, and never knew till he was delivered to one of
+the gaolers that he had been led into the prison of the Abbaye. Then
+the wretch tore the cap of liberty from his victim's head, and pointed
+to him with a fierce laugh.
+
+"He wants food, this aristocrat. He shall not wait long--there is a
+feast in the court below, which he shall join presently. See to it,
+Antoine! and you _Monsieur_, _Mons-ieur_! listen to the banqueters."
+
+He ceased, and in the silence yells and cries from a court below came up
+like some horrid answer to imprecation.
+
+The man continued---
+
+"He has paid for his admission, this Monsieur. It belonged to Madame his
+mother. Behold!"
+
+He held the watch above his head, and dashed it with insane fury on the
+ground, and bidding the gaoler see to his prisoner, rushed away to the
+court below.
+
+The prisoner needed some attention. Weakness and fasting and horror had
+overpowered a delicate body and a sensitive mind, and he lay senseless
+by the shattered relic of happier times. Antoine the gaoler (a
+weak-minded man, whom circumstances had made cruel), looked at him with
+indifference while the Jacobin remained in the place, and with
+half-suppressed pity when he had gone. The place where he lay was a hall
+or passage in the prison, into which several cells opened, and a number
+of the prisoners were gathered together at one end of it. One of them
+had watched the proceedings of the Jacobin and his victim with profound
+interest, and now advanced to where the poor youth lay. He was a priest,
+and though thirteen years had passed over his head since we saw him in
+the chateau, and though toil and suffering and anxiety had added the
+traces of as many more: yet it would not have been difficult to
+recognize the towering height, the candid face, and finally the large
+thumb in the little book of ----, Monsieur the Preceptor, who had years
+ago exchanged his old position for a parochial cure. He strode up to the
+gaoler (whose head came a little above the priest's elbow), and drawing
+him aside, asked with his old abruptness, "Who is this?"
+
+"It is the Vicomte de B----. I know his face. He has escaped the
+commissaires for some days."
+
+"I thought so. Is his name on the registers?"
+
+"No. He escaped arrest, and has just been brought in as you saw."
+
+"Antoine," said the Priest, in a low voice, and with a gaze that seemed
+to pierce the soul of the weak little gaoler; "Antoine, when you were a
+shoemaker in the Rue de la Croix, in two or three hard winters I think
+you found me a friend."
+
+"Oh! Monsieur le Curé," said Antoine, writhing; "if Monsieur le Curé
+would believe that if I could save his life! but--"
+
+"Pshaw!" said the Priest, "it is not for myself, but for this boy. You
+must save him, Antoine. Hear me, you _must_. Take him now to one of the
+lower cells and hide him. You risk nothing. His name is not on the
+prison register. He will not be called, he will not be missed; that
+fanatic will think that he has perished with the rest of us;" (Antoine
+shuddered, though the priest did not move a muscle;) "and when this mad
+fever has subsided and order is restored, he will reward you. And
+Antoine--"
+
+Here the Priest pocketed his book and somewhat awkwardly with his huge
+hands unfastened the left side of his cassock, and tore the silk from
+the lining. Monsieur the Curé's cassock seemed a cabinet of oddities.
+First he pulled from this ingenious hiding-place a crucifix, which he
+replaced; then a knot of white ribbon which he also restored; and
+finally a tiny pocket or bag of what had been cream-colored satin
+embroidered with small bunches of heartsease, and which was aromatic
+with otto of roses. Awkwardly, and somewhat slowly he drew out of this a
+small locket, in the center of which was some unreadable legend in
+cabalistic looking character, and which blazed with the finest diamonds.
+Heaven alone knows the secret of that gem, or the struggle with which
+the Priest yielded it. He put it into Antoine's hand, talking as he did
+so, partly to himself and partly to the gaoler.
+
+"We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry
+nothing out. The diamonds are of the finest, Antoine, and will sell for
+much. The blessing of a dying priest upon you if you do kindly, and his
+curse if you do ill to his poor child, whose home was my home in better
+days. And for the locket,--it is but a remembrance, and to remember is
+not difficult!"
+
+As the last observation was not addressed to Antoine, so also he did not
+hear it. He was discontentedly watching the body of the Viscount, whom
+he consented to help, but with genuine weak-mindedness consented
+ungraciously.
+
+"How am I to get him there? Monsieur le Curé sees that he cannot stand
+upon his feet!"
+
+Monsieur le Curé smiled, and stooping, picked his old pupil up in his
+arms as if he had been a baby, and bore him to one of the doors.
+
+"You must come no further," said Antoine hastily.
+
+"Ingrate!" muttered the priest in momentary anger, and than ashamed, he
+crossed himself and pressing the young nobleman to his bosom with the
+last gush of earthly affection that he was to feel, he kissed his
+senseless face, spoke a benediction to ears that could not hear it, and
+laid his burden down.
+
+"God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, be with thee now and in
+the dread hour of death. Adieu! we shall meet hereafter."
+
+The look of pity, the yearning of rekindled love, the struggle of
+silenced memories passed from his face and left a shining
+calm--foretaste of the perpetual Light and the eternal Rest.
+
+Before he reached the other prisoners, the large thumb had found its old
+place in the little book, the lips formed the old old words; but it
+might almost have been said of him already, that "his spirit was with
+the God who gave it."
+
+As for Monsieur the Viscount, it was perhaps well that he was not too
+sensible of his position, for Antoine got him down the flight of stone
+steps that led to the cell by the simple process of dragging him by the
+heels. After a similar fashion he crossed the floor, and was deposited
+on a pallet; the gaoler then emptied a broken pitcher of water over his
+face, and locking the door securely, hurried back to his charge.
+
+When Monsieur the Viscount came to his senses he raised himself and
+looked round his new abode. It was a small stone cell; it was
+underground, with a little grated window at the top that seemed to be
+level with the court; there was a pallet--painfully pressed and worn,--a
+chair, a stone on which stood a plate and broken pitcher, and in one
+corner a huge bundle of firewood which mocked a place where there was no
+fire. Stones by lay scattered about, the walls were black, and in the
+far dark corners the wet oozed out and trickled slowly down, and lizards
+and other reptiles crawled up.
+
+I suppose that the first object that attracts the hopes of a new
+prisoner is the window of his cell, and to this, despite his weakness,
+Monsieur the Viscount crept. It afforded him little satisfaction. It was
+too high in the cell for him to reach it, too low in the prison to
+command any view, and was securely grated with iron. Then he examined
+the walls, but not a stone was loose. As he did so, his eye fell upon
+the floor, and he noticed that two of the stones that lay about had been
+raised up by some one and a third laid upon the top. It looked like
+child's play, and Monsieur the Viscount kicked it down, and then he saw
+that underneath it there was a pellet of paper roughly rolled together.
+Evidently it was something left by the former occupant of the cell for
+his successor. Perhaps he had begun some plan for getting away which he
+had not had time to perfect on his own account. Perhaps--but by this
+time the paper was spread out, and Monsieur the Viscount read the
+writing. The paper was old and yellow. It was the fly leaf torn out of a
+little book and it was written in black chalk, the words--
+
+                  "_Souvenez-vous du Sauveur._"
+                     (Remember the Saviour.)
+
+He turned it over, he turned it back again; there was no other mark;
+there was nothing more; and Monsieur the Viscount did not conceal it
+from himself that he was disappointed. How could it be otherwise? He had
+been bred in ease and luxury, and surrounded with everything that could
+make life beautiful; while ugliness, and want, and sickness, and all
+that make life miserable, had been kept, as far as they can be kept,
+from the precincts of the beautiful chateau which was his home. What
+were the _consolations_ of religion to him? They are offered to those,
+(and to those only) who need them. They were to Monsieur the Viscount
+what the Crucified Christ was to the Greeks of old--foolishness.
+
+He put the paper in his pocket and lay down again, feeling it the
+crowning disappointment of what he had lately suffered. Presently,
+Antoine came with some food; it was not dainty, but Monsieur the
+Viscount devoured it like a famished hound, and then made inquiries as
+to how he came and how long he had been there. When the gaoler began to
+describe him whom he called the Curé, Monsieur the Viscount's attention
+quickened into eagerness, an eagerness deepened by the tender interest
+that always hangs round the names of those whom we have known in happier
+and younger days. The happy memories recalled by hearing of his old
+tutor seemed to blot out his present misfortunes. With French
+excitability, he laughed and wept alternately.
+
+"As burly as ever, you say? The little book? I remember it, it was his
+breviary. Ah! it is he. It is Monsieur the Preceptor, whom I have not
+seen for years. Take me to him, bring him here, let me see him!"
+
+But Monsieur the Preceptor was in Paradise.
+
+That first night of Monsieur the Viscount's imprisonment was a terrible
+one. The bitter chill of a Parisian autumn, the gnawings of
+half-satisfied hunger, the thick walls that shut out all hope of escape
+but did not exclude those fearful cries that lasted with few intervals
+throughout the night, made it like some hideous dream. At last the
+morning broke; at half-past two o'clock, some members of the _commune_
+presented themselves in the hall of the National Assembly with the
+significant announcement: "The prisons are empty!" and Antoine, who had
+been quaking for hours, took courage, and went with a half loaf of bread
+and a pitcher of water to the cell that was not "empty." He found his
+prisoner struggling with a knot of white ribbon, which he was trying to
+fasten in his hair. One glance at his face told all.
+
+"It is the fever," said Antoine; and he put down the bread and water and
+fetched an old blanket and a pillow; and that day and for many days, the
+gaoler hung above his prisoner's pallet with the tenderness of a woman.
+Was he haunted by the vision of a burly figure that had bent over his
+own sick bed in the Rue de la Croix? Did the voice (once so familiar in
+counsel and benediction!) echo still in his ears?
+
+"_The blessing of a dying priest upon you if you do well, and his curse
+if you do ill to this poor child, whose home was my home in better
+days._"
+
+Be this as it may, Antoine tended his patient with all the constancy
+compatible with keeping his presence in the prison a secret; and it was
+not till the crisis was safely past, that he began to visit the cell
+less frequently, and re-assumed the harsh manners which he held to befit
+his office.
+
+Monsieur the Viscount's mind rambled much in his illness. He called for
+his mother, who had long been dead. He fancied himself in his own
+chateau. He thought that all his servants stood in a body before him,
+but that not one would move to wait on him. He thought that he had
+abundance of the most tempting food and cooling drinks, but placed just
+beyond his reach. He thought that he saw two lights like stars near
+together, which were close to the ground, and kept appearing and then
+vanishing away. In time he became more sensible; the chateau melted into
+the stern reality of his prison walls; the delicate food became bread
+and water; the servants disappeared like spectres; but in the empty
+cells, in the dark corners near the floor, he still fancied that he saw
+two sparks of light coming and going, appearing and then vanishing away.
+He watched them till his giddy head would bear it no longer, and he
+closed his eyes and slept. When he awoke he was much better, but when he
+raised himself and turned towards the stone--there, by the bread and the
+broken pitcher, sat a dirty, ugly, wrinkled toad gazing at him, Monsieur
+the Viscount, with eyes of yellow fire.
+
+Monsieur the Viscount had long ago forgotten the toad which had alarmed
+his childhood; but his national dislike to that animal had not been
+lessened by years, and the toad of the prison seemed likely to fare no
+better than the toad of the chateau. He dragged himself from his pallet,
+and took up one of the large damp stones which lay about the floor of
+the cell, to throw at the intruder. He expected that when he approached
+it, the toad would crawl away, and that he could throw the stone after
+it; but to his surprise, the beast sat quite unmoved, looking at him
+with calm shining eyes, and somehow or other, Monsieur the Viscount
+lacked strength or heart to kill it. He stood doubtful for a moment, and
+then a sudden feeling of weakness obliged him to drop the stone, and sit
+down, while tears sprang to his eyes with a sense of his helplessness.
+
+"Why should I kill it?" he said bitterly. "The beast will live and grow
+fat upon this damp and loathsomeness, long after they have put an end to
+my feeble life. It shall remain. The cell is not big, but it is big
+enough for us both. However large be the rooms a man builds himself to
+live in, it needs but little space in which to die!"
+
+So Monsieur the Viscount dragged his pallet away from the toad, placed
+another stone by it, and removed the pitcher; and then, wearied with his
+efforts, lay down and slept heavily.
+
+When he awoke, on the new stone by the pitcher was the toad, staring
+full at him with topaz eyes. He lay still this time and did not move,
+for the animal showed no intention of spitting, and he was puzzled by
+its tameness.
+
+"It seems to like the sight of a man," he thought. "Is it possible that
+any former inmate of this wretched prison can have amused his solitude
+by making a pet of such a creature? and if there were such a man, where
+is he now?"
+
+Henceforward, sleeping or waking, whenever Monsieur the Viscount lay
+down upon his pallet, the toad crawled up on to the stone, and kept
+watch over him with shining lustrous eyes; but whenever there was a
+sound of the key grating in the lock, and the gaoler coming his rounds,
+away crept the toad, and was quickly lost in the dark corners of the
+room. When the man was gone, it returned to its place, and Monsieur the
+Viscount would talk to it, as he lay on his pallet.
+
+"Ah! Monsieur Crapaud," he would say with mournful pleasantry, "without
+doubt you have had a master, and a kind one; but tell me who was he, and
+where is he now? Was he old or young, and was it in the last stage of
+maddening loneliness that he made friends with such a creature as you?"
+
+Monsieur Crapaud looked very intelligent, but he made no reply, and
+Monsieur the Viscount had recourse to Antoine.
+
+"Who was in this cell before me?" he asked at the gaoler's next visit.
+
+Antoine's face clouded. "Monsieur le Curé had this room. My orders were
+that he was to be imprisoned 'in secret.'"
+
+Monsieur le Curé had this room. There was a revelation in those words.
+It was all explained now. The priest had always had a love for animals
+(and for ugly, common animals) which his pupil had by no means shared.
+His room at the chateau had been little less than a menagerie. He had
+even kept a glass beehive there, which communicated with a hole in the
+window through which the bees flew in and out, and he would stand for
+hours with his thumb in the breviary, watching the labors of his pets.
+And this also had been his room! This dark, damp cell. Here, breviary in
+hand, he had stood, and lain, and knelt. Here, in this miserable prison,
+he had found something to love, and on which to expend the rare
+intelligence and benevolence of his nature. Here, finally, in the last
+hours of his life, he had written on the fly-leaf of his prayer-book
+something to comfort his successor, and "being dead yet spoke" the words
+of consolation which he had administered in his lifetime. Monsieur the
+Viscount read that paper now with different feelings.
+
+There is perhaps no argument so strong, and no virtue that so commands
+the respect of young men, as consistency. Monsieur the Preceptor's
+lifelong counsel and example would have done less for his pupil than was
+effected by the knowledge of his consistent career, now that it was
+past. It was not the nobility of the priest's principles that awoke in
+Monsieur the Viscount a desire to imitate his religious example, but the
+fact that he had applied them to his own life, not only in the time of
+wealth, but in the time of tribulation and in the hour of death. All
+that high-strung piety--that life of prayer--those unswerving
+admonitions to consider the vanity of earthly treasures, and to prepare
+for death--which had sounded so unreal amidst the perfumed elegancies of
+the chateau, came back now with a reality gained from experiment. The
+daily life of self-denial, the conversation garnished from Scripture and
+from the Fathers, had not, after all, been mere priestly affectations.
+In no symbolic manner, but, literally, he had "watched for the coming of
+his Lord," and "taken up the cross daily;" and so, when the cross was
+laid on him, and when the voice spoke which must speak to all, "The
+Master is come, and calleth for thee," he bore the burden and obeyed the
+summons unmoved.
+
+_Unmoved!_--this was the fact that struck deep into the heart of
+Monsieur the Viscount, as he listened to Antoine's account of the Curé's
+imprisonment. What had astonished and overpowered his own undisciplined
+nature had not disturbed Monsieur the Preceptor. He had prayed in the
+chateau--he prayed in the prison. He had often spoken in the chateau of
+the softening and comforting influences of communion with the lower
+animals and with nature, and in the uncertainty of imprisonment he had
+tamed a toad. "None of these things had moved him," and in a storm of
+grief and admiration, Monsieur the Viscount bewailed the memory of his
+tutor.
+
+"If he had only lived to teach me!"
+
+But he was dead, and there was nothing for Monsieur the Viscount but to
+make the most of his example. This was not so easy to follow as he
+imagined. Things seemed to be different with him to what they had been
+with Monsieur the Preceptor. He had no lofty meditations, no ardent
+prayers, and calm and peace seemed more distant than ever. Monsieur the
+Viscount met, in short, with all those difficulties that the soul must
+meet with, which, in a moment of enthusiasm, has resolved upon a higher
+and a better way of life, and in moments of depression is perpetually
+tempted to forego that resolution. His prison life was, however, a
+pretty severe discipline, and he held on with struggles and prayers; and
+so, little by little, and day by day, as the time of his imprisonment
+went by, the consolations of religion became a daily strength against
+the fretfulness of imperious temper, the sickness of hope deferred, and
+the dark suggestions of despair.
+
+The term of his imprisonment was a long one. Many prisoners came and
+went within the walls of the Abbaye, but Monsieur the Viscount still
+remained in his cell: indeed, he would have gained little by leaving it
+if he could have done so, as he would almost certainly have been
+retaken. As it was, Antoine on more than one occasion concealed him
+behind the bundles of firewood, and once or twice he narrowly escaped
+detection by less friendly officials. There were times when the
+guillotine seemed to him almost better than this long suspense: but
+while other heads passed to the block, his remained on his shoulders;
+and so weeks and even months went by. And during all this time, sleeping
+or waking, whenever he lay down upon his pallet, the toad crept up on to
+the stone, and kept watch over him with lustrous eyes.
+
+Monsieur the Viscount hardly acknowledged to himself the affection with
+which he came to regard this ugly and despicable animal. The greater
+part of his regard for it he believed to be due to its connection with
+his tutor, and the rest he set down to the score of his own humanity,
+and took credit to himself accordingly; whereas in truth Monsieur
+Crapaud was of incalculable service to his new master, who would lie and
+chatter to him for hours, and almost forget his present discomfort in
+recalling past happiness, as he described the chateau, the gardens, the
+burly tutor, and beautiful Madame, or laughed over his childish
+remembrances of the toad's teeth in Claude Mignon's pocket; whilst
+Monsieur Crapaud sat well-bred and silent, with a world of comprehension
+in his fiery eyes. Whoever thinks this puerile must remember that my
+hero was a Frenchman, and a young Frenchman, with a prescriptive right
+to chatter for chattering's sake, and also that he had not a very highly
+cultivated mind of his own to converse with, even if the most highly
+cultivated intellect is ever a reliable resource against the terrors of
+solitary confinement.
+
+Foolish or wise, however, Monsieur the Viscount's attachment
+strengthened daily; and one day something happened which showed his pet
+in a new light, and afforded him fresh amusement.
+
+The prison was much infested with certain large black spiders, which
+crawled about the floor and walls; and, as Monsieur the Viscount was
+lying on his pallet, he saw one of these scramble up and over the stone
+on which sat Monsieur Crapaud. That good gentleman, whose eyes, till
+then, had been fixed as usual on his master, now turned his attention to
+the intruder. The spider, as if conscious of danger, had suddenly
+stopped still. Monsieur Crapaud gazed at it intently with his beautiful
+eyes, and bent himself slightly forward. So they remained for some
+seconds, then the spider turned round, and began suddenly to scramble
+away. At this instant Monsieur the Viscount saw his friend's eyes gleam
+with an intenser fire, his head was jerked forwards; it almost seemed as
+if something had been projected from his mouth, and drawn back again
+with the rapidity of lightning. Then Monsieur Crapaud resumed his
+position, drew in his head, and gazed mildly and sedately before him;
+_but the spider was nowhere to be seen_.
+
+Monsieur the Viscount burst into a loud laugh.
+
+"Eh, well! Monsieur," said he, "but this is not well-bred on your part.
+Who gave you leave to eat my spiders, and to bolt them in such an
+unmannerly way, moreover?"
+
+In spite of this reproof Monsieur Crapaud looked in no way ashamed of
+himself, and I regret to state that hence-forward (with the partial
+humaneness of mankind in general), Monsieur the Viscount amused himself
+by catching the insects (which were only too plentiful) in an old
+oyster-shell, and setting them at liberty on the stone for the benefit
+of his friend. As for him, all appeared to be fish that came to his
+net--spiders and beetles, slugs and snails from the damp corners,
+flies, and wood-lice found on turning up the large stone, disappeared
+one after the other. The wood-lice were an especial amusement: when
+Monsieur the Viscount touched them, they shut up into tight little
+balls, and in this condition he removed them to the stone, and placed
+them like marbles in a row, Monsieur Crapaud watching the proceeding
+with rapt attention. After awhile the balls would slowly open and begin
+to crawl away; but he was a very active wood-louse indeed who escaped
+the suction of Monsieur Crapaud's tongue, as his eyes glowing with eager
+enjoyment, he bolted one after another, and Monsieur the Viscount
+clapped his hands and applauded.
+
+The grated window was a fine field for spiders and other insects, and by
+piling up stones on the floor, Monsieur the Viscount contrived to
+scramble up to it, and fill his friend's oyster-shell with the prey.
+
+One day, about a year and nine months after his first arrival at the
+prison, he climbed to the embrasure of the window, as usual,
+oyster-shell in hand. He always chose a time for this when he knew that
+the court would most probably be deserted, to avoid the danger of being
+recognized through the grating. He was therefore, not a little startled
+at being disturbed in his capture of a fat black spider by a sound of
+something bumping against the iron bars. On looking up, he saw that a
+string was dangling before the window with something attached to the end
+of it. He drew it in, and, as he did so, he fancied that he heard a
+distant sound of voices and clapped hands, as if from some window above.
+He proceeded to examine his prize, and found that it was a little round
+pincushion of sand, such as women use to polish their needles with, and
+that, apparently, it was used as a make-weight to ensure the steady
+descent of a neat little letter that was tied beside it, in company with
+a small lead pencil. The letter was directed to "_The prisoner who finds
+this._" Monsieur the Viscount opened it at once. This was the letter:
+
+                              "_In prison, 24th Prairial, year 2._
+
+     "_Fellow-sufferer, who are you? how long have you been
+     imprisoned? Be good enough to answer._"
+
+Monsieur the Viscount hesitated for a moment, and then determined to
+risk all. He tore off a bit of the paper, and with the little pencil
+hurriedly wrote this reply:--
+
+                                      "_In secret, June 12, 1794._
+
+     "_Louis Archambaud Jean-Marie Arnaud, Vicomte de B. supposed
+     to have perished in the massacres of September, 1792. Keep
+     my secret. I have been imprisoned a year and nine months.
+     Who are you? how long have you been here?_"
+
+The letter was drawn up, and he watched anxiously for the reply. It
+came, and with it some sheets of blank paper.
+
+     "_Monsieur,--We have the honor to reply to your inquiries
+     and thank you for your frankness. Henri Edouard Clermont,
+     Baron de St. Claire. Valerie de St. Claire. We have been
+     here but two days. Accept our sympathy for your
+     misfortunes._"
+
+Four words in this note seized at once upon Monsieur the Viscount's
+interest--_Valerie de St. Claire_:--and for some reasons which I do not
+pretend to explain, he decided that it was she who was the author of
+these epistles, and the demon of curiosity forthwith took possession of
+his mind. Who was she? was she old or young. And in which relation did
+she stand to Monsieur le Baron--that of wife, of sister, or of daughter?
+And from some equally inexplicable cause Monsieur the Viscount
+determined in his own mind that it was the latter. To make assurance
+doubly sure, however, he laid a trap to discover the real state of the
+case. He wrote a letter of thanks and sympathy, expressed with all the
+delicate chivalrous politeness of a nobleman of the old _régime_, and
+addressed it to _Madame la Baronne_. The plan succeeded. The next note
+he received contained these sentences:--"_I am not the Baroness. Madame
+my mother is, alas! dead. I and my father are alone. He is ill; but
+thanks you, Monsieur, for your letters, which relieve the_ ennui _of
+imprisonment. Are you alone?_"
+
+Monsieur the Viscount, as in duty bound, relieved the ennui of the
+Baron's captivity by another epistle. Before answering the last
+question, he turned round involuntarily and looked to where Monsieur
+Crapaud sat by the broken pitcher. The beautiful eyes were turned
+towards him, and Monsieur the Viscount took up his pencil, and wrote
+hastily, "_I am not alone--I have a friend._"
+
+Henceforward the oyster-shell took a long time to fill, and patience
+seemed a harder virtue than ever. Perhaps the last fact had something to
+do with the rapid decline of Monsieur the Viscount's health. He became
+paler and weaker, and more fretful. His prayers were accompanied by
+greater mental struggles, and watered with more tears. He was, however,
+most positive in his assurances to Monsieur Crapaud that he knew the
+exact nature and cause of the malady that was consuming him. It
+resulted, he said, from the noxious and unwholesome condition of his
+cell; and he would entreat Antoine to have it swept out. After some
+difficulty the gaoler consented.
+
+It was nearly a month since Monsieur the Viscount had first been
+startled by the appearance of the little pincushion. The stock of paper
+had long been exhausted. He had torn up his cambric ruffles to write
+upon, and Mademoiselle de St. Claire had made havoc of her
+pocket-handkerchiefs for the same purpose. The Viscount was feebler than
+ever, and Antoine became alarmed. The cell should be swept out the next
+morning. He would come himself, he said, and bring another man out of
+the town with him to help him, for the work was heavy, and he had a
+touch of rheumatism. The man was a stupid fellow from the country, who
+had only been a week in Paris; he had never heard of the Viscount, and
+Antoine would tell him that the prisoner was a certain young lawyer who
+had really died of fever in prison the day before. Monsieur the Viscount
+thanked him; and it was not till the next morning arrived, and he was
+expecting them every moment, that Monsieur the Viscount remembered the
+toad, and that he would without doubt be swept away with the rest in
+the general clearance. At first he thought that he would beg them to
+leave it, but some knowledge of the petty insults which that class of
+men heaped upon their prisoners made him feel that this would probably
+be only an additional reason for their taking the animal away. There was
+no place to hide it in, for they would go all round the room;
+unless--unless Monsieur the Viscount took it up in his hand. And this
+was just what he objected to do. All his old feelings of repugnance came
+back, he had not even got gloves on; his long white hands were bare, he
+could not touch a toad. It was true that the beast had amused him, and
+that he had chatted to it; but after all, this was a piece of childish
+folly--an unmanly way, to say the least, of relieving the tedium of
+captivity. What was Monsieur Crapaud but a very ugly (and most people
+said a venomous) reptile? To what a folly he had been condescending!
+With these thoughts, Monsieur the Viscount steeled himself against the
+glances of his topaz-eyed friend, and when the steps of thee men were
+heard upon the stairs, he did not move from the window where he had
+placed himself, with his back to the stone.
+
+The steps came nearer and nearer, Monsieur the Viscount began to
+whistle;--the key was rattled into the lock, and Monsieur the Viscount
+heard a bit of bread fall, as the toad hastily descended to hide itself
+as usual in the corners. In a moment his resolution was gone; another
+second, and it would be too late. He dashed after the creature, picked
+it up, and when the men came in he was standing with his hands behind
+him, in which Monsieur Crapaud was quietly and safely seated.
+
+The room was swept, and Antoine was preparing to go, when the other, who
+had been eyeing the prisoner suspiciously, stopped and said with a sharp
+sneer, "Does the citizen always preserve that position?"
+
+"Not he," said the gaoler, good-naturedly. "He spends most of his time
+in bed, which saves his legs. Come along Francois."
+
+"I shall not come," said the other, obstinately. "Let the citizen show
+me his hands."
+
+"Plague take you!" said Antoine, in a whisper. "What sulky fit
+possesses you, my comrade! Let the poor wretch alone. What wouldst thou
+with his hands? Wait a little, and thou shalt have his head."
+
+"We should have few heads or prisoners either, if thou hadst the care of
+them," said Francois sharply. "I say that the prisoner secretes
+something, and that I will see it. Show your hands, dog of an
+aristocrat!"
+
+Monsieur the Viscount set his teeth to keep himself from speaking, and
+held out his hands in silence, toad and all.
+
+Both the men started back with an exclamation, and Francois got behind
+his comrade, and swore over his shoulder.
+
+Monsieur the Viscount stood upright and still, with a smile on his white
+face. "Behold, citizen, what I secrete, and what I desire to keep.
+Behold all that I have left to secrete or to desire! There is nothing
+more."
+
+"Throw it down!" screamed Francois; "many a witch has been burnt for
+less--throw it down."
+
+The color began to flood over Monsieur the Viscount's face; but still he
+spoke gently, and with bated breath. "If you wish me to suffer, citizen,
+let this be my witness that I have suffered. I must be very friendless
+to desire such a friend. I must be brought very low to ask such a favor.
+Let the Republic give me this."
+
+"The Republic has one safe rule for aristocrats," said the other; "she
+gives them nothing but their keep till she pays for their shaving--once
+for all. She gave one of these dogs a few rags to dress a wound on his
+back with, and he made a rope of his dressings, and let himself down
+from the window. We will have no more such games. You may be training
+the beast to spit poison at good citizens. Throw it down and kill it."
+
+Monsieur the Viscount made no reply. His hands had moved towards his
+breast, against which he was holding his golden-eyed friend. There are
+times in life when the brute creation contrasts favorably with the lords
+thereof, and this was one of them. It was hard to part just now.
+
+Antoine, who had been internally cursing his own folly in bringing such
+a companion into the cell, now interfered. "If you are going to stay
+here to be bitten or spit at, Francois, my friend," said he, "I am not.
+Thou art zealous, my comrade, but dull as an owl. The Republic is
+far-sighted in her wisdom beyond thy coarse ideas, and has more ways of
+taking their heads from these aristocrats than one. Dost thou not see?"
+And he tapped his forehead significantly, and looked at the prisoner;
+and so, between talking and pushing, got his sulky companion out of the
+cell, and locked the door after them.
+
+"And so, my friend--my friend!" said Monsieur the Viscount, tenderly,
+"we are safe once more; but it will not be for long, my Crapaud.
+Something tells me that I cannot much longer be overlooked. A little
+while, and I shall be gone; and thou wilt have, perchance, another
+master, when I am summoned before mine."
+
+Monsieur the Viscount's misgivings were just. Francois, on whose
+stupidity Antoine had relied, was (as is not uncommon with people stupid
+in other respects) just clever enough to be mischievous. Antoine's
+evident alarm made him suspicious, and he began to talk about the
+too-elegant-looking young lawyer who was imprisoned "in secret," and
+permitted by the gaoler to keep venomous beasts. Antoine was examined
+and committed to one of his own cells, and Monsieur the Viscount was
+summoned before the revolutionary tribunal.
+
+There was little need even for the scanty inquiry that in those days
+preceded sentence. In every line of his beautiful face, marred as it was
+by sickness and suffering--in the unconquerable dignity, which dirt and
+raggedness were powerless to hide, the fatal nobility of his birth and
+breeding were betrayed. When he returned to the anteroom, he did not
+positively know his fate; but in his mind there was a moral certainty
+that left him no hope.
+
+The room was filled with other prisoners awaiting trial; and as he
+entered, his eyes wandered round it to see if there were any familiar
+faces. They fell upon two figures standing with their backs to him--a
+tall, fierce-looking man, who, despite his height and fierceness, had a
+restless, nervous despondency expressed in all his movements; and a
+young girl who leant on his arm as if for support, but whose steady
+quietude gave her more the air of a supporter. Without seeing their
+faces, and for no reasonable reason, Monsieur the Viscount decided with
+himself that they were the Baron and his daughter, and he begged the man
+who was conducting him, for a moment's delay. The man consented. France
+was becoming sick of unmitigated carnage, and even the executioners
+sometimes indulged in pity by way of a change.
+
+As Monsieur the Viscount approached the two they turned round, and he
+saw her face--a very fair and very resolute one, with ashen hair and
+large eyes. In common with almost all the faces in that room, it was
+blanched with suffering; and it is fair to say, in common with many of
+them, it was pervaded by a lofty calm. Monsieur the Viscount never for
+an instant doubted his own conviction; he drew near and said in a low
+voice, "Mademoiselle de St. Claire!"
+
+The Baron looked first fierce, and then alarmed. His daughter's face
+illumined; she turned her large eyes on the speaker, and said simply,
+
+"Monsieur le Vicomte?"
+
+The Baron apologized, commiserated, and sat down on a seat near, with a
+look of fretful despair; and his daughter and Monsieur the Viscount were
+left standing together. Monsieur the Viscount desired to say a great
+deal and could say very little. The moments went by and hardly a word
+had been spoken.
+
+Valerie asked if he knew his fate.
+
+"I have not heard it," he said; "but I am morally certain. There can be
+but one end in these days."
+
+She sighed. "It is the same with us. And if you must suffer, Monsieur, I
+wish that we may suffer together. It would comfort my father--and me."
+
+Her composure vexed him. Just, too, when he was sensible that the desire
+of life was making a few fierce struggles in his own breast.
+
+"You seem to look forward to death with great cheerfulness,
+Mademoiselle."
+
+The large eyes were raised to him with a look of surprise at the
+irritation of his tone.
+
+"I think," she said gently, "that one does not look forward to, but
+_beyond_ it." She stopped and hesitated, still watching his face, and
+then spoke hurriedly and diffidently:--
+
+"Monsieur, it seems impertinent to make such suggestions to you, who
+have doubtless a full fund of consolation; but I remember, when a child,
+going to hear the preaching of a monk who was famous for his eloquence.
+He said that his text was from the Scriptures--it has been in my mind
+all to-day--'_There the wicked cease from troubling, and there the weary
+be at rest._' The man is becoming impatient. Adieu! Monsieur. A thousand
+thanks and a thousand blessings."
+
+She offered her cheek, on which there was not a ray of increased color,
+and Monsieur the Viscount stooped and kissed it, with a thick mist
+gathering in his eyes, through which he could not see her face.
+
+"Adieu! Valerie!"
+
+"Adieu! Louis!"
+
+So they met, and so they parted; and as Monsieur the Viscount went back
+to his prison, he flattered himself that the last link was broken for
+him in the chain of earthly interests.
+
+When he reached the cell he was tired, and lay down, and in a few
+seconds a soft scrambling over the floor announced the return of
+Monsieur Crapaud from his hiding place. With one wrinkled leg after
+another he clambered on to the stone, and Monsieur the Viscount started
+when he saw him.
+
+"Friend Crapaud! I had actually forgotten thee. I fancied I had said
+adieu for the last time;" and he gave a choked sigh, which Monsieur
+Crapaud could not be expected to understand. In about five minutes he
+sprang up suddenly. "Monsieur Crapaud, I have not long to live, and no
+time must be lost in making my will." Monsieur Crapaud was too wise to
+express any astonishment; and his master began to hunt for a
+tidy-looking stone (paper and cambric were both at an end). They were
+all rough and dirty; but necessity had made the Viscount inventive, and
+he took a couple and rubbed them together till he had polished both.
+Then he pulled out the little pencil, and for the next half hour wrote
+busily. When it was done he lay down, and read it to his friend. This
+was Monsieur the Viscount's last will and testament:--
+
+                  "_To my successor in this cell._
+
+     "To you whom Providence has chosen to be the inheritor of my
+     sorrows and my captivity, I desire to make another bequest.
+     There is in this prison a toad. He was tamed by a man (peace
+     to his memory!) who tenanted this cell before me. He has
+     been my friend and companion for nearly two years of sad
+     imprisonment. He has sat by my bedside, fed from my hand,
+     and shared all my confidence. He is ugly, but he has
+     beautiful eyes; he is silent, but he is attentive; he is a
+     brute, but I wish the men of France were in this respect
+     more his superiors! He is very faithful. May you never have
+     a worse friend! He feeds upon insects, which I have been
+     accustomed to procure for him. Be kind to him; he will repay
+     it. Like other men, I bequeath what I would take with me if
+     I could.
+
+     "Fellow-sufferer, adieu! God comfort you as He has comforted
+     me! The sorrows of this life are sharp but short; the joys
+     of the next life are eternal. Think some times on him who
+     commends his friend to your pity, and himself to your
+     prayers.
+
+     "This is the last will and testament of Louis Archambaud
+     Jean-Marie Arnaud, Vicomte de B----."
+
+Monsieur the Viscount's last will and testament was with difficulty
+squeezed into the surface of the larger of the stones. Then he hid it
+where the priest had hid his bequest long ago, and then lay down to
+dream of Monsieur the Preceptor, and that they had met at last.
+
+The next day was one of anxious suspense. In the evening, as usual, a
+list of those who were to be guillotined next morning, was brought into
+the prison; and Monsieur the Viscount begged for a sight of it. It was
+brought to him. First on the list was Antoine! Halfway down was his own
+name, "Louis de B--," and a little lower his fascinated gaze fell upon
+names that stirred his heart with such a passion of regret as he had
+fancied it would never feel again, "Henri de St. Claire, Valerie de St.
+Claire."
+
+Her eyes seemed to shine on him from the gathering twilight, and her
+calm voice to echo in his ears. "_It has been in my mind all to-day.
+There the wicked cease from troubling, and there the weary be at rest._"
+
+_There!_ He buried his face and prayed.
+
+He was disturbed by the unlocking of the door, and the new gaoler
+appeared with Antoine! The poor wretch seemed overpowered by terror. He
+had begged to be imprisoned for this last night with Monsieur the
+Viscount. It was only a matter of a few hours, as they were to die at
+daybreak, and his request was granted.
+
+Antoine's entrance turned the current of Monsieur the Viscount's
+thoughts. No more selfish reflections now. He must comfort this poor
+creature, of whose death he was to be the unintentional cause. Antoine's
+first anxiety was that Monsieur the Viscount should bear witness that
+the gaoler had treated him kindly, and so earned the blessing and not
+the curse of Monsieur le Curé, whose powerful presence seemed to haunt
+him still. On this score he was soon set at rest, and then came the old,
+old story. He had been but a bad man. If his life were to come over
+again, he would do differently. Did Monsieur the Viscount think that
+there was any hope?
+
+Would Monsieur the Viscount have recognized himself, could he, two years
+ago, have seen himself as he was now? Kneeling by that rough,
+uncultivated figure, and pleading with all the eloquence that he could
+master to that rough uncultivated heart, the great Truths of
+Christianity,--so great and few and simple in their application to our
+needs! The violet eyes had never appealed more tenderly, the soft voice
+had never been softer than now, as he strove to explain to this ignorant
+soul, the cardinal doctrines of Faith and Repentance, and Charity, with
+an earnestness that was perhaps more effectual than his preaching.
+
+Monsieur the Viscount was quite as much astonished as flattered by the
+success of his instructions. The faith on which he had laid hold with
+such mortal struggles, seemed almost to "come natural" (as people say)
+to Antoine. With abundant tears, he professed the deepest penitence for
+his past life, at the same time that he accepted the doctrine of the
+Atonement as a natural remedy, and never seemed to have a doubt in the
+Infinite Mercy that should cover his infinite guilt.
+
+It was all so orthodox that even if he had doubted (which he did not)
+the sincerity of the gaoler's contrition and belief, Monsieur the
+Viscount could have done nothing but envy the easy nature of Antoine's
+convictions. He forgot the difference of their respective capabilities!
+
+When the night was far advanced the men rose from their knees, and
+Monsieur the Viscount persuaded Antoine to lie down on his pallet, and
+when the gaoler's heavy breathing told that he was asleep, Monsieur the
+Viscount felt relieved to be alone once more; alone, except for Monsieur
+Crapaud, whose round fiery eyes were open as usual.
+
+The simplicity with which he had been obliged to explain the truths of
+Divine Love to Antoine, was of signal service to Monsieur the Viscount
+himself. It left him no excuse for those intricacies of doubt, with
+which refined minds too often torture themselves; and as he paced feebly
+up and down the cell, all the long-withheld peace for which he had
+striven since his imprisonment seemed to flood into his soul. How
+blessed--how undeservedly blessed--was his fate! Who or what was he that
+after such short, such mitigated sufferings, the crown of victory should
+be so near? The way had seemed long to come, it was short to look back
+upon, and now the golden gates were almost reached, the everlasting
+doors were open. A few more hours, and then--! and as Monsieur the
+Viscount buried his worn face in his hands, the tears that trickled from
+his fingers were literally tears of joy.
+
+He groped his way to the stone, pushed some straw close to it, and lay
+down on the ground to rest, watched by Monsieur Crapaud's fiery eyes.
+And as he lay, faces seemed to him to rise out of the darkness, to take
+the form and features of the face of the Priest, and to gaze at him with
+unutterable benediction. And in his mind, like some familiar piece of
+music, awoke the words that had been written on the fly-leaf of the
+little book; coming back, sleepily and dreamily, over and over again--
+
+       "_Souvenez-vous du Sauveur! Souvenez-vous du Sauveur!_"
+                      (Remember the Saviour!)
+
+In that remembrance he fell asleep.
+
+Monsieur the Viscount's sleep for some hours was without a dream. Then
+it began to be disturbed by that uneasy consciousness of sleeping too
+long, which enables some people to awake at whatever hour they have
+resolved upon. At last it became intolerable, and wearied as he was, he
+awoke. It was broad daylight, and Antoine was snoring beside him. Surely
+the cart would come soon, the executions were generally at an early
+hour. But time went on, and no one came, and Antoine awoke. The hours of
+suspense passed heavily, but at last there were steps and a key rattled
+into the lock. The door opened, and the gaoler appeared with a jug of
+milk and a loaf. With a strange smile he set them down.
+
+"A good appetite to you, citizens."
+
+Antoine flew on him. "Comrade! we used to be friends. Tell me, what is
+it? Is the execution deferred?"
+
+"The execution has taken place at last," said the other, significantly;
+"_Robespierre is dead!_" and he vanished.
+
+Antoine uttered a shriek of joy. He wept, he laughed, he cut capers, and
+flinging himself at Monsieur the Viscount's feet, he kissed them
+rapturously. When he raised his eyes to Monsieur the Viscount's face,
+his transports moderated. The last shock had been too much, he seemed
+almost in a stupor. Antoine got him on the pallet, dragged the blanket
+over him, broke the bread into the milk, and played the nurse once more.
+
+On that day thousands of prisoners in the city of Paris alone awoke from
+the shadow of death to the hope of life. The Reign of Terror was ended!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+It was a year of grace early in the present century.
+
+We are again in the beautiful country of beautiful France. It is the
+chateau once more. It is the same, but changed. The unapproachable
+elegance, the inviolable security, have witnessed invasion. The right
+wing of the chateau is in ruins, with traces of fire upon the blackened
+walls; while here and there, a broken statue or a roofless temple, are
+sad memorials of the Revolution. Within the restored part of the
+chateau, however, all looks well. Monsieur the Viscount has been
+fortunate, and if not so rich a man as his father, has yet regained
+enough of his property to live with comfort, and, as he thinks, luxury.
+The long rooms are little less elegant than in former days, and Madame
+the present Viscountess's boudoir is a model of taste. Not far from it
+is another room, to which it forms a singular contrast. This room
+belongs to Monsieur the Viscount. It is small, with one window. The
+floor and walls are bare, and it contains no furniture; but on the floor
+is a worn-out pallet, by which lies a stone, and on that a broken
+pitcher, and in a little frame against the wall is preserved a crumpled
+bit of paper like the fly-leaf of some little book, on which is a
+half-effaced inscription, which can be deciphered by Monsieur the
+Viscount if by no one else. Above the window is written in large
+letters, a date and the word REMEMBER. Monsieur the Viscount is not
+likely to forget, but he is afraid of himself and of prosperity lest it
+should spoil him.
+
+It is evening, and Monsieur the Viscount is strolling along the terrace
+with Madame on his arm. He has only one to offer her, for where the
+other should be an empty sleeve is pinned to his breast, on which a bit
+of ribbon is stirred by the breeze. Monsieur the Viscount has not been
+idle since we saw him last; the faith that taught him to die, has
+taught him also how to live,--an honorable, useful life.
+
+It is evening, and the air comes up perfumed from a bed of violets by
+which Monsieur the Viscount is kneeling. Madame (who has a fair face and
+ashen hair) stands by him with her little hand on his shoulder and her
+large eyes upon the violets.
+
+"My friend! My friend! My friend!" It is Monsieur the Viscount's voice,
+and at the sound of it, there is a rustle among the violets that sends
+the perfume high into the air. Then from the parted leaves come forth
+first a dirty wrinkled leg, then a dirty wrinkled head with gleaming
+eyes, and Monsieur Crapaud crawls with self-satisfied dignity on to
+Monsieur the Viscount's outstretched hand.
+
+So they stay laughing and chatting, and then Monsieur the Viscount bids
+his friend good-night, and holds him towards Madame, that she may do the
+same. But Madame (who did not enjoy Monsieur Crapaud's society in
+prison) cannot be induced to do more than scratch his head delicately
+with the tip of her white finger. But she respects him greatly, at a
+distance, she says. Then they go back along the terrace, and are met by
+a man-servant in Monsieur the Viscount's livery. Is it possible that
+this is Antoine, with his shock head covered with powder?
+
+Yes; that grating voice which no mental change avails to subdue, is his,
+and he announces that Monsieur le Curé has arrived. It is the old Curé
+of the village (who has survived the troubles of the Revolution), and
+many are the evenings he spends at the chateau, and many the times in
+which the closing acts of a noble life are recounted to him, the life of
+his old friend whom he hopes ere long to see,--of Monsieur the
+Preceptor. He is kindly welcomed by Monsieur and by Madame, and they
+pass on together into the chateau. And when Monsieur the Viscount's
+steps have ceased to echo from the terrace, Monsieur Crapaud buries
+himself once more among the violets.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Monsieur the Viscount is dead, and Madame sleeps also at his side; and
+their possessions have descended to their son.
+
+Not the least valued among them, is a case with a glass front and sides,
+in which, seated upon a stone is the body of a toad stuffed with
+exquisite skill, from whose head gleam eyes of genuine topaz. Above it
+in letters of gold is a date, and this inscription:--
+
+              "MONSIEUR THE VISCOUNT'S FRIEND."
+                            ADIEU!
+
+
+
+
+THE YEW-LANE GHOSTS.
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+    "Cowards are cruel."
+
+                    OLD PROVERB.
+
+
+This story begins on a fine autumn afternoon, when at the end of a field
+over which the shadows of a few wayside trees were stalking like long
+thin giants, a man and a boy sat side by side upon a stile. They were
+not a happy looking pair. The boy looked uncomfortable, because he
+wanted to get away, and dared not go. The man looked uncomfortable also;
+but then no one had ever seen him look otherwise, which was the more
+strange as he never professed to have any object in life but his own
+pleasure and gratification. Not troubling himself with any consideration
+of law or principle--of his own duty or other people's comfort--he had
+consistently spent his whole time and energies in trying to be jolly;
+and though now a grown-up young man, had so far had every appearance of
+failing in the attempt. From this it will be seen that he was not the
+most estimable of characters, and we shall have no more to do with him
+than we can help; but as he must appear in the story, he may as well be
+described.
+
+If constant self-indulgence had answered as well as it should have done,
+he would have been a fine-looking young man; as it was, the habits of
+his life were fast destroying his appearance. His hair would have been
+golden if it had been kept clean. His figure was tall and strong; but
+the custom of slinking about places where he had no business to be, and
+lounging in corners where he had nothing to do, had given it such a
+hopeless slouch, that for the matter of beauty he might almost as well
+have been knock-kneed. His eyes would have been handsome if the lids had
+been less red; and if he had ever looked you in the face, you would have
+seen that they were blue. His complexion was fair by nature, and
+discolored by drink. His manner was something between a sneak and a
+swagger, and he generally wore his cap a-one-side, carried his hands in
+his pockets, and a short stick under his arm, and whistled when any one
+passed him. His chief characteristic perhaps was a habit he had of
+kicking. Indoors he kicked the furniture; in the road he kicked the
+stones; if he lounged against a wall he kicked it; he kicked all
+animals, and such human beings as he felt sure would not kick him again.
+
+It should be said here that he had once announced his intention of
+"turning steady, and settling, and getting wed." The object of his
+choice was the prettiest girl in the village, and was as good as she was
+pretty. To say the truth, the time had been when Bessy had not felt
+unkindly towards the yellow-haired lad; but his conduct had long put a
+gulf between them, which only the conceit of a scamp would have
+attempted to pass. However, he flattered himself that he "knew what the
+lasses meant when they said no;" and on the strength of this knowledge
+he presumed far enough to elicit a rebuff so hearty and unmistakable,
+that for a week he was the laughing-stock of the village. There was no
+mistake this time as to what "no" meant; his admiration turned to a
+hatred almost as intense, and he went faster "to the bad" than ever.
+
+It was Bessy's little brother who sat by him on the stile; "Beauty
+Bill," as he was called, from the large share he possessed of the family
+good looks. The lad was one of those people who seem born to be
+favorites. He was handsome and merry and intelligent; and being well
+brought up, was well-conducted and amiable--the pride and pet of the
+village. Why did Mother Muggins of the shop let the goody side of her
+scales of justice drop the lower by one lollipop for Bill than for any
+other lad, and exempt him by unwonted smiles from her general anathema
+on the urchin race? There were other honest boys in the parish who paid
+for their treacle-sticks in sterling copper of the realm! The very
+roughs of the village were proud of him, and would have showed their
+good nature in ways little to his benefit, had not his father kept a
+somewhat severe watch upon his habits and conduct. Indeed, good parents
+and a strict home counterbalanced the evils of popularity with Beauty
+Bill, and on the whole he was little spoilt, and well deserved the favor
+he met with. It was under cover of friendly patronage that his companion
+was now detaining him; but all the circumstances considered, Bill felt
+more suspicious than gratified, and wished Bully Tom anywhere but where
+he was.
+
+The man threw out one leg before him like the pendulum of a clock--
+
+"Night school's opened, eh?" he inquired; and back swung the pendulum
+against Bill's shins.
+
+"Yes;" and the boy screwed his legs on one side.
+
+"You don't go, do you?"
+
+"Yes, I do," said Bill, trying not to feel ashamed of the fact. "Father
+can't spare me to the day-school now, so our Bessy persuaded him to let
+me go at nights."
+
+Bully Tom's face looked a shade darker, and the pendulum took a swing
+which it was fortunate the lad avoided; but the conversation continued
+with every appearance of civility.
+
+"You come back by Yew-lane, I suppose?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Why, there's no one lives your way but old Johnson; you must come back
+alone?"
+
+"Of course I do," said Bill, beginning to feel vaguely uncomfortable.
+
+"It must be dark now before school looses?" was the next inquiry; and
+the boy's discomfort increased, he hardly knew why, as he answered--
+
+"There's a moon."
+
+"So there is," said Bully Tom, in a tone of polite assent; "and there's
+a weathercock on the church steeple; but I never heard of either of 'em
+coming down to help a body, whatever happened."
+
+Bill's discomfort had become alarm.
+
+"Why, what could happen?" he asked. "I don't understand you."
+
+His companion whistled, looked up in the air, and kicked vigorously, but
+said nothing. Bill was not extraordinarily brave, but he had a fair
+amount both of spirit and sense; and having a shrewd suspicion that
+Bully Tom was trying to frighten him, he almost made up his mind to run
+off then and there. Curiosity, however, and a vague alarm which he could
+not throw off, made him stay for a little more information.
+
+"I wish you'd out with it!" he exclaimed impatiently. "What could
+happen? No one ever comes along Yew-lane; and if they did, they wouldn't
+hurt me."
+
+"I know no one ever comes near it when they can help it," was the reply;
+"so to be sure you couldn't get set upon; and a pious lad of your sort
+wouldn't mind no other kind. Not like ghosts or anything of that."
+
+And Bully Tom looked round at his companion; a fact disagreeable from
+its rarity.
+
+"I don't believe in ghosts," said Bill, stoutly.
+
+"Of course you don't," sneered his tormentor; "you're too well educated.
+Some people does, though. I suppose them that has seen them does. Some
+people thinks that murdered men walk. P'raps some people thinks the man
+as was murdered in Yew-lane walks."
+
+"What man?" gasped Bill, feeling very chilly down the spine.
+
+"Him that was riding by the cross roads and dragged into Yew-lane, and
+his head cut off and never found, and his body buried in the
+churchyard," said Bully Tom, with a rush of superior information; "and
+all I know is, if I thought he walked in Yew-lane, or any other lane, I
+wouldn't go within five mile of it after dusk--that's all. But then I'm
+not book-larned."
+
+The two last statements were true if nothing else was that the man had
+said; and after holding up his feet and examining his boots with his
+head a-one-side, as if considering their probable efficiency against
+flesh and blood, he slid from his perch, and "loafed" slowly up the
+street, whistling and kicking the stones as he went along. As to Beauty
+Bill, he fled home as fast as his legs would carry him. By the door
+stood Bessy, washing some clothes, who turned her pretty face as he came
+up.
+
+"You're late, Bill," she said. "Go in and get your tea, it's set out.
+It's night-school night, thou knows, and Master Arthur always likes his
+class to time." He lingered, and she continued--"John Gardener was down
+this afternoon about some potatoes, and he says Master Arthur is
+expecting a friend."
+
+Bill did not heed this piece of news, any more than the slight flush on
+his sister's face as she delivered it; he was wondering whether what
+Bully Tom said was mere invention to frighten him, or whether there was
+any truth in it.
+
+"Bessy!" he said, "was there a man ever murdered in Yew-lane?"
+
+Bessy was occupied with her own thoughts, and did not notice the anxiety
+of the question.
+
+"I believe there was," she answered carelessly, "somewhere about there.
+It's a hundred years ago or more. There's an old gravestone over him in
+the churchyard by the wall, with an odd verse on it. They say the parish
+clerk wrote it. But get your tea, or you'll be late, and father'll be
+angry;" and Bessy took up her tub and departed.
+
+Poor Bill! Then it was too true. He began to pull up his trousers and
+look at his grazed legs; and the thoughts of his aching shins, Bully
+Tom's cruelty, the unavoidable night-school, and the possible ghost,
+were too much for him, and he burst into tears.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+    "There are birds out on the bushes,
+      In the meadows lies the lamb;
+    How I wonder if they're ever
+      Half as frightened as I am?"
+
+                            C. F. ALEXANDER.
+
+
+The night-school was drawing to a close. The attendance had been good,
+and the room looked cheerful. In one corner the Rector was teaching a
+group of grown-up men, who (better late than never) were zealously
+learning to read; in another the schoolmaster was flourishing his stick
+before a map as he concluded his lesson in geography. By the fire sat
+Master Arthur, the Rector's son, surrounded by his class, and in front
+of him stood Beauty Bill. Master Arthur was very popular with the
+people, especially with his pupils. The boys were anxious to get into
+his class, and loath to leave it. They admired his great height, his
+merry laugh, the variety of walking-sticks he brought with him, and his
+very funny way of explaining pictures. He was not a very methodical
+teacher, and was rather apt to give unexpected lessons on subjects in
+which he happened just then to be interested himself; but he had a clear
+simple way of explaining anything, which impressed it on the memory, and
+he took a great deal of pains in his own way. Bill was especially
+devoted to him. He often wished that Master Arthur could get very rich,
+and take him for his man-servant; he thought he should like to brush his
+clothes and take care of his sticks. He had a great interest in the
+growth of his mustache and whiskers. For some time past Master Arthur
+had had a trick of pulling at his upper lip while he was teaching; which
+occasionally provoked a whisper of "Moostarch, guvernor!" between two
+unruly members of his class; but never till to-night had Bill seen
+anything in that line which answered his expectations. Now, however, as
+he stood before the young gentleman, the fire-light fell on such a
+distinct growth of hair, that Bill's interest became absorbed to the
+exclusion of all but the most perfunctory attention to the lesson on
+hand. Would Master Arthur grow a beard? Would his mustache be short like
+the pictures of Prince Albert, or long and pointed like that of some
+other great man whose portrait he had seen in the papers? He was
+calculating on the probable effect of either style, when the order was
+given to put away books, and then the thought which had been for a time
+diverted came back again,--his walk home.
+
+Poor Bill! his fears returned with double force from having been for a
+while forgotten. He dawdled over the books, he hunted in wrong places
+for his cap and comforter, he lingered till the last boy had clattered
+through the door-way and left him with the group of elders who closed
+the proceedings and locked up the school. But after this, further delay
+was impossible. The whole party moved out into the moonlight, and the
+Rector and his son, the schoolmaster and the teachers, commenced a
+sedate parish gossip, while Bill trotted behind, wondering whether any
+possible or impossible business would take one of them his way. But when
+the turning-point was reached, the Rector destroyed all his hopes.
+
+"None of us go your way, I think," said he, as lightly as if there were
+no grievance in the case; "however, it's not far. Good-night, my boy!"
+
+And so with a volley of good-nights, the cheerful voices passed on up
+the village. Bill stood till they had quite died away, and then, when
+all was silent, he turned into the lane.
+
+The cold night-wind crept into his ears, and made uncomfortable noises
+among the trees, and blew clouds over the face of the moon. He almost
+wished that there were no moon. The shifting shadows under his feet, and
+the sudden patches of light on unexpected objects, startled him, and he
+thought he should have felt less frightened if it had been quite dark.
+Once he ran for a bit, then he resolved to be brave, then to be
+reasonable; he repeated scraps of lessons, hymns, and last Sunday's
+Collect, to divert and compose his mind; and as this plan seemed to
+answer, he determined to go through the Catechism, both question and
+answer, which he hoped might carry him to the end of his unpleasant
+journey. He had just asked himself a question with considerable dignity,
+and was about to reply, when a sudden gleam of moonlight lit up a round
+object in the ditch. Bill's heart seemed to grow cold, and he thought
+his senses would have forsaken him. Could this be the head of--? No! on
+nearer inspection it proved to be only a turnip; and when one came to
+think of it, that would have been rather a conspicuous place for the
+murdered man's skull to have been lost in for so many years.
+
+My hero must not be ridiculed too much for his fears. The terrors that
+visit childhood are not the less real and overpowering from being
+unreasonable; and to excite them is wanton cruelty. Moreover, he was but
+a little lad, and had been up and down Yew-lane both in daylight and
+dark without any fears, till Bully Tom's tormenting suggestions had
+alarmed him. Even now, as he reached the avenue of yews from which the
+lane took its name, and passed into their gloomy shade, he tried to be
+brave. He tried to think of the good God Who takes care of His children,
+and to Whom the darkness and the light are both alike. He thought of all
+he had been taught about angels, and wondered if one were near him now,
+and wished that he could see him, as Abraham and other good people had
+seen angels. In short, the poor lad did his best to apply what he had
+been taught to the present emergency, and very likely had he not done so
+he would have been worse; but as it was, he was not a little frightened,
+as we shall see.
+
+Yew-lane--cool and dark when the hottest sunshine lay beyond it--a
+loitering-place for lovers--the dearly loved play-place of generations
+of children on sultry summer days--looked very grim and vault-like, with
+narrow streaks of moonlight peeping in at rare intervals to make the
+darkness to be felt! Moreover, it was really damp and cold, which is not
+favorable to courage. At a certain point Yew-lane skirted a corner of
+the churchyard, and was itself crossed by another road, thus forming a
+"four-want-way," where suicides were buried in times past. This road
+was the old highroad, where the mail-coach ran, and along which, on such
+a night as this, a hundred years ago, a horseman rode his last ride. As
+he passed the church on his fatal journey, did anything warn him how
+soon his headless body would be buried beneath its shadow? Bill
+wondered. He wondered if he were old or young--what sort of a horse he
+rode--whose cruel hands dragged him into the shadow of the yews and slew
+him, and where his head was hidden and why. Did the church look just the
+same, and the moon shine just as brightly, that night a century ago?
+Bully Tom was right. The weathercock and the moon sit still, whatever
+happens. The boy watched the gleaming highroad as it lay beyond the dark
+aisle of trees, till he fancied he could hear the footfalls of the
+solitary horse--and yet no! The sound was not upon the hard road, but
+nearer; it was not the clatter of hoofs, but something--and a
+rustle--and then Bill's blood seemed to freeze in his veins, as he saw a
+white figure, wrapped in what seemed to be a shroud, glide out of the
+shadow of the yews and move slowly down the lane. When it reached the
+road it paused, raised a long arm warningly towards him for a moment,
+and then vanished in the direction of the churchyard.
+
+What would have been the consequence of the intense fright the poor lad
+experienced is more than any one can say, if at that moment the church
+clock had not begun to strike nine. The familiar sound, close in his
+ears, roused him from the first shock, and before it had ceased he
+contrived to make a desperate rally of his courage, flew over the road,
+and crossed the two fields that now lay between him and home without
+looking behind him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+     "It was to her a real _grief of heart_, acute, as children's
+     sorrows often are.
+
+     "We beheld this from the opposite windows--and, seen thus
+     from a little distance, how many of our own and of other
+     people's sorrows might not seem equally trivial, and equally
+     deserving of ridicule!"
+
+                             HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.
+
+
+When Bill got home he found the household busy with a much more
+practical subject than that of ghosts and haunted yew-trees. Bessy was
+ill. She had felt a pain in her side all the day, which towards night
+had become so violent that the doctor was sent for, who had pronounced
+it pleurisy, and had sent her to bed. He was just coming down-stairs as
+Bill burst into the house. The mother was too much occupied about her
+daughter to notice the lad's condition; but the doctor's sharp eyes saw
+that something was amiss, and he at once inquired what it was. Bill
+hammered and stammered, and stopped short. The doctor was such a tall,
+stout, comfortable-looking man, he looked as if he couldn't believe in
+ghosts. A slight frown however had come over his comfortable face, and
+he laid two fingers on Bill's wrist as he repeated his question.
+
+"Please sir," said Bill, "I've seen--"
+
+"A mad dog?" suggested the doctor.
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"A mad bull?"
+
+"No, sir," said Bill, desperately, "I've seen a ghost."
+
+The doctor exploded into a fit of laughter, and looked more comfortable
+than ever.
+
+"And _where_ did we see the ghost?" he inquired in a professional voice,
+as he took up his coat-tails and warmed himself at the fire.
+
+"In Yew-lane, sir; and I'm sure I did see it," said Bill, half crying;
+"it was all in white, and beckoned me."
+
+"That's to say, you saw a white gravestone, or a tree in the moonlight,
+or one of your classmates dressed up in a table-cloth. It was all
+moonshine, depend upon it," said the doctor, with a chuckle at his own
+joke; "take my advice, my boy, and don't give way to foolish fancies."
+
+At this point the mother spoke--
+
+"If his father knew, sir, as he'd got any such fads in his head, he'd
+soon flog 'em out of him."
+
+"His father is a very good one," said the doctor; "a little too fond of
+the stick, perhaps. There," he added good-naturedly, slipping sixpence
+into Bill's hand, "get a new knife, my boy, and cut a good thick stick,
+and the next ghost you meet, lay hold of him and let him taste it."
+
+Bill tried to thank him, but somehow his voice was choked, and the
+doctor turned to his mother.
+
+"The boy has been frightened," he said, "and is upset. Give him some
+supper, and put him to bed." And the good gentleman departed.
+
+Bill was duly feasted and sent to rest. His mother did not mention the
+matter to her husband, as she knew he would be angry; and occupied with
+real anxiety for her daughter, she soon forgot it herself. Consequently,
+the next night-school night she sent Bill to "clean himself," hurried on
+his tea, and packed him off, just as if nothing had happened. The boy's
+feelings since the night of the apparition had not been enviable. He
+could neither eat nor sleep. As he lay in bed at night, he kept his face
+covered with the clothes, dreading that if he peeped out into the room
+the phantom of the murdered horseman would beckon to him from the dark
+corners. Lying so till the dawn broke and the cocks began to crow, he
+would then look cautiously forth, and seeing by the gray light that the
+corners were empty, and that the figure by the door was not the Yew-lane
+Ghost, but his mother's faded print dress hanging on a nail, would drop
+his head and fall wearily asleep. The day was no better, for each hour
+brought him nearer to the next night-school; and Bessy's illness made
+his mother so busy that he never could find the right moment to ask her
+sympathy for his fears, and still less could he feel himself able to
+overcome them. And so the night-school came round again, and there he
+sat, gulping down a few mouthfuls of food, and wondering how he should
+begin to tell his mother that he neither dare, could, nor would, go down
+Yew-lane again at night. He had just opened his lips when the father
+came in, and asked in a loud voice "why Bill was not off." This
+effectually put a stop to any confidences, and the boy ran out of the
+house. Not, however, to school. He made one or two desperate efforts at
+determination, and then gave up altogether. He _could_ not go!
+
+He was wondering what he should do with himself, when it struck him that
+he would go while it was daylight and look for the grave with the odd
+verse of which Bessy had spoken. He had no difficulty in finding it. It
+was marked by a large ugly stone, on which the inscription was green,
+and in some places almost effaced.
+
+                   SACRED TO THE MEMORY.
+                            OF
+                     EPHRAIM GARNETT--
+
+He had read so far when a voice close by him said--
+
+"You'll be late for school, young chap."
+
+Bill looked up, and to his horror beheld Bully Tom standing in the road
+and kicking the churchyard wall.
+
+"Aren't you going!" he asked, as Bill did not speak.
+
+"Not to-night," said Bill, with crimson cheeks.
+
+"Larking, eh?" said Bully Tom. "My eyes, won't your father give it you!"
+and he began to move off.
+
+"Stop!" shouted Bill in an agony; "don't tell him, Tom. That would be a
+dirty trick. I'll go next time, I will indeed; I can't go to-night. I'm
+not larking, I'm scared. You won't tell?"
+
+"Not this time, maybe," was the reply; "but I wouldn't be in your shoes
+if you play this game next night;" and off he went.
+
+Bill thought it well to quit the churchyard at once for some place where
+he was not likely to be seen; he had never played truant before, and for
+the next hour or two was thoroughly miserable as he slunk about the
+premises of a neighboring farm, and finally took refuge in a shed, and
+began to consider his position. He would remain hidden till nine
+o'clock, and then go home. If nothing were said, well and good; unless
+some accident should afterwards betray him. But if his mother asked any
+questions about the school? He dared not, and he would not, tell a lie;
+and yet what would be the result of the truth coming out? There could be
+no doubt that his father would beat him. Bill thought again, and decided
+that he could bear a thrashing, but not the sight of the Yew-lane Ghost;
+so he remained where he was, wondering how it would be, and how he
+should get over the next school-night when it came. The prospect was so
+hopeless, and the poor lad so wearied with anxiety and wakeful nights,
+that he was almost asleep when he was startled by the church clock
+striking nine; and jumping up he ran home. His heart beat heavily as he
+crossed the threshold; but his mother was still absorbed by thoughts of
+Bessy, and he went to bed unquestioned. The next day too passed over
+without any awkward remarks, which was very satisfactory; but then
+night-school day came again, and Bill felt that he was in a worse
+position than ever. He had played truant once with success; but he was
+aware that it would not do a second time. Bully Tom was spiteful, and
+Master Arthur might come to "look up" his recreant pupil, and then
+Bill's father would know all.
+
+On the morning of the much-dreaded day, his mother sent him up to the
+Rectory to fetch some little delicacy that had been promised for Bessy's
+dinner. He generally found it rather amusing to go there. He liked to
+peep at the pretty garden, to look out for Master Arthur, and to sit in
+the kitchen and watch the cook, and wonder what she did with all the
+dishes and bright things that decorated the walls. To-day all was quite
+different. He avoided the gardens, he was afraid of being seen by his
+teacher, and though cook had an unusual display of pots and pans in
+operation, he sat in the corner of the kitchen indifferent to everything
+but the thought of the Yew-lane Ghost. The dinner for Bessy was put
+between two saucers, and as cook gave it into his hands she asked kindly
+after his sister, and added--
+
+"You don't look over-well yourself, lad! What's amiss?"
+
+Bill answered that he was quite well, and hurried out of the house to
+avoid further inquiries. He was becoming afraid of every one! As he
+passed the garden he thought of the gardener, and wondered if he would
+help him. He was very young and very good-natured; he had taken of late
+to coming to see Bessy, and Bill had his own ideas upon that point;
+finally, he had a small class at the night-school. Bill wondered whether
+if he screwed up his courage to-night to go, John Gardener would walk
+back with him for the pleasure of hearing the latest accounts of Bessy.
+But all hopes of this sort were cut off by Master Arthur's voice
+shouting to him from the garden--
+
+"Hi there! I want you, Willie! Come here, I say."
+
+Bill ran through the evergreens, and there among the flower-beds in the
+sunshine he saw--first, John Gardener driving a mowing-machine over the
+velvety grass under Master Arthur's very nose, so there was no getting a
+private interview with him. Secondly, Master Arthur himself, sitting on
+the ground with his terrier in his lap, directing the proceedings by
+means of a donkey-headed stick with elaborately carved ears; and thirdly
+Master Arthur's friend.
+
+Now little bits of gossip will fly; and it had been heard in the
+dining-room, and conveyed by the parlor-maid to the kitchen, and passed
+from the kitchen into the village, that Master Arthur's friend was a
+very clever young gentleman; consequently Beauty Bill had been very
+anxious to see him. As, however, the clever young gentleman was lying on
+his back on the grass, with his hat flattened over his face to keep out
+the sun, and an open book lying on its face upon his waistcoat to keep
+the place, and otherwise quite immovable, and very like other young
+gentlemen, Bill did not feel much the wiser for looking at him. He had
+a better view of him soon, however, for Master Arthur began to poke his
+friend's legs with the donkey-headed stick, and to exhort him to get up.
+
+"Hi! Bartram, get up! Here's my prime pupil. See what we can turn out.
+You may examine him if you like--Willie! this gentleman is a very clever
+gentleman, so you must keep your wits about you. _He'll_ put questions
+to you, I can tell you! There's as much difference between his head and
+mine, as between mine and the head of this stick." And Master Arthur
+flourished his "one-legged donkey," as he called it, in the air, and
+added, "Bertram! you lazy lout! _will_ you get up and take an interest
+in my humble efforts for the good of my fellow-creatures?"
+
+Thus adjured, Mr. Bartram sat up with a jerk which threw his book on to
+his boots, and his hat after it, and looked at Bill. Now Bill and the
+gardener had both been grinning, as they always did at Master Arthur's
+funny speeches; but when Bill found the clever gentleman looking at him,
+he straightened his face very quickly. The gentleman was not at all like
+his friend ("nothing near so handsome," Bill reported at home), and he
+had such a large prominent forehead that he looked as if he were bald.
+When he had sat up, he suddenly screwed up his eyes in a very peculiar
+way, pulled out a double gold eye-glass, fixed it on his nose, and
+stared through it for a second; after which his eyes unexpectedly opened
+to their full extent (they were not small ones), and took a sharp survey
+of Bill over the top of his spectacles, and this ended, he lay back on
+his elbow without speaking. Bill then and there decided that Mr. Bartram
+was very proud, rather mad, and the most disagreeable gentleman he ever
+saw; and he felt sure could see as well as he (Bill) could, and only
+wore spectacles out of a peculiar kind of pride and vain-glory which he
+could not exactly specify. Master Arthur seemed to think, at any rate,
+that he was not very civil, and began at once to talk to the boy
+himself.
+
+"Why were you not at school last time, Willie? Couldn't your mother
+spare you?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Then why didn't you come?" said Master Arthur, in evident astonishment.
+
+Poor Bill! He stammered as he had stammered before the doctor, and
+finally gasped--
+
+"Please, sir, I was scared."
+
+"Scared? What of?"
+
+"Ghosts," murmured Bill in a very ghostly whisper. Mr. Bartram raised
+himself a little. Master Arthur seemed confounded.
+
+"Why, you little goose! How is it you never were afraid before?"
+
+"Please, sir, I saw one the other night."
+
+Mr. Bartram took another look over the top of his eye-glass and sat bolt
+upright, and John Gardener stayed his machine and listened, while poor
+Bill told the whole story of the Yew-lane Ghost.
+
+When it was finished, the gardener, who was behind Master Arthur, said--
+
+"I've heard something of this, sir, in the village," and then added more
+which Bill could not hear.
+
+"Eh, what?" said Master Arthur. "Willie, take the machine and drive
+about the garden a bit wherever you like.--Now John."
+
+Willie did not at all like being sent away at this interesting point.
+Another time he would have enjoyed driving over the short grass, and
+seeing it jump up like a little green fountain in front of him; but now
+his whole mind was absorbed by the few words he caught at intervals of
+the conversation going on between John and the young gentleman. What
+could it mean? Mr. Bartram seemed to have awakened to extraordinary
+energy, and was talking rapidly. Bill heard the words "lime-light" and
+"large sheet," and thought they must be planning a magic-lantern
+exhibition, but was puzzled by catching the word "turnip." At last, as
+he was rounding the corner of the bed of geraniums, he distinctly heard
+Mr. Bartram ask,--
+
+"They cut the man's head off, didn't they?"
+
+Then they were talking about the ghost, after all! Bill gave the machine
+a jerk, and to his dismay sliced a branch off one of the geraniums. What
+was to be done? He must tell Master Arthur, but he could not interrupt
+him just now; so on he drove, feeling very much dispirited, and by no
+means cheered by hearing shouts of laughter from the party on the grass.
+When one is puzzled and out of spirits, it is no consolation to hear
+other people laughing over a private joke; moreover, Bill felt that if
+they were still on the subject of the murdered man and his ghost, their
+merriment was very unsuitable: Whatever was going on, it was quite
+evident that Mr. Bartram was the leading spirit of it, for Bill could
+see Master Arthur waving the one-legged donkey in an ecstasy, as he
+clapped his friend on the back till the eye-glass danced upon his nose.
+At last Mr. Bartram threw himself back as if closing a discussion, and
+said loud enough for Bill to hear--
+
+"You never heard of a bully who wasn't a coward."
+
+Bill thought of Bully Tom, and how he had said he dared not risk the
+chance of meeting with a ghost, and began to think that this was a
+clever young gentleman, after all. Just then Master Arthur called to
+him, and he took the bit of broken geranium and went.
+
+"Oh, Willie!" said Master Arthur, "we've been talking over your
+misfortunes--geranium? fiddlesticks! put it in your button-hole--your
+misfortunes, I say, and for to-night at any rate we intend to help you
+out of them. John--ahem!--will be--ahem!--engaged to-night, and unable
+to take his class as usual; but this gentleman has kindly consented to
+fill his place ("Hear, hear," said the gentleman alluded to), and if
+you'll come to-night, like a good lad, he and I will walk back with you;
+so if you do see the ghost, it will be in good company. But mind, this
+is on one condition. You must not say anything about it--about our
+walking back with you, I mean--to anybody. Say nothing; but get ready
+and come to school as usual. You understand?"
+
+"Yes, sir," said Bill; "and I'm very much obliged to you, sir, and the
+other gentleman as well."
+
+Nothing more was said, so Bill made his best bow and retired. As he went
+he heard Master Arthur say to the gardener--
+
+"Then you'll go to the town at once, John. We shall want the things as soon
+as possible. You'd better take the pony, and we'll have the list ready for
+you."
+
+Bill heard no more words; but as he left the grounds the laughter of the
+young gentleman rang out into the road.
+
+What did it all mean?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+     "The night was now pitmirk; the wind soughed amid the
+     headstones and railings of the gentry (for we all must die),
+     and the black corbies in the steeple-holes cackled and
+     crawed in a fearsome manner."
+
+                                MANSIE WAUCH.
+
+
+Bill was early at the night-school. No other of his class had arrived,
+so he took the corner by the fire, sacred to first-comers, and watched
+the gradual gathering of the school. Presently Master Arthur appeared,
+and close behind him came his friend. Mr. Bartram Lindsay looked more
+attractive now than he had done in the garden. When standing, he was an
+elegant though plain-looking young man, neat in his dress, and with an
+admirable figure. He was apt to stand very still and silent for a length
+of time, and had a habit of holding his chin up in the air, which led
+some people to say that he "held himself very high." This was the
+opinion that Bill had formed, and he was rather alarmed by hearing
+Master Arthur pressing his friend to take his class instead of the more
+backward one, over which the gardener usually presided; and he was
+proportionably relieved when Mr. Bartram steadily declined.
+
+"To say the truth, Bartram," said the young gentleman, "I am much
+obliged to you, for I am used to my own boys, and prefer them."
+
+Then up came the schoolmaster.
+
+"Mr. Lindsay going to take John's class? Thank you, sir. I've put out
+the books; if you want anything else, sir, p'raps you'll mention it.
+When they have done reading, perhaps, sir, you will kindly draft them
+off for writing, and take the upper classes in arithmetic, if you don't
+object, sir."
+
+Mr. Lindsay did not object.
+
+"If you have a picture or two," he said. "Thank you. Know their letters?
+All right. Different stages of progression. Very good. I've no doubt we
+shall get on together."
+
+"Between ourselves, Bartram," whispered Master Arthur into his friend's
+ear, "the class is composed of boys who ought to have been to school,
+and haven't; or who have been, and are none the better for it. Some of
+them can what they call 'read in the Testament,' and all of them
+confound _b_ and _d_ when they meet with them. They are at one point of
+general information; namely, they all know what you have just told them,
+and will none of them know it by next time. _I_ call it the rag-tag and
+bob-tail class. John says they are like forced tulips. They won't
+blossom simultaneously. He can't get them all to one standard of
+reading."
+
+Mr. Lindsay laughed and said,--
+
+"He had better read less, and try a little general oral instruction.
+Perhaps they don't remember because they can't understand;"--and the
+Rector coming in at that moment, the business of the evening commenced.
+
+Having afterwards to cross the school for something, Bill passed the new
+teacher and his class, and came to the conclusion that they did "get on
+together," and very well too. The rag-tag and bob-tail shone that night,
+and afterwards were loud in praises of the lesson.
+
+"It was so clear" and "He was so patient." Indeed, patience was one
+great secret of Mr. Lindsay's teaching; he waited so long for an answer
+that he generally got it. His pupils were obliged to exert themselves
+when there was no hope of being passed over, and everybody was waiting.
+Finally, Bill's share of the arithmetic lesson converted him to Master
+Arthur's friend. He _was_ a clever young gentleman, and a kind one too.
+
+The lesson had been so interesting--the clever young gentleman, standing
+(without his eye-glass) by the blackboard, had been so strict and yet so
+entertaining, was so obviously competent, and so pleasantly kind, that
+Bill, who liked arithmetic, and (like all intelligent children)
+appreciated good teaching, had had no time to think of the Yew-lane
+Ghost till the lesson was ended. It was not till the hymn began (they
+always ended the night-school with singing,) that he remembered it.
+Then, while he was shouting with all his might Bishop Ken's glorious old
+lines--
+
+    "Keep me, O keep me, King of kings,"
+
+he caught Mr. Lindsay's eyes fixed on him, and back came the thoughts of
+his terrible fright, with a little shame too at his own timidity. Which
+of us trusts as we should do in the "defence of the Most High"?
+
+Bill lingered as he had done the last time, and went out with the
+"grown-ups." It had been raining, and the ground was wet and sludgy,
+though it was fair overhead. The wind was cold too, and Mr. Lindsay
+began to cough so violently, that Bill felt rather ashamed of taking him
+so far out of his way, through the damp, chilly lane, and began to
+wonder whether he could not summon up courage to go alone. The result
+was, that with some effort he said--
+
+"Please, Mr. Lindsay, sir, I think you won't like to come so far this
+cold night. I'll try and manage, if you like."
+
+Mr. Lindsay laid one hand on Bill's shoulder, and said quietly--
+
+"No, thank you, my boy, we'll come with you. Thank you, all the same."
+
+"Nevertheless, Bartram," said Master Arthur, "I wish you could keep that
+cough of yours quiet--it will spoil everything. A boy was eating
+peppermints in the shade of his copybook this very night. I did box his
+ears; but I wish I had seized the goodies, they might have kept you
+quiet."
+
+"Thank you," was the reply, "I abhor peppermint; but I have got some
+lozenges, if that will satisfy you. And when I smell ghosts, I can
+smother myself in my pocket-handkerchief."
+
+Master Arthur laughed boisterously.
+
+"We shall smell one if brimstone will do it. I hope he won't set himself
+on fire, or the scenic effect will be stronger than we bargained for."
+
+This was the beginning of a desultory conversation carried on at
+intervals between the two young gentlemen, of which, though Bill heard
+every sentence, he couldn't understand one. He made one effort to
+discover what Master Arthur was alluding to, but with no satisfactory
+result as we shall see.
+
+"Please, Master Arthur," he said desperately, "you don't think there'll
+be two ghosts, do you, sir?"
+
+"I should say," said Master Arthur, so slowly and with such gravity that
+Bill felt sure he was making fun of him, "I should say, Bill, that if a
+place is haunted at all there is no limit to the number of ghosts--fifty
+quite as likely as one.--What do you you say, Bartram?"
+
+"Quite so," said Bartram.
+
+Bill made no further attempts to understand the mystery. He listened,
+but only grew more and more bewildered at the dark hints he heard, and
+never understood what it all meant until the end came; when (as is not
+uncommon) he wondered how he could have been so stupid, and why he had
+not seen it all from the very first.
+
+They had now reached the turning point, and as they passed into the dark
+lane, where the wind was shuddering and shivering among the trees, Bill
+shuddered and shivered too, and felt very glad that the young gentlemen
+were with him, after all.
+
+Mr. Lindsay pulled out his watch.
+
+"Well?" said his friend.
+
+"Ten minutes to nine."
+
+Then they walked on in silence, Master Arthur with one arm through his
+friend's, and the one-legged donkey under the other; and Mr. Lindsay
+with his hand on Bill's shoulder.
+
+"I _should_ like a pipe," said Master Arthur presently; "it's so
+abominably damp."
+
+"What a fellow you are!" said Mr. Lindsay. "Out of the question! With
+the wind setting down the lane too! you talk of my cough--which is
+better, by the bye."
+
+"What a fellow _you_ are!" retorted the other. "Bartram, you are the
+oddest creature I know. Whatever you take up, you do drive at so. Now I
+have hardly got a lark afloat before I'm sick of it. I wish you'd tell
+me two things,--first, why are you so grave to-night? and secondly, what
+made you take up our young friend's cause so warmly?"
+
+"One answer will serve both questions," said Mr. Lindsay. "The truth is,
+old fellow, our young friend [and Bill felt certain that the "young
+friend" was himself] has a look of a little chap I was chum with at
+school--Regy Gordon. I don't talk about it often, for I can't very well;
+but he was killed--think of it, man!--_killed_ by such a piece of
+bullying as this! When they found him, he was quite stiff and
+speechless; he lived a few hours, but he only said two words,--my name,
+and amen."
+
+"Amen?" said Master Arthur, inquiringly.
+
+"Well, you see when the surgeon said it was no go, they telegraphed for
+his friends; but they were a long way off, and he was sinking rapidly;
+and the old Doctor was in the room, half heart-broken, and he saw Gordon
+move his hands together, and he said, 'If any boy knows what prayers
+Gordon minor has been used to say, let him come and say them by him;'
+and I did. So I knelt by his bed and said them, the old Doctor kneeling
+too and sobbing like a child; and when I had done, Regy moved his lips
+and said 'Amen;' and then he said 'Lindsay!' and smiled, and then--"
+
+Master Arthur squeezed his friend's arm tightly, but said nothing, and
+both the young men were silent; but Bill could not restrain his tears.
+It seemed the saddest story he had ever heard, and Mr. Lindsay's hand
+upon his shoulder shook so intolerably while he was speaking, that he
+had taken it away, which made Bill worse, and he fairly sobbed.
+
+"What are you blubbering about, young 'un?" said Mr. Lindsay. "He is
+better off than any of us, and if you are a good boy you will see him
+some day;" and the young gentleman put his hand back again, which was
+steady now.
+
+"What became of the other fellow?" said Master Arthur.
+
+"He was taken away, of course. Sent abroad, I believe. It was hushed
+up.--And now you know," added Mr. Lindsay, "why my native indolence has
+roused itself to get this cad taught a lesson, which many a time I
+wished to God, when wishes were too late, that that other bully had been
+taught _in time_. But no one could thrash him; and no one durst
+complain. However, let's change the subject, old fellow! I've got over
+it long since; though sometimes I think the wish to see Regy again helps
+to keep me a decent sort of fellow. But when I saw the likeness this
+morning, it startled me; and then to hear the story, it seemed like a
+dream--the Gordon affair over again. I suppose rustic nerves are
+tougher; however, your village blackguard shan't have the chance of
+committing murder if we can cure him!"
+
+"I believe you half wanted to undertake the cure yourself," said Master
+Arthur.
+
+Mr. Lindsay laughed.
+
+"I did for a minute. Fancy your father's feelings if I had come home
+with a black eye from an encounter with a pot-house bully! You know I
+put my foot into a tender secret of your man's, by offering to be the
+performer!"
+
+"How?"
+
+Mr. Lindsay lowered his voice, but not so that Bill could not hear what
+he said, and recognize the imitation of John Gardener.
+
+"He said, 'I'd rather do it, if _you_ please, sir. The fact is, I'm
+partial to the young woman myself!' After that, I could but leave John
+to defend his young woman's belongings."
+
+"Gently!" exclaimed Master Arthur. "There is the Yew Walk."
+
+From this moment the conversation was carried on in whispers, to Bill's
+further mystification. The young gentlemen recovered their spirits, and
+kept exploding in smothered chuckles of laughter.
+
+"Cold work for him, if he's been waiting long!" whispered one.
+
+"Don't know. His head's under cover remember!" said the other: and they
+laughed.
+
+"Bet you sixpence he's been smearing his hand with brimstone for the
+last half hour."
+
+"Don't smell him yet, though."
+
+"He'll be a patent aphis-destroyer in the rose-garden for months to
+come."
+
+"Sharp work for the eyelids if it gets under the sheet."
+
+They were now close by the Yews, out of which the wind came with a
+peculiar chill, as if it had been passing through a vault. Mr. Bartram
+Lindsay stooped down, and whispered in Bill's ear: "Listen, my lad. We
+can't go down the lane with you, for we want to see the ghost, but we
+don't want the ghost to see us. Don't be frightened, but go just as
+usual. And mind--when you see the white figure, point with your own arm
+_towards the Church_ and scream as loud as you like. Can you do this?"
+
+"Yes, sir," whispered Bill.
+
+"Then off with you. We shall creep quietly on behind the trees; and you
+shan't be hurt, I promise you."
+
+Bill summoned his courage, and plunged into the shadows. What could be
+the meaning of Mr. Lindsay's strange orders? Should he ever have courage
+to lift his arm towards the church in the face of that awful apparition
+of the murdered man? And if he did, would the unquiet spirit take the
+hint, and go back into the grave, which Bill knew was at that very
+corner to which he must point? Left alone, his terrors began to return;
+and he listened eagerly to see if, amid the ceaseless soughing of the
+wind among the long yew branches, he could hear the rustle of the young
+men's footsteps as they crept behind. But he could distinguish nothing.
+The hish-wishing of the thin leaves was so incessant, the wind was so
+dexterous and tormenting in the tricks it played and the sounds it
+produced, that the whole place seemed alive with phantom rustlings and
+footsteps; and Bill felt as if Master Arthur was right, and that there
+was "no limit" to the number of ghosts!
+
+At last he could see the end of the avenue. There among the last few
+trees was the place where the ghost had appeared. There beyond lay the
+white road, the churchyard corner, and the tall gray tombstone
+glimmering in the moonlight. A few steps more, and slowly from among the
+yews came the ghost as before, and raised its long white arm. Bill
+determined that, if he died for it, he would do as he had been told; and
+lifting his own hand he pointed towards the tombstone, and gave a shout.
+As he pointed, the ghost turned round, and then--rising from behind the
+tombstone, and gliding slowly to the edge of the wall which separated
+the churchyard from the lower level of the road--there appeared a sight
+so awful that Bill's shout merged into a prolonged scream of terror.
+
+Truly Master Arthur's anticipations of a "scenic effect" were amply
+realized. The walls and buttresses of the old Church stood out dark
+against the sky; the white clouds sailed slowly by the moon, which
+reflected itself on the damp grass, and shone upon the flat wet
+tombstones till they looked like pieces of water. It was not less bright
+upon the upright ones, upon quaint crosses, short headstones, and upon
+the huge, ungainly memorial of the murdered Ephraim Garnett. But _the_
+sight on which it shone that night was the figure now standing by
+Ephraim Garnett's grave, and looking over the wall. An awful figure, of
+gigantic height, with ghostly white garments clinging round its headless
+body, and carrying under its left arm the head that should have been
+upon its shoulders. On this there was neither flesh nor hair. It seemed
+to be a bare skull, with fire gleaming through the hollow eye-sockets
+and the grinning teeth. The right hand of the figure was outstretched as
+if in warning; and from the palm to the tips of the fingers was a mass
+of lambent flame. When Bill saw this fearful apparition he screamed with
+hearty good-will; but the noise he made was nothing to the yell of
+terror that came from beneath the shroud of the Yew-lane Ghost, who, on
+catching sight of the rival spectre, flew wildly up the lane, kicking
+the white sheet off as it went, and finally displaying, to Bill's
+amazement, the form and features of Bully Tom. But this was not all. No
+sooner had the first ghost started, than the second (not to be
+behind-hand) jumped nimbly over the wall and gave chase. But fear had
+put wings on to Bully Tom's feet; and the second ghost, being somewhat
+encumbered by his costume, judged it wisdom to stop; and then taking the
+fiery skull in its flaming hands, shied it with such dexterity that it
+hit Bully Tom in the middle of his back, and falling on to the wet
+ground, went out with a hiss. This blow was an unexpected shock to the
+Bully, who thought the ghost must have come up to him with supernatural
+rapidity, and falling on his knees in the mud, began to roar most
+lustily:--
+
+"Lord, have mercy upon me! I'll never do it no more!"
+
+Mr. Lindsay was not likely to alter his opinion on the subject of
+bullies. This one, like others, was a mortal coward. Like other men, who
+have no fear of God before their eyes, he made up for it by having a
+very hearty fear of sickness, death, departed souls, and one or two
+other things, which the most self-willed sinner knows well enough to be
+in the hands of a Power which he cannot see, and does not wish to
+believe in. Bully Tom had spoken the truth when he said that if he
+thought there was a ghost in Yew-lane he wouldn't go near it. If he had
+believed the stories with which he had alarmed poor Bill, the lad's
+evening walk would never have been disturbed, as far as he was
+concerned. Nothing but his spite against Bessy would have made him take
+so much trouble to vex the peace, and stop the schooling, of her pet
+brother; and as it was, the standing alone by the churchyard at night
+was a position so little to his taste, that he had drunk pretty heavily
+in the public-house for half an hour before-hand, to keep up his
+spirits. And now he had been paid back in his own coin, and lay
+grovelling in the mud, and calling profanely on the Lord, whose mercy
+such men always cry for in their trouble, if they never ask it for their
+sins. He was so confused and blinded by drink and fright, that he did
+not see the second ghost divest himself of his encumbrances, or know
+that it was John Gardener, till that rosy-cheeked worthy, his clenched
+hands still flaming with brimstone, danced round him, and shouted
+scornfully, and with that vehemence of aspiration in which he was apt to
+indulge when excited;--
+
+"Get hup, yer great cowardly booby, will yer? So you thought you was
+coming hout to frighten a little lad, did ye? And you met with one of
+your hown size, did ye? Now _will_ ye get hup and take it like a man, or
+shall I give it you as ye lie there?"
+
+Bully Tom chose the least of two evils, and staggering to his feet with
+an oath, rushed upon John. But in his present condition he was no match
+for the active little gardener, inspired with just wrath and thoughts of
+Bessy; and he then and there received such a sound thrashing as he had
+not known since he first arrogated the character of village bully. He
+was roaring loudly for mercy, and John Gardener was giving him a
+harmless roll in the mud by way of conclusion, when he caught sight of
+the two young gentlemen in the lane,--Master Arthur in fits of laughter
+at the absurd position of the ex-Yew-lane Ghost, and Mr. Lindsay
+standing still and silent, with folded arms, set lips, and the gold
+eye-glass on his nose. As soon as he saw them, he began to shout,
+"Murder! help!" at the top of his voice.
+
+"I see myself," said Master Arthur, driving his hands contemptuously
+into his pockets,--"I see myself helping a great lout who came out to
+frighten a child, and can neither defend his own eyes and nose, nor take
+a licking with a good grace when he deserves it!"
+
+Bully Tom appealed to Mr. Lindsay:--
+
+"Yah! yah!" he howled. "Will you see a man killed for want of help?"
+
+But the clever young gentleman seemed even less inclined to give his
+assistance.
+
+"Killed!" he said contemptuously; "I _have_ seen a lad killed on such a
+night as this, by such a piece of bullying! Be thankful you have been
+stopped in time! I wouldn't raise my little finger to save you from
+twice such a thrashing. It has been fairly earned! Give the ghost his
+shroud, Gardener, and let him go; and recommend him not to haunt
+Yew-lane in future."
+
+John did so, with a few words of parting advice on his own account.
+
+"Be hoff with you," he said. "Master Lindsay, he speaks like a book.
+You're a disgrace to your hage and sect, you are! I'd as soon fight with
+an old char-woman.--Though bless you, young gentlemen," he added, as
+Bully Tom slunk off muttering, "he is the biggest blackguard in the
+place; and what the Rector'll say, when he comes to know as you've been
+mingled up with him, passes me."
+
+"He'll forgive us, I dare say," said Master Arthur. "I only wish he
+could have seen you emerge from behind that stone! It was a sight for a
+century! I wonder what the youngster thought of it!--Hi, Willie, here,
+sir! What did you think of the second ghost?"
+
+Bill had some doubts as to the light in which he ought to regard that
+apparition; but he decided on the simple truth.
+
+"I thought it looked very horrid, sir."
+
+"I should hope it did! The afternoon's work of three able-bodied men has
+been marvellously wasted if it didn't. However, I must say you halloed
+out loud enough!"
+
+Bill colored; the more so, as Mr. Lindsay was looking hard at him over
+the top of his spectacles.
+
+"Don't you feel rather ashamed of all your fright, now you've seen the
+ghosts without their sheets?" inquired the clever young gentleman.
+
+"Yes, sir," said Bill, hanging his head. "I shall never believe in
+ghosts again, sir, though."
+
+Mr. Bartram Lindsay took off his glasses and twiddled them in his
+fingers.
+
+"Well, well," he said in a low hurried voice; "I'm not the parson, and I
+don't pretend to say what you should believe and what you shouldn't. We
+know precious little as to how much the spirits of the dead see and know
+of what they have left behind. But I think you may venture to assure
+yourself that when a poor soul has passed the waves of this troublesome
+world, by whatever means, it doesn't come back kicking about under a
+white sheet in dark lanes, to frighten little boys from going to
+school."
+
+"And that's very true, sir," said John Gardener, admiringly.
+
+"So it is," said Master Arthur. "I couldn't have explained that myself,
+Willie; but those are my sentiments; and I beg you'll attend to what Mr.
+Lindsay has told you."
+
+"Yes, sir," said Bill.
+
+Mr. Lindsay laughed, though not quite merrily, and said,--
+
+"I could tell him something more, Arthur, though he's too young to
+understand it; namely, that if he lives, the day will come, when he
+would be only too happy if the dead might come back and hold out their
+hands to us, anywhere, and for however short a time."
+
+The young gentleman stopped abruptly; and the gardener heaved a
+sympathetic sigh.
+
+"I tell you what it is, Bartram," muttered Master Arthur, "I suppose I'm
+too young too, for I've had quite enough of the melancholies for one
+night. As to you, you're as old as the hills; but it's time you came
+home; and if I'd known before what you told me to-night, old fellow, you
+shouldn't have come out on this expedition.--Now, for you, Willie,"
+added the young gentleman, whirling sharply round, "if you're not a
+pattern Solomon henceforth, it won't be the fault of your friends. And
+if wisdom doesn't bring you to school after this, I shall try the
+argument of the one-legged donkey."
+
+"I don't think I shall miss next time, sir."
+
+"I hope you won't.--Now, John, as you've come so far, you may as well
+see the lad home; but don't shake hands with the family in the present
+state of your fists, or you might throw somebody into a fit.
+Good-night!"
+
+Yew-lane echoed a round of "Good-nights," and Bill and the gardener went
+off in high spirits. As they crossed the road, Bill looked round, and
+under the trees saw the young gentlemen strolling back to the Rectory,
+arm in arm. Mr. Bartram Lindsay with his chin high in the air, and
+Master Arthur vehemently exhorting him on some topic, of which he was
+pointing the moral with flourishes of the one-legged donkey.
+
+For those who like to know "what became of" everybody, these facts are
+added:--
+
+The young gentlemen got safely home; and Master Arthur gave such a
+comical account of their adventure, that the Rector laughed too much to
+scold them, even if he had wished.
+
+Beauty Bill went up and down Yew-lane on many a moonlight night after
+this one, but he never saw another ghost, or felt any more fears in
+connection with Ephraim Garnett. To make matters more entirely
+comfortable, however, John kindly took to the custom of walking home
+with the lad after night-school was ended. In return for this attention,
+Bill's family were apt to ask him in for an hour; and by their fireside
+he told the story of the two ghosts so often--from the manufacture in
+the Rectory barn, to the final apparition at the cross-roads--that the
+whole family declare they feel just as if they had seen it.
+
+Bessy, under the hands of the cheerful doctor, got quite well, and
+eventually married. As her cottage boasts the finest window plants in
+the village, it is shrewdly surmised that her husband is a gardener.
+
+Bully Tom talked very loudly for some time of "having the law of" the
+rival ghost; but finding, perhaps, that the story did not redound to his
+credit, was unwilling to give it further publicity, and changed his
+mind.
+
+Winter and summer, day and night, sunshine and moonlight, have passed
+over the lane and the churchyard, and the wind has had many a ghostly
+howl among the yews, since poor Bill learnt the story of the murder; but
+he knows now that the true Ephraim Garnett has never been seen on the
+cross-roads since a hundred years ago, and will not be till the Great
+Day.
+
+In the ditch by the side of Yew-lane, shortly after the events I have
+been describing, a little lad found a large turnip, in which some one
+had cut eyes, nose and mouth, and put bits of stick for teeth. The
+turnip was hollow, and inside it was fixed a bit of wax candle. He
+lighted it up, and the effect was so splendid, that he made a show of it
+to his companions at the price of a marble each, who were well
+satisfied. And this was the last of the Yew-lane Ghosts.
+
+
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Frances Kane's Fortune, by L. T. Meade
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+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
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+Title: Frances Kane's Fortune
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+Author: L. T. Meade
+
+Release Date: April 22, 2009 [EBook #28589]
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+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRANCES KANE'S FORTUNE ***
+
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+Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Juliet Sutherland, and the
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+</pre>
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Cover" width="500" height="616" /></div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h1>FRANCES KANE'S FORTUNE.</h1>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+
+<h3>BY</h3>
+
+<h2>L. T. MEADE,</h2>
+
+<h5><span class="smcap">Author of "How it all Came Round," "Water Gipsies," etc.</span></h5>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h4>CHICAGO:</h4>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">M. A. Donohue &amp; Co.</span> </h3>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>Contents</h2>
+<table summary="Contents">
+<tr><td align="left"><a href="#FRANCES_KANES_FORTUNE"><b>FRANCES KANE'S FORTUNE.</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><a href="#MONSIEUR_THE_VISCOUNTS_FRIEND"><b>MONSIEUR THE VISCOUNT'S FRIEND.</b></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><a href="#THE_YEW-LANE_GHOSTS"><b>THE YEW-LANE GHOSTS.</b></a></td></tr>
+</table>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="FRANCES_KANES_FORTUNE" id="FRANCES_KANES_FORTUNE"></a>FRANCES KANE'S FORTUNE.</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2>
+
+<h2>THE LETTER.</h2>
+
+
+<p>It was a very sunny June day, and a girl was pacing up and down a
+sheltered path in an old-fashioned garden. She walked slowly along the
+narrow graveled walk, now and then glancing at the carefully trimmed
+flowers of an elaborate ribbon border at her right, and stopping for an
+instant to note the promise of fruit on some well-laden peach and
+pear-trees. The hot sun was pouring down almost vertical rays on her
+uncovered head, but she was either impervious to its power, or, like a
+salamander, she rejoiced in its fierce noonday heat.</p>
+
+<p>"We have a good promise of peaches and pears," she said to herself; "I
+will see that they are sold this year. We will just keep a few for my
+father to eat, but the rest shall go. It is a pity Watkins spends so
+much time over the ribbon border; it does not pay, and it uses up so
+many of our bedding plants."</p>
+
+<p>She frowned slightly as she said these last words, and put up her hand
+to shade her face from the sun, as though for the first time she noticed
+its dazzling light and heat.</p>
+
+<p>"Now I will go and look to the cabbages," she said, continuing her
+meditations aloud. "And those early pease ought to be fit for pulling
+now. Oh! is that you, Watkins? Were you calling me? I wanted to speak to
+you about this border. You must not use up so many geraniums and
+calceolarias here. I don't mind the foliage plants, but the others cost
+too much, and can not be made use of to any profit in a border of this
+kind."</p>
+
+<p>"You can't make a ribbon, what's worthy to be called a ribbon, with
+foliage plants," gruffly retorted the old gardener. "Master would be
+glad to see you in the house, Miss Frances, and yer's a letter what
+carrier has just brought."</p>
+
+<p>"Post at this hour?" responded Frances, a little eagerness and interest
+lighting up her face; "that is unusual, and a letter in the middle of
+the day is quite a treat. Well, Watkins, I will go to my father now, and
+see you at six o'clock in the kitchen garden about the cabbages and
+peas."</p>
+
+<p>"As you please, Miss Frances; the wegitables won't be much growed since
+you looked at them yester-night, but I'm your sarvint, miss. Carrier
+called at the post-office and brought two letters: one for you, and
+t'other for master. I'm glad you're pleased to get 'em, Miss Frances."</p>
+
+<p>Watkins's back was a good deal bent; he certainly felt the heat of the
+sun, and was glad to hobble off into the shade.</p>
+
+<p>"Fuss is no word for her," he said; "though she's a good gel, and means
+well&mdash;werry well."</p>
+
+<p>After the old gardener had left her, Frances stood quite still; the sun
+beat upon her slight figure, upon her rippling, abundant dark-brown
+hair, and lighted up a face which was a little hard, a tiny bit soured,
+and scarcely young enough to belong to so slender and lithe a figure.
+The eyes, however, now were full of interest, and the lips melted into
+very soft curves as Frances turned her letter round, examined the
+postmarks, looked with interest at the seal, and studied the
+handwriting. Her careful perusal of the outside of the letter revealed
+at a glance how few she got, and how such a comparatively uninteresting
+event in most lives was regarded by her.</p>
+
+<p>"This letter will keep," she said to herself, slipping it into her
+pocket. "I will hear what father has to tell me first. It is a great
+treat to have an unopened letter to look forward to. I wonder where this
+is from. Who can want to write to me from Australia? If Philip were
+alive&mdash;" Here she paused and sighed. "In the first place, I heard of his
+death three years ago; in the second, being alive, why should he write?
+It is ten years since we met."</p>
+
+<p>Her face, which was a very bright and practical one, notwithstanding
+those few hard lines, looked pensive for a moment. Then its habitual
+expression of cheerfulness returned to it, and when she entered the
+house Frances Kane looked as practical and business-like a woman as
+could be found anywhere in the whole of the large parish in the north
+of England where she and her father lived.</p>
+
+<p>Squire Kane, as he was called, came of an old family; and in the days
+before Frances was born he was supposed to be rich. Now, however, nearly
+all his lands were mortgaged, and it was with difficulty that the long,
+low, old-fashioned house, and lovely garden which surrounded it, could
+be kept together. No chance at all would the squire have had of spending
+his last days in the house where he was born, and where many generations
+of ancestors had lived and died, but for Frances. She managed the house
+and the gardens, and the few fields which were not let to surrounding
+farmers. She managed Watkins, too, and the under-gardener, and the two
+men-servants; and, most of all, she managed Squire Kane.</p>
+
+<p>He had been a hale and hearty man in his day, with a vigorous will of
+his own, and a marvelous and fatal facility for getting through money;
+but now he leaned on Frances, was guided by her in all things; never
+took an opinion or spent a shilling without her advice; and yet all the
+time he thought himself to be the ruler, and she the ruled. For Frances
+was very tactful, and if she governed with a rod of iron, she was clever
+enough to incase it well in silk.</p>
+
+<p>"I want you, Frances," called a rather querulous old voice.</p>
+
+<p>The squire was ensconced in the sunniest corner of the sunny old parlor;
+his feet were stretched out on a hassock; he wore a short circular cape
+over his shoulders, and a black velvet skull-cap was pushed a little
+crooked over his high bald forehead. He had aquiline features, an
+aristocratic mouth, and sunken but somewhat piercing eyes. As a rule his
+expression was sleepy, his whole attitude indolent; but now he was
+alert, his deep-set eyes were wide open and very bright, and when his
+daughter came in, he held out a somewhat trembling hand, and drew her to
+his side.</p>
+
+<p>"Sit down, Frances&mdash;there, in the sun, it's so chilly in the
+shade&mdash;don't get into that corner behind me, my dear; I want to look at
+you. What do you think? I have got a letter, and news&mdash;great news! It is
+not often that news comes to the Firs in these days. What do you think,
+Frances? But you will never guess. Ellen's child is coming to live with
+us!"</p>
+
+<p>"What?" said Frances. "What! Little Fluff we used to call her? I don't
+understand you, father; surely Ellen would never part with her child."</p>
+
+<p>"No, my dear, that is true. Ellen and her child were bound up in each
+other; but she is dead&mdash;died three months ago in India. I have just
+received a letter from that good-for-nothing husband of hers, and the
+child is to leave school and come here. Major Danvers can't have her in
+India, he says, and her mother's wish was&mdash;her mother's last wish&mdash;that
+she should make her home with us. She will be here within a week after
+the receipt of this letter, Frances. I call it great news; fancy a young
+thing about the house again!"</p>
+
+<p>Frances Kane had dark, straight brows; they were drawn together now with
+a slight expression of surprise and pain.</p>
+
+<p>"I am not so old, father," she said; "compared to you, I am quite young.
+I am only eight-and-twenty."</p>
+
+<p>"My dear," said the squire, "you were never young. You are a good woman,
+Frances, an excellent, well-meaning woman; but you were never either
+child or girl. Now, this little thing&mdash;how long is it since she and her
+mother were here, my love?"</p>
+
+<p>"It was just before Cousin Ellen went to India," responded Frances,
+again knitting her brows, and casting back her memory. "Yes, it was six
+years ago; I remember it, because we planted the new asparagus bed that
+year."</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, ay; and a very productive bed it turned out," responded the squire.
+"Fluff was like a ball then, wasn't she?&mdash;all curly locks, and dimples,
+and round cheeks, and big blue eyes like saucers! The merriest little
+kitten&mdash;she plagued me, but I confess I liked her. How old would she be
+now, Frances?"</p>
+
+<p>"About seventeen," replied Frances. "Almost a grown-up girl; dear, dear,
+how time does fly! Well, father, I am glad you are pleased. I will read
+the letter, if you will let me, by and by, and we must consult as to
+what room to give the child. I hope she won't find it very dull."</p>
+
+<p>"Not she, my dear, not she. She was the giddiest mortal&mdash;always
+laughing, and singing, and skipping about in the sunshine. Dear heart!
+it will do me good to see anything so lively again."</p>
+
+<p>"I am glad she is coming," repeated Frances, rising to her feet.
+"Although you must remember, father, that six years make a change. Ellen
+may not be quite so kittenish and frolicsome now."</p>
+
+<p>"Ellen!" repeated the squire; "I'm not going to call the child anything
+so formal. Fluff she always was and will be with me&mdash;a kittenish
+creature with a kittenish name; I used to tell her so, and I expect I
+shall again."</p>
+
+<p>"You forget that she has just lost her mother," said Frances. "They
+loved each other dearly, and you can not expect her not to be changed.
+There is also another thing, father; I am sorry to have to mention it,
+but it is necessary. Does Major Danvers propose to give us an allowance
+for keeping his daughter here? Otherwise it will be impossible for us to
+have her except on a brief visit."</p>
+
+<p>The squire pulled himself with an effort out of his deep arm-chair. His
+face flushed, and his eyes looked angry.</p>
+
+<p>"You are a good woman, Frances, but a bit hard," he said. "You don't
+suppose that a question of mere money would keep Ellen's child away from
+the Firs? While I am here she is sure of a welcome. No, there was
+nothing said about money in this letter, but I have no doubt the money
+part is right enough. Now I think I'll go out for a stroll. The sun is
+going off the south parlor, and whenever I get into the shade I feel
+chilly. If you'll give me your arm, my dear, I'll take a stroll before
+dinner. Dear, dear! it seems to me there isn't half the heat in the sun
+there used to be. Let's get up to the South Walk, Frances, and pace up
+and down by the ribbon border&mdash;it's fine and hot there&mdash;what I like. You
+don't wear a hat, my dear? quite right&mdash;let the sun warm you all it
+can."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2>
+
+<h2>"THIS IS WONDERFUL."</h2>
+
+
+<p>It was quite late on that same afternoon before Frances found a leisure
+moment to read her own letter. It was not forgotten as it lay in her
+pocket, but she was in no hurry to ascertain its contents.</p>
+
+<p>"Until it is read it is something to look forward to," she said to
+herself; "afterward&mdash;oh, of course there can be nothing of special
+interest in it."</p>
+
+<p>She sighed; strong and special interests had never come in her way.</p>
+
+<p>The afternoon which followed the receipt of the two letters was a
+specially busy one. The squire never grew tired of discussing the news
+which his own letter had brought him. He had a thousand conjectures
+which must be dwelt upon and entered into; how and when had Ellen
+Danvers died? what would the child Ellen be like? which bedroom would
+suit her best? would she like the South Walk as much as the old squire
+did himself? would she admire the ribbon border? would she appreciate
+the asparagus which she herself had seen planted?</p>
+
+<p>The old man was quite garrulous and excited, and Frances was pleased to
+see him so interested in anything. When she had walked with him for
+nearly an hour she was obliged to devote some time to Watkins in the
+vegetable garden; then came dinner; but after that meal there always was
+a lull in the day's occupation for Frances, for the squire went to sleep
+over his pipe, and never cared to be aroused or spoken to until his
+strong coffee was brought to him at nine o'clock.</p>
+
+<p>On this particular evening Frances felt her heart beat with a pleased
+and quickened movement. She had her unopened letter to read. She would
+go to the rose arbor, and have a quiet time there while her father
+slept. She was very fond of Keats, and she took a volume of his poems
+under her arm, for, of course, the letter would not occupy her many
+moments. The rose arbor commanded a full view of the whole garden, and
+Frances made a graceful picture in her soft light-gray dress, as she
+stepped into it. She sat down in one of the wicker chairs, laid her copy
+of Keats on the rustic table, spread the bright shawl on her lap, and
+took the foreign letter out of her pocket.</p>
+
+<p>"It is sure to be nothing in the least interesting," she said to
+herself. "Still, there is some excitement about it till it is opened."
+And as she spoke she moved to the door of the arbor.</p>
+
+<p>Once again she played with the envelope and examined the writing. Then
+she drew a closely written sheet out of its inclosure, spread it open on
+her lap, and began to read.</p>
+
+<p>As she did so, swiftly and silently there rose into her cheeks a
+beautiful bloom. Her eyelids quivered, her hand shook; the bloom was
+succeeded by a pallor. With feverish haste her quick eyes flew over the
+paper. She turned the page and gasped slightly for breath. She raised
+her head, and her big, dark eyes were full of tears, and a radiant,
+tender smile parted her lips.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank God!" she said; "oh, this is wonderful! Oh, thank God!"</p>
+
+<p>Once again she read the letter, twice, three times, four times. Then she
+folded it up, raised it to her lips, and kissed it. This time she did
+not return it to her pocket, but, opening her dress, slipped it inside,
+so that it lay against her heart.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Frances!" old Watkins was seen hobbling down the path. "You hasn't
+said what's to be done with the bees. They are sure to swarm to-morrow,
+and&mdash;and&mdash;why, miss, I seem to have startled you like&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, not at all, Watkins; I will come with you now, and we will make
+some arrangement about the bees."</p>
+
+<p>Frances came out of the arbor. The radiant light was still in her eyes,
+a soft color mantled her cheeks, and she smiled like summer itself on
+the old man.</p>
+
+<p>He looked at her with puzzled, dull wonder and admiration.</p>
+
+<p>"What's come to Miss Frances?" he said to himself. "She looks rare and
+handsome, and she's none so old."</p>
+
+<p>The question of the bees was attended to, and then Frances paced about
+in the mellow June twilight until it was time for her father to have his
+coffee. She came in then, sat down rather in the shadow, and spoke
+abruptly. Her heart was beating with great bounds, and her voice sounded
+almost cold in her effort to steady it.</p>
+
+<p>"Father, I, too, have had a letter to-day."</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, ay, my love. I saw that the carrier brought two. Was it of any
+importance? If not, we might go on with our 'History of Greece.' I was
+interested in where we left off last night. You might read to me for an
+hour before I go to bed, Frances; unless, indeed, you have anything more
+to say about Fluff, dear little soul! Do you know, it occurred to me
+that we ought to get fresh curtains and knickknacks for her room? It
+ought to look nice for her, dear, bright little thing!"</p>
+
+<p>"So it shall, father." There was no shade of impatience in Frances's
+tone. "We will talk of Fluff presently. But it so happens that my
+letter was of importance. Father, you remember Philip Arnold?"</p>
+
+<p>"Arnold&mdash;Arnold? Dimly, my dear, dimly. He was here once, wasn't he? I
+rather fancy that I heard of his death. What about him, Frances?"</p>
+
+<p>Frances placed her hand to her fast-beating heart. Strange&mdash;her father
+remembered dimly the man she had thought of, and dreamed of, and
+secretly mourned for for ten long years.</p>
+
+<p>"Philip Arnold is not dead," she said, still trying to steady her voice.
+"It was a mistake, a false rumor. He has explained it&mdash;my letter was
+from him."</p>
+
+<p>"Really, my love? Don't you think there is a slight draught coming from
+behind that curtain? I am so sensitive to draughts, particularly after
+hot days. Oblige me, Frances, my dear, by drawing that curtain a little
+more to the right. Ah, that is better. So Arnold is alive. To tell the
+truth, I don't remember him very vividly, but of course I'm pleased to
+hear that he is not cut off in his youth. A tall, good-looking fellow,
+wasn't he? Well, well, this matter scarcely concerns us. How about the
+dimity in the room which will be Fluff's? My dear Frances, what is the
+matter? I must ask you not to fidget so."</p>
+
+<p>Frances sprung suddenly to her feet.</p>
+
+<p>"Father, you must listen to me. I am going to say something which will
+startle you. All these quiet years, all the time which has gone by and
+left only a dim memory of a certain man to you, have been spent by me
+smothering down regrets, stifling my youth, crushing what would have
+made me joyous and womanly&mdash;for Philip Arnold has not been remembered at
+all dimly by me, father, and when I heard of his death I lived through
+something which seemed to break the spring of energy and hope in me. I
+did not show it, and you never guessed, only you told me to-day that I
+had never been young, that I had never been either child or girl. Well,
+all that is over now, thank God! hope has come back to me, and I have
+got my lost youth again. You will have two young creatures about the
+house, father, and won't you like it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," said the squire. He looked up at his daughter in some
+alarm; her words puzzled him; he was suddenly impressed too by the
+brightness in her eyes, and the lovely coloring on her cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>"What is all this excitement, Frances?" he said. "Speak out; I never
+understand riddles."</p>
+
+<p>Frances sat down as abruptly as she had risen.</p>
+
+<p>"The little excitement was a prelude to my letter, dear father," she
+said. "Philip is alive, and is coming to England immediately. Ten years
+ago he saw something in me&mdash;I was only eighteen then&mdash;he saw something
+which gave him pleasure, and&mdash;and&mdash;more. He says he gave me his heart
+ten years ago, and now he is coming to England to know if I will accept
+him as my husband. That is the news which my letter contains, father.
+You see, after all, my letter is important&mdash;as important as yours."</p>
+
+<p>"Bless me!" said the squire. The expression of his face was not
+particularly gratified; his voice was not too cordial. "A proposal of
+marriage to you, Frances? Bless me!&mdash;why, I can scarcely remember the
+fellow. He was here for a month, wasn't he? It was the summer before
+your mother died. I think it is rather inconsiderate of you to tell me
+news of this sort just before I go to bed, my dear. I don't sleep
+over-well, and it is bad to lie down with a worry on your pillow. I
+suppose you want me to answer the letter for you, Frances, but I'll do
+nothing of the kind, I can tell you. If you encouraged the young man
+long ago, you must get out of it as best you can now."</p>
+
+<p>"Out of it, father? Oh, don't you understand?"</p>
+
+<p>"Then you mean to tell me you care for him? You want to marry a fellow
+whom you haven't seen for ten years! And pray what am I to do if you go
+away and leave me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Something must be managed," said Frances.</p>
+
+<p>She rose again. Her eyes no longer glowed happily; her lips, so sweet
+five minutes ago, had taken an almost bitter curve.</p>
+
+<p>"We will talk this over quietly in the morning, dear father," she said.
+"I will never neglect you, never cast you aside; but a joy like this can
+not be put out of a life. That is, it can not be lightly put away. I
+have always endeavored to do my duty&mdash;God will help me to do it still.
+Now shall I ring for prayers?"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2>
+
+<h2>AFTER TEN YEARS.</h2>
+
+
+<p>When Frances got to her room she took out pen and ink, and without a
+moment's hesitation wrote an answer to her letter.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">My dear Philip</span>,&mdash;I have not forgotten you&mdash;I remember the
+old times, and all the things to which you alluded in your
+letter. I thought you were dead, and for the last three or
+four years always remembered you as one who had quite done
+with this world. Your letter startled me to-day, but your
+hope about me has been abundantly fulfilled, for I have
+never for a moment forgotten you. Philip, you have said very
+good words to me in your letter, and whatever happens, and
+however matters may be arranged between us in the future, I
+shall always treasure the words, and bless you for
+comforting my heart with them. But, Philip, ten years is a
+long time&mdash;in ten years we none of us stay still, and in ten
+years some of us grow older than others. I think I am one of
+those who grow old fast, and nothing would induce me to
+engage myself to you, or even to tell you that I care for
+you, until after we have met again. When you reach
+England&mdash;I will send this letter to the address you give me
+in London&mdash;come down here. My dear and sweet mother is dead,
+but I dare say my father will find you a room at the Firs,
+and if not, there are good lodgings to be had at the White
+Hart in the village. If you are of the same mind when you
+reach England as you were when you wrote this letter, come
+down to the old place, and let us renew our acquaintance.
+If, after seeing me, you find I am not the Frances you had
+in your heart all these years, you have only to go away
+without speaking, and I shall understand. In any case, thank
+you for the letter, and believe me, yours faithfully,</p></blockquote>
+
+<p class="f1"><span class="smcap">Frances Kane.</span>" </p>
+
+<p>This letter was quickly written, as speedily directed and stamped, and,
+wrapping her red shawl over her head, Frances herself went out in the
+silent night, walked half a mile to the nearest pillar-box, kissed the
+letter passionately before she dropped it through the slit, and then
+returned home, with the stars shining over her, and a wonderful new
+peace in her heart. Her father's unsympathetic words were forgotten, and
+she lived over and over again on what her hungry heart had craved for
+all these years.</p>
+
+<p>The next morning she was up early; for the post of housekeeper,
+head-gardener, general accountant, factotum, amanuensis, reader, etc.,
+to John Kane, Esq., of the Firs, was not a particularly light post, and
+required undivided attention, strong brains, and willing feet, from
+early morning to late night every day of the week. Frances was by no
+means a grumbling woman, and if she did not go through her allotted
+tasks with the greatest possible cheerfulness and spirit, she performed
+them ungrudgingly, and in a sensible, matter-of-fact style.</p>
+
+<p>On this particular morning, however, the joy of last night was still in
+her face; as she followed Watkins about, her merry laugh rang in the
+air; work was done in half the usual time, and never done better, and
+after breakfast she was at leisure to sit with her father and read to
+him as long as he desired it.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Frances," he said, in conclusion, after the reader's quiet voice
+had gone on for over an hour and a half, "you have settled that little
+affair of last night, I presume, satisfactorily. I have thought the
+whole matter over carefully, my love, and I have really come to the
+conclusion that I can not spare you. You see you are, so to speak,
+necessary to me, dear. I thought I would mention this to you now,
+because in case you have not yet written to that young Arnold, it will
+simplify matters for you. I should recommend you not to enter on the
+question of your own feelings at all, but state the fact simply&mdash;'My
+father can not spare me.'"</p>
+
+<p>"I wrote to Philip last night," said Frances. "I have neither refused
+him nor accepted him. I have asked him on a visit here; can we put him
+up at the Firs?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly, my love; that is a good plan. It will amuse me to have a man
+about the house again, and travelers are generally entertaining. I can
+also intimate to him, perhaps with more propriety than you can, how
+impossible it would be for me to spare you. On the whole, my dear, I
+think you have acted with discernment. You don't age well, Frances, and
+doubtless Arnold will placidly acquiesce in my decision. By all means
+have him here."</p>
+
+<p>"Only I think it right to mention to you, father"&mdash;here Frances stood up
+and laid her long, slender white hand with a certain nervous yet
+imperative gesture on the table&mdash;"I think it right to mention that if,
+after seeing me, Philip still wishes to make me his wife, I shall accept
+him."</p>
+
+<p>"My dear!" Squire Kane started. Then a satisfied smile played over his
+face. "You say this as a sort of bravado, my dear. But we really need
+not discuss this theme; it positively wearies me. Have you yet made up
+your mind, Frances, what room Ellen's dear child is to occupy?"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2>
+
+<h2>FLUFF.</h2>
+
+
+<p>The day on which Ellen Danvers arrived at the Firs was long remembered,
+all over the place, as the hottest which had been known in that part of
+the country for many a long year. It was the first week of July, and the
+sun blazed fiercely and relentlessly&mdash;not the faintest little zephyr of
+a breeze stirred the air&mdash;in the middle of the day, the birds altogether
+ceased singing, and the Firs, lying in its sheltered valley, was hushed
+into a hot, slumberous quiet, during which not a sound of any sort was
+audible.</p>
+
+<p>Even the squire preferred a chair in the south parlor, which was never a
+cool room, and into which the sun poured, to venturing abroad; even he
+shuddered at the thought of the South Walk to-day. He was not
+particularly hot&mdash;he was too old for that&mdash;but the great heat made him
+feel languid, and presently he closed his eyes and fell into a doze.</p>
+
+<p>Frances, who in the whole course of her busy life never found a moment
+for occasional dozes, peeped into the room, smiled with satisfaction
+when she saw him, tripped lightly across the floor to steal a pillow
+comfortably under his white head, arranged the window-curtains so as to
+shade his eyes, and then ran upstairs with that swift and wonderfully
+light movement which was habitual to her. She had a great deal to do,
+and she was not a person who was ever much affected by the rise or fall
+of the temperature. First of all, she paid a visit to a charming little
+room over the porch. It had lattice windows, which opened like doors,
+and all round the sill, and up the sides, and over the top of the
+window, monthly roses and jasmine, wistaria and magnolia, climbed. A
+thrush had built its nest in the honeysuckle over the porch window, and
+there was a faint sweet twittering sound heard there now, mingled with
+the perfume of the roses and jasmine. The room inside was all white, but
+daintily relieved here and there with touches of pale blue, in the shape
+of bows and drapery. The room was small, but the whole effect was light,
+cool, pure. The pretty bed looked like a nest, and the room, with its
+quaint and lovely window, somewhat resembled a bower.</p>
+
+<p>Frances looked round it with pride, gave one or two finishing touches to
+the flowers which stood in pale-blue vases on the dressing-table, then
+turned away with a smile on her lips. There was another room just
+beyond, known in the house as the guest-chamber proper. It was much more
+stately and cold, and was furnished with very old dark mahogany; but it,
+too, had a lovely view over the peaceful homestead, and Frances's eyes
+brightened as she reflected how she and Ellen would transform the room
+with heaps of flowers, and make it gay and lovely for a much-honored
+guest.</p>
+
+<p>She looked at her watch, uttered a hurried exclamation, fled to her own
+rather insignificant little apartment, and five minutes later ran
+down-stairs, looking very fresh, and girlish, and pretty, in a white
+summer dress. She took an umbrella from the stand in the hall, opened it
+to protect her head, and walked fast up the winding avenue toward the
+lodge gates.</p>
+
+<p>"I hear some wheels, Miss Frances," said Watkins's old wife, hobbling
+out of the house. "Eh, but it is a hot day; we'll have thunder afore
+night, I guess. Eh, Miss Frances, but you do look well, surely."</p>
+
+<p>"I feel it," said Frances, with a very bright smile. "Ah, there's my
+little cousin&mdash;poor child! how hot she must be. Well, Fluff, so here you
+are, back with your old Fanny again!"</p>
+
+<p>There was a cry&mdash;half of rapture, half of pain&mdash;from a very small person
+in the lumbering old trap. The horse was drawn up with a jerk, and a
+girl, with very little of the woman about her, for she was still all
+curls, and curves, and child-like roundness, sprung lightly out of the
+trap, and put her arms round Frances's neck.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Fan, I am glad to see you again! Here I am back just the same as
+ever; I haven't grown a bit, and I'm as much a child as ever. How is
+your father? I was always so fond of him. Is he as faddy as of old?
+That's right; my mission in life is to knock fads out of people. Frances
+dear, why do you look at me in that perplexed way? Oh, I suppose because
+I'm in white. But I couldn't wear black on a day like this, as it
+wouldn't make mother any happier to know that every breath I drew was a
+torture. There, we won't talk of it. I have a black sash in my pocket;
+it's all crumpled, but I'll tie it on, if you'll help me. Frances dear,
+you never did think, did you, that trouble would come to me? but it did.
+Fancy Fluff and trouble spoken of in the same breath; it's like putting
+a weight of care on a butterfly; it isn't fair&mdash;you don't think it fair,
+do you, Fan?"</p>
+
+<p>The blue eyes were full of tears; the rosy baby lips pouted sorrowfully.</p>
+
+<p>"We won't talk of it now, at any rate, darling," said Frances, stooping
+and kissing the little creature with much affection.</p>
+
+<p>Ellen brightened instantly.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course we won't. It's delicious coming here; how wise it was of
+mother to send me! I shall love being with you more than anything. Why,
+Frances, you don't look a day older than when I saw you last."</p>
+
+<p>"My father says," returned Frances, "that I age very quickly."</p>
+
+<p>"But you don't, and I'll tell him so. Oh, no, he's not going to say
+those rude, unpleasant things when I'm by. How old are you, Fan, really?
+I forget."</p>
+
+<p>"I am twenty-eight, dear."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you?"</p>
+
+<p>Fluff's blue eyes opened very wide.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't look old, at any rate," she said presently. "And I should
+judge from your face you didn't feel it."</p>
+
+<p>The ancient cab, which contained Ellen's boxes and numerous small
+possessions, trundled slowly down the avenue; the girls followed it arm
+in arm. They made a pretty picture&mdash;both faces were bright, both pairs
+of eyes sparkled, their white dresses touched, and the dark, earnest,
+and sweet eyes of the one were many times turned with unfeigned
+admiration to the bewitchingly round and baby face of the other.</p>
+
+<p>"She has the innocent eyes of a child of two," thought Frances. "Poor
+little Fluff! And yet sorrow has touched even her!"</p>
+
+<p>Then her pleasant thoughts vanished, and she uttered an annoyed
+exclamation.</p>
+
+<p>"What does Mr. Spens want? Why should he trouble my father to-day of all
+days?"</p>
+
+<p>"What is the matter, Frances?"</p>
+
+<p>"That man in the gig," said Frances. "Do you see him? Whenever he comes,
+there is worry; it is unlucky his appearing just when you come to us,
+Fluff. But never mind; why should I worry you? Let us come into the
+house."</p>
+
+<p>At dinner that day Frances incidentally asked her father what Mr. Spens
+wanted.</p>
+
+<p>"All the accounts are perfectly straight," she said. "What did he come
+about? and he stayed for some time."</p>
+
+<p>The slow blood rose into the old squire's face.</p>
+
+<p>"Business," he said; "a little private matter for my own ear. I like
+Spens; he is a capital fellow, a thorough man of business, with no
+humbug about him. By the way, Frances, he does not approve of our
+selling the fruit, and he thinks we ought to make more of the ribbon
+border. He says we have only got the common yellow calceolarias&mdash;he does
+not see a single one of the choicer kinds."</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed!" said Frances. She could not help a little icy tone coming into
+her voice. "Fluff, won't you have some cream with your strawberries?&mdash;I
+did not know, father, that Mr. Spens had anything to say of our garden."</p>
+
+<p>"Only an opinion, my dear, and kindly meant. Now, Fluff"&mdash;the squire
+turned indulgently to his little favorite&mdash;"do you think Frances ought
+to take unjust prejudices?"</p>
+
+<p>"But she doesn't," said Fluff. "She judges by instinct, and so do I.
+Instinct told her to dislike Mr. Spens' back as he sat in his gig, and
+so do I dislike it. I hate those round fat backs and short necks like
+his, and I hate of all things that little self-satisfied air."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you may hate in that kind of way if you like," said the squire.
+"Hatred from a little midget like you is very different from Frances's
+sober prejudice. Besides, she knows Mr. Spens; he has been our excellent
+man of business for years. But come, Fluff, I am not going to talk over
+weighty matters with you. Have you brought your guitar? If so, we'll go
+into the south parlor and have some music."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2>
+
+<h2>"FRANCES, YOU ARE CHANGED!"</h2>
+
+
+<p>"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight&mdash;good&mdash;nine, ten,
+eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen&mdash;excellent! Oh, how out of breath I
+am, and how hot it is! Is that you, Frances? See, I've been skipping
+just before the south parlor window to amuse the squire for the last
+hour. He has gone to sleep now, so I can stop. Where are you going? How
+nice you look! Gray suits you. Oh, Frances, what extravagance! You have
+retrimmed that pretty shady hat! But it does look well. Now where are
+you off to?"</p>
+
+<p>"I thought I would walk up the road a little way," said Frances. Her
+manner was not quite so calm and assured as usual. "Our old friend
+Philip Arnold is coming to-night, you know, and I thought I would like
+to meet him."</p>
+
+<p>"May I come with you? I know I'm in a mess, but what matter? He's the
+man about whom all the fuss is made, isn't he?"</p>
+
+<p>Frances blushed.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean, dear?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, don't I know? I heard you giving directions about his room, and
+didn't I see you walking round and round the garden for nearly two hours
+to-day choosing all the sweetest things&mdash;moss roses, and sweetbrier, and
+sprays of clematis? Of course there's a fuss made about him, though
+nothing is said. I know what I shall find him&mdash;There, I'm not going to
+say it&mdash;I would not vex you for worlds, Fan dear."</p>
+
+<p>Frances smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"I must start now, dear," she said, "or he will have reached the house
+before I leave it. Do you want to come with me, Fluff? You may if you
+like."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I won't. I'm ever so tired, and people who are fussed about are
+dreadfully uninteresting. Do start for your walk, Frances, or you won't
+be in time to welcome your hero."</p>
+
+<p>Frances started off at once. She was amused at Fluff's words.</p>
+
+<p>"It is impossible for the little creature to guess anything," she said
+to herself; "that would never do. Philip should be quite unbiased. It
+would be most unfair for him to come here as anything but a perfectly
+free man. Ten years ago he said he loved me; but am I the same Frances?
+I am older; father says I am old for twenty-eight&mdash;then I was eighteen.
+Eighteen is a beautiful age&mdash;a careless and yet a grave age. Girls are
+so full of desires then; life stretches before them like a brilliant
+line of light. Everything is possible; they are not really at the top of
+the hill, and they feel so fresh and buoyant that it is a pleasure to
+climb. There is a feeling of morning in the air. At eighteen it is a
+good thing to be alive. Now, at eight-and-twenty one has learned to take
+life hard; a girl is old then, and yet not old enough. She is apt to be
+overworried; I used to be, but not since his letter came, and to-night I
+think I am back at eighteen. I hope he won't find me much altered. I
+hope this dress suits me. It would be awful now, when the cup is almost
+at my lips, if anything dashed it away; but, no! God has been very good
+to me, and I will have faith in Him."</p>
+
+<p>All this time Frances was walking up-hill. She had now reached the
+summit of a long incline, and, looking ahead of her, saw a dusty
+traveler walking quickly with the free-and-easy stride of a man who is
+accustomed to all kinds of athletic exercises.</p>
+
+<p>"That is Philip," said Frances.</p>
+
+<p>Her heart beat almost to suffocation; she stood still for a moment, then
+walked on again more slowly, for her joy made her timid.</p>
+
+<p>The stranger came on. As he approached he took off his hat, revealing a
+very tanned face and light short hair; his well-opened eyes were blue;
+he had a rather drooping mustache, otherwise his face was clean shaven.
+If ten years make a difference in a woman, they often effect a greater
+change in a man. When Arnold last saw Frances he was twenty-two; he was
+very slight then, his mustache was little more than visible, and his
+complexion was too fair. Now he was bronzed and broadened. When he came
+up to Frances and took her hand, she knew that not only she herself,
+but all her little world, would acknowledge her lover to be a very
+handsome man.</p>
+
+<p>"Is that really you, Frances?" he began.</p>
+
+<p>His voice was thoroughly manly, and gave the girl who had longed for him
+for ten years an additional thrill of satisfaction.</p>
+
+<p>"Is that really you? Let me hold your hand for an instant; Frances you
+are changed!"</p>
+
+<p>"Older, you mean, Philip."</p>
+
+<p>She was blushing and trembling&mdash;she could not hide this first emotion.</p>
+
+<p>He looked very steadily into her face, then gently withdrew his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Age has nothing to do with it," he said. "You are changed, and yet
+there is some of the old Frances left. In the old days you had a
+petulant tone when people said things which did not quite suit you; I
+hope&mdash;I trust&mdash;it has not gone. I am not perfect, and I don't like
+perfection. Yes, I see it is still there. Frances, it is good to come
+back to the old country, and to you."</p>
+
+<p>"You got my letter, Philip?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course; I answered it. Were you not expecting me this evening?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes: I came out here on purpose to meet you. What I should have said,
+Philip, was to ask you if you agreed to my proposal."</p>
+
+<p>"And what was that?"</p>
+
+<p>"That we should renew our acquaintance, but for the present both be
+free."</p>
+
+<p>Arnold stopped in his walk, and again looked earnestly at the slight
+girl by his side. Her whole face was eloquent&mdash;her eyes were bright with
+suppressed feeling, but her words were measured and cold. Arnold was not
+a bad reader of character. Inwardly he smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"Frances was a pretty girl," he said to himself; "but I never imagined
+she would grow into such a beautiful woman."</p>
+
+<p>Aloud he made a quiet reply.</p>
+
+<p>"We will discuss this matter to-morrow, Frances. Now tell me about your
+father. I was greatly distressed to see by your letter that your mother
+is dead."</p>
+
+<p>"She died eight years ago, Philip. I am accustomed to the world without
+her now; at first it was a terrible place to me. Here we are, in the
+old avenue again. Do you remember it? Let us get under the shade of the
+elms. Oh, Fluff, you quite startled me!"</p>
+
+<p>Fluff, all in white&mdash;she was never seen in any other dress, unless an
+occasional black ribbon was introduced for the sake of propriety&mdash;came
+panting up the avenue. Her face was flushed, her lips parted, her words
+came out fast and eagerly:</p>
+
+<p>"Quick, Frances, quick! The squire is ill; I tried to awake him, and I
+couldn't. Oh, he looks so dreadful!"</p>
+
+<p>"Take care of Philip, and I will go to him," said Frances. "Don't be
+frightened, Fluff; my father often sleeps heavily. Philip, let me
+introduce my little cousin, Ellen Danvers. Now, Nelly, be on your best
+behavior, for Philip is an old friend, and a person of importance."</p>
+
+<p>"But we had better come back to the house with you, Frances," said
+Arnold. "Your father may be really ill. Miss&mdash;Miss Danvers seems
+alarmed."</p>
+
+<p>"But I am not," said Frances, smiling first at Philip and then at her
+little cousin. "Fluff&mdash;we call this child Fluff as a pet name&mdash;does not
+know my father as I do. He often sleeps heavily, and when he does his
+face gets red, and he looks strange. I know what to do with him. Please
+don't come in, either of you, for half an hour. Supper will be ready
+then."</p>
+
+<p>She turned away, walking rapidly, and a bend in the avenue soon hid her
+from view.</p>
+
+<p>Little Ellen had not yet quite recovered her breath. She stood holding
+her hand to her side, and slightly panting.</p>
+
+<p>"You seem frightened," said Arnold, kindly.</p>
+
+<p>"It is not that," she replied. Her breath came quicker, almost in gasps.
+Suddenly she burst into tears. "It's all so dreadful," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean?" said Arnold.</p>
+
+<p>To his knowledge he had never seen a girl cry in his life. He had come
+across very few girls while in Australia. One or two women he had met,
+but they were not particularly worthy specimens of their sex; he had not
+admired them, and had long ago come to the conclusion that the only
+perfect, sweet, and fair girl in existence was Frances Kane. When he saw
+Fluff's tears he discovered that he was mistaken&mdash;other women were sweet
+and gracious, other girls were lovable.</p>
+
+<p>"Do tell me what is the matter," he said, in a tone of deep sympathy;
+for these fast-flowing tears alarmed him.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not fit for trouble," said Fluff. "I'm afraid of trouble, that's
+it. I'm really like the butterflies&mdash;I die if there's a cloud. It is not
+long since I lost my mother, and&mdash;now, now&mdash;I know the squire is much
+more ill than Frances thinks. Oh, I know it! What shall I do if the
+squire really gets very ill&mdash;if he&mdash;he dies? Oh, I'm so awfully afraid
+of death!"</p>
+
+<p>Her cheeks paled visibly, her large, wide-open blue eyes dilated; she
+was acting no part&mdash;her terror and distress were real. A kind of
+instinct told Arnold what to say to her.</p>
+
+<p>"You are standing under these great shady trees," he said. "Come out
+into the sunshine. You are young and apprehensive. Frances is much more
+likely to know the truth about Squire Kane than you are. She is not
+alarmed; you must not be, unless there is really cause. Now is not this
+better? What a lovely rose! Do you know, I have not seen this
+old-fashioned kind of cabbage rose for over ten years!"</p>
+
+<p>"Then I will pick one for you," said Fluff.</p>
+
+<p>She took out a scrap of cambric, dried her eyes like magic, and began to
+flit about the garden, humming a light air under her breath. Her dress
+was of an old-fashioned sort of book-muslin&mdash;it was made full and
+billowy; her figure was round and yet lithe, her hair was a mass of
+frizzy soft rings, and when the dimples played in her cheeks, and the
+laughter came back to her intensely blue eyes, Arnold could not help
+saying&mdash;and there was admiration in his voice and gaze:</p>
+
+<p>"What fairy godmother named you so appropriately?"</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean? My name is Ellen."</p>
+
+<p>"Frances called you Fluff; Thistledown would be as admirably
+appropriate."</p>
+
+<p>While he spoke Fluff was handing him a rose. He took it, and placed it
+in his button-hole. He was not very skillful in arranging it, and she
+stood on tiptoe to help him. Just then Frances came out of the house.
+The sun was shining full on the pair; Fluff was laughing, Arnold was
+making a complimentary speech. Frances did not know why a shadow seemed
+to fall between her and the sunshine which surrounded them. She walked
+slowly across the grass to meet them. Her light dress was a little
+long, and it trailed after her. She had put a bunch of Scotch roses into
+her belt. Her step grew slower and heavier as she walked across the
+smoothly kept lawn, but her voice was just as calm and clear as usual as
+she said gently:</p>
+
+<p>"Supper is quite ready. You must be so tired and hungry, Philip."</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all," he said, leaving Fluff and coming up to her side. "This
+garden rests me. To be back here again is perfectly delightful. To
+appreciate an English garden and English life, and&mdash;and English
+ladies&mdash;here his eyes fell for a brief moment on Fluff&mdash;one most have
+lived for ten years in the backwoods of Australia. How is your father,
+Frances? I trust Miss Danvers had no real cause for alarm?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no; Ellen is a fanciful little creature. He did sleep rather
+heavily. I think it was the heat; but he is all right now, and waiting
+to welcome you in the supper-room. Won't you let me show you the way to
+your room? You would like to wash your hands before eating."</p>
+
+<p>Frances and Arnold walked slowly in the direction of the house. Fluff
+had left them; she was engaged in an eager game of play with an
+overgrown and unwieldly pup and a Persian kitten. Arnold had observed
+with some surprise that she had forgotten even to inquire for Mr. Kane.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2>
+
+<h2>"I WILL NOT SELL THE FIRS."</h2>
+
+
+<p>On the morning after Arnold's arrival the squire called his daughter
+into the south parlor.</p>
+
+<p>"My love," he said, "I want a word with you."</p>
+
+<p>As a rule Frances was very willing to have words with her father. She
+was always patient and gentle and sweet with him; but she would have
+been more than human if she had not cast some wistful glances into the
+garden, where Philip was waiting for her. He and she also had something
+to talk about that morning, and why did Fluff go out, and play those
+bewitching airs softly to herself on the guitar? And why did she sing in
+that wild-bird voice of hers? and why did Philip pause now and then in
+his walk, as though he was listening&mdash;which indeed he was, for it would
+be difficult for any one to shut their ears to such light and
+harmonious sounds. Frances hated herself for feeling jealous. No&mdash;of
+course she was not jealous; she could not stoop to anything so mean.
+Poor darling little Fluff! and Philip, her true lover, who had remained
+constant to her for ten long years.</p>
+
+<p>With a smile on her lips, and the old look of patience in her steady
+eyes, she turned her back to the window and prepared to listen to what
+the squire had to say.</p>
+
+<p>"The fact is, Frances&mdash;" he began. "Sit down, my dear, sit down; I hate
+to have people standing, it fidgets me so. Oh! you want to be out with
+that young man; well, Fluff will amuse him&mdash;dear little thing,
+Fluff&mdash;most entertaining. Has a way of soothing a man's nerves, which
+few women possess. You, my dear, have often a most irritating way with
+you; not that I complain&mdash;we all have our faults. You inherit this
+intense overwrought sort of manner from your mother, Frances."</p>
+
+<p>Frances, who was standing absolutely quiet and still again, smiled
+slightly.</p>
+
+<p>"You had something to talk to me about," she said, in her gentlest of
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>"To be sure I had. I can tell you I have my worries&mdash;wonder I'm
+alive&mdash;and since your mother died never a bit of sympathy do I get from
+mortal. There, read that letter from Spens, and see what you make of it.
+Impudent? uncalled for? I should think so; but I really do wonder what
+these lawyers are coming to. Soon there'll be no distinctions between
+man and man anywhere, when a beggarly country lawyer dares to write to a
+gentleman like myself in that strain. But read the letter, Frances;
+you'll have to see Spens this afternoon. <i>I'm</i> not equal to it."</p>
+
+<p>"Let me see what Mr. Spens says," answered Frances.</p>
+
+<p>She took the lawyer's letter from the squire's shaking old fingers, and
+opened it. Then her face became very pale, and as her eyes glanced
+rapidly over the contents, she could not help uttering a stifled
+exclamation.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, no wonder you're in a rage," said the squire. "The impudence of
+that letter beats everything."</p>
+
+<p>"But what does Mr. Spens mean?" said Frances. "He says here&mdash;unless you
+can pay the six thousand pounds owing within three months, his client
+has given him instructions to sell the Firs. What does he mean, father?
+I never knew that we owed a penny. Oh, this is awful!"</p>
+
+<p>"And how do you suppose we have lived?" said the squire, who was feeling
+all that undue sense of irritation which guilty people know so well.
+"How have we had our bread and butter? How has the house been kept up?
+How have the wages been met? I suppose you thought that that garden of
+yours&mdash;those vegetables and fruit&mdash;have kept everything going? That's
+all a woman knows. Besides, I've been unlucky&mdash;two speculations have
+failed&mdash;every penny I put in lost in them. Now, what's the matter,
+Frances? You have a very unpleasant manner of staring."</p>
+
+<p>"There was my mother's money," said Frances, who was struggling hard to
+keep herself calm. "That was always supposed to bring in something over
+two hundred pounds a year. I thought&mdash;I imagined&mdash;that with the help I
+was able to give from the garden and the poultry yard that we&mdash;we lived
+within our means."</p>
+
+<p>Her lips trembled slightly as she spoke. Fluff was playing "Sweethearts"
+on her guitar, and Arnold was leaning with his arms folded against the
+trunk of a wide-spreading oak-tree. Was he listening to Fluff, or
+waiting for Frances? She felt like a person struggling through a
+horrible nightmare.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought we lived within our means," she said, faintly.</p>
+
+<p>"Just like you&mdash;women are always imagining things. We have no means to
+live on; your mother's money has long vanished&mdash;it was lost in that
+silver mine in Peru. And the greater part of the six thousand pounds
+lent by Spens has one way or another pretty nearly shared the same fate.
+I've been a very unlucky man, Frances, and if your mother were here,
+she'd pity me. I've had no one to sympathize with me since her death."</p>
+
+<p>"I do, father," said his daughter. She went up and put her arms round
+his old neck. "It was a shock, and I felt half stunned. But I fully
+sympathize."</p>
+
+<p>"Not that I am going to sell the Firs," said the squire, not returning
+Frances's embrace, but allowing her to take his limp hand within her
+own. "No, no; I've no idea of that. Spens and his client, whoever he is,
+must wait for their money, and that's what you have got to see him
+about, Frances. Come, now, you must make the best terms you can with
+Spens&mdash;a woman can do what she likes with a man when she knows how to
+manage."</p>
+
+<p>"But what am I to say, father?"</p>
+
+<p>"Say? Why, that's your lookout. Never heard of a woman yet who couldn't
+find words. Say? Anything in the world you please, provided you give him
+to clearly to understand that come what may I will not sell the Firs."</p>
+
+<p>Frances stood still for two whole minutes. During this time she was
+thinking deeply&mdash;so deeply that she forgot the man who was waiting
+outside&mdash;she forgot everything but the great and terrible fact that,
+notwithstanding all her care and all her toil, beggary was staring them
+in the face.</p>
+
+<p>"I will see Mr. Spens," she said at last, slowly: "it is not likely that
+I shall be able to do much. If you have mortgaged the Firs to this
+client of Mr. Spens, he will most probably require you to sell, in order
+to realize his money; but I will see him, and let you know the result."</p>
+
+<p>"You had better order the gig, then, and go now; he is sure to be in at
+this hour. Oh, you want to talk to the man that you fancy is in love
+with you; but lovers can wait, and business can't. Understand clearly,
+once for all, Frances, that if the Firs is sold, I die."</p>
+
+<p>"Dear father," said Frances&mdash;again she took his unwilling hand in
+hers&mdash;"do you suppose I want the Firs to be sold? Don't I love every
+stone of the old place, and every flower that grows here? If words can
+save it, they won't be wanting on my part. But you know better than I do
+that I am absolutely powerless in the matter."</p>
+
+<p>She went out of the room, and the squire sat with the sun shining full
+on him, and grumbled. What was a blow to Frances, a blow which half
+stunned her in its suddenness and unexpectedness, had come gradually to
+the squire. For years past he knew that while his daughter was doing her
+utmost to make two ends meet&mdash;was toiling early and late to bring in a
+little money to help the slender household purse&mdash;she was only
+postponing an evil day which could never be averted. From the first,
+Squire Kane in his own small way had been a speculator&mdash;never at any
+time had he been a lucky one, and now he reaped the results.</p>
+
+<p>After a time he pottered to his feet, and strolled out into the garden.
+Frances was nowhere visible, but Arnold and Ellen were standing under a
+shady tree, holding an animated conversation together.</p>
+
+<p>"Here comes the squire," said Fluff, in a tone of delight. She flew to
+his side, put her hand through his arm, and looked coaxingly and
+lovingly into his face.</p>
+
+<p>"I am so glad you are not asleep," she said. "I don't like you when you
+fall asleep and get so red in the face; you frightened me last night&mdash;I
+was terrified&mdash;I cried. Didn't I, Mr. Arnold?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," replied Arnold, "you seemed a good deal alarmed. Do you happen to
+know where your daughter is, Mr. Kane?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; she is going into Martinstown on business for me. Ah, yes, Fluff,
+you always were a sympathizing little woman." Here the squire patted the
+dimpled hand; he was not interested in Philip Arnold's inquiries.</p>
+
+<p>"If Frances is going to Martinstown, perhaps she will let me accompany
+her," said Arnold. "I will go and look for her."</p>
+
+<p>He did not wait for the squire's mumbling reply, but started off quickly
+on his quest.</p>
+
+<p>"Frances does want the gift of sympathy," said the squire, once more
+addressing himself with affection to Ellen. "Do you know, Fluff, that I
+am in considerable difficulty; in short, that I am going through just
+now a terrible trouble&mdash;oh, nothing that you can assist me in, dear.
+Still, one does want a little sympathy, and poor dear Frances, in that
+particular, is sadly, painfully deficient."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you really in great trouble?" said Fluff. She raised her eyes with
+a look of alarm.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I am dreadfully sorry! Shall I play for you, shall I sing
+something? Let me bring this arm-chair out here by this pear-tree; I'll
+get my guitar; I'll sing you anything you like&mdash;'Robin Adair,' or 'Auld
+Robin Gray,' or 'A Man's a Man;' you know how very fond you are of
+Burns."</p>
+
+<p>"You are a good little girl," said the squire. "Place the arm-chair just
+at that angle, my love. Ah, that's good! I get the full power of the sun
+here. Somehow it seems to me, Fluff, that the summers are not half as
+warm as they used to be. Now play 'Bonnie Dundee'&mdash;it will be a treat to
+hear you."</p>
+
+<p>Fluff fingered her guitar lovingly. Then she looked up into the wizened,
+discontented face of the old man opposite to her.</p>
+
+<p>"Play," said the squire. "Why don't you begin?"</p>
+
+<p>"Only that I'm thinking," said the spoiled child, tapping her foot
+petulantly. "Squire, I can't help saying it&mdash;I don't think you are quite
+fair to Frances."</p>
+
+<p>"Eh, what?" said Squire Kane, in a voice of astonishment.
+"Highty-tighty, what next! Go on with your playing, miss."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I won't! It isn't right of you to say she's not sympathetic."</p>
+
+<p>"Not right of me! What next, I wonder! Let me tell you, Fluff, that
+although you're a charming little chit, you are a very saucy one."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't care whether I'm saucy or not. You ought not to be unfair to
+Frances."</p>
+
+<p>These rebellious speeches absolutely made the squire sit upright in his
+chair.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you know about it?" he queried.</p>
+
+<p>"Because she is sympathetic; she has the dearest, tenderest, most
+unselfish heart in the world. Oh, she's a darling! I love her!"</p>
+
+<p>"Go on with your playing, Fluff," said the squire.</p>
+
+<p>Two bright spots of surprise and anger burned on his cheeks, but there
+was also a reflective look on his face.</p>
+
+<p>Fluff's eyes blazed. Her fair cheeks crimsoned, and she tried to thunder
+out a spirited battle march on her poor little guitar.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2>
+
+<h2>NO OTHER WAY.</h2>
+
+
+<p>Arnold went quickly round to the back of the house. Although he had been
+absent for ten years, he still remembered the ways of the old place, and
+knew where to find the almost empty stables, and the coach-houses which
+no longer held conveyances.</p>
+
+<p>"This place requires about four thousand pounds a year to keep it up
+properly," murmured Arnold to himself, "and from the looks of things I
+should say these dear good folks had not as many hundreds. I wonder if
+Frances will have me&mdash;I wonder if&mdash;" here he paused.</p>
+
+<p>His heart was full of Frances this morning, but it was also full of a
+strange kind of peace and thanksgiving. He was not greatly anxious; he
+had a curious sensation of being rested all over. The fact was, he had
+gone through the most hair-breadth escapes, the most thrilling
+adventures, during the last ten years. He had escaped alive, at the most
+fearful odds. He had known hunger and thirst; he had been many, many
+times face to face with death. For more than half the time of his exile
+things had gone against him, and hard indeed had been his lot; then the
+tide had slowly turned, and after five more years Philip Arnold had been
+able to return to his native land, and had felt that it was allowed to
+him to think with hope of the girl he had always loved.</p>
+
+<p>He was in the same house with Frances now. She had not yet promised to
+be his, but he did not feel anxious. The quiet of the English home, the
+sweet, old-fashioned peace of the garden, the shade under the trees, the
+songs of the old-fashioned home birds, the scent of the old-fashioned
+home flowers, and the bright eyes and gentle voice of the prettiest
+little English girl he had ever seen, had a mesmerizing effect upon him.
+He wanted Frances; Frances was his one and only love; but he felt no
+particular desire to hurry on matters, or to force an answer from her
+until she was ready to give it.</p>
+
+<p>He strolled into the stable-yard, where Pete, the under-gardener,
+message-boy and general factotum, a person whom Watkins, the chief
+manager, much bullied, was harnessing a shaggy little pony to a very
+shaky-looking market cart. The cart wanted painting, the pony grooming,
+and the harness undoubtedly much mending.</p>
+
+<p>"What are you doing, Pete?" said Arnold.</p>
+
+<p>"This yer is for Miss Frances," drawled the lad. "She's going into
+Martinstown, and I'm gwine with her to hold the pony."</p>
+
+<p>"No, you're not," said Arnold. "I can perform that office. Go and tell
+her that I'm ready when she is."</p>
+
+<p>Pete sauntered away, but before he reached the back entrance to the
+house Frances came out. She walked slowly, and when she saw Philip her
+face did not light up. He was startled, not at an obvious, but an
+indefinable change in her. He could not quite tell where it lay, only he
+suddenly knew that she was quite eight-and-twenty, that there were hard
+lines round the mouth which at eighteen had been very curved and
+beautiful. He wished she would wear the pretty hat she had on last
+night; he did not think that the one she had on was particularly
+becoming. Still, she was his Frances, the girl whose face had always
+risen before him during the five years of horror through which he had
+lived, and during the five years of hope which had succeeded them.</p>
+
+<p>He came forward and helped her to get into the little old-fashioned
+market cart. Then, as she gathered up the reins, and the pony was moving
+off, he prepared to vault into the vacant seat by her side. She laid her
+hand on it, however, and turned to him a very sad and entreating face.</p>
+
+<p>"I think you had better not, Philip," she said. "It will be very hot in
+Martinstown to-day. I am obliged to go on a piece of business for my
+father. I am going to see Mr. Spens, our lawyer, and I may be with him
+for some time. It would be stupid for you to wait outside with the pony.
+Pete had better come with me. Go back to the shade of the garden,
+Philip. I hear Fluff now playing her guitar."</p>
+
+<p>"I am going with you," said Arnold. "Forgive me, Frances, but you are
+talking nonsense. I came here to be with you, and do you suppose I mind
+a little extra sunshine?"</p>
+
+<p>"But I am a rather dull companion to-day," she said, still objecting. "I
+am very much obliged to you&mdash;you are very kind, but I really have
+nothing to talk about. I am worried about a bit of business of father's.
+It is very good of you, Philip, but I would really rather you did not
+come into Martinstown."</p>
+
+<p>"If that is so, of course it makes a difference," said Arnold. He looked
+hurt. "I won't bother you," he said. "Come back quickly. I suppose we
+can have a talk after dinner?"</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps so; I can't say. I am very much worried about a piece of
+business of my father's."</p>
+
+<p>"Pete, take your place behind your mistress," said Arnold.</p>
+
+<p>He raised his hat, there was a flush on his face as Frances drove down
+the shady lane.</p>
+
+<p>"I have offended him," she said to herself; "I suppose I meant to. I
+don't see how I can have anything to say to him now; he can't marry a
+beggar; and, besides, I must somehow or other support my father. Yes,
+it's at an end&mdash;the brightest of dreams. The cup was almost at my lips,
+and I did not think God would allow it to be dashed away so quickly. I
+must manage somehow to make Philip cease to care for me, but I think I
+am the most miserable woman in the world."</p>
+
+<p>Frances never forgot that long, hot drive into Martinstown. She reached
+the lawyer's house at a little before noon, and the heat was then so
+great that when she found herself in his office she nearly fainted.</p>
+
+<p>"You look really ill, Miss Kane," said the man of business, inwardly
+commenting under his breath on how very rapidly Frances was ageing. "Oh,
+you have come from your father; yes, I was afraid that letter would be a
+blow to him; still, I see no way out of it&mdash;I really don't!"</p>
+
+<p>"I have never liked you much, Mr. Spens," said Frances Kane. "I have
+mistrusted you, and been afraid of you; but I will reverse all my former
+opinions&mdash;all&mdash;now, if you will only tell me the exact truth with regard
+to my father's affairs."</p>
+
+<p>The lawyer smiled and bowed.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you for your candor," he remarked. "In such a case as yours the
+plain truth is best, although it is hardly palatable. Your father is an
+absolutely ruined man. He can not possibly repay the six thousand pounds
+which he has borrowed. He obtained the money from my client by
+mortgaging the Firs to him. Now my client's distinct instructions are to
+sell, and realize what we can. The property has gone much to seed. I
+doubt if we shall get back what was borrowed; at any rate, land, house,
+furniture, all must go."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you&mdash;you have indeed spoken plainly," said Frances. "One question
+more: when must you sell?"</p>
+
+<p>"In three months from now. Let me see; this is July. The sale will take
+place early in October."</p>
+
+<p>Frances had been sitting. She now rose to her feet.</p>
+
+<p>"And there is really no way out of it?" she said, lingering for a
+moment.</p>
+
+<p>"None; unless your father can refund the six thousand pounds."</p>
+
+<p>"He told me, Mr. Spens, that if the Firs is sold he will certainly die.
+He is an old man, and feeble now. I am almost sure that he speaks the
+truth when he says such a blow will kill him."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! painful, very," said the lawyer. "These untoward misfortunes
+generally accompany rash speculation. Still, I fear&mdash;I greatly
+fear&mdash;that this apprehension, if likely to be realized, will not affect
+my client's resolution."</p>
+
+<p>"Would it," said Frances, "would it be possible to induce your client to
+defer the sale till after my father's death? Indeed&mdash;indeed&mdash;indeed, I
+speak the truth when I say I do not think he will have long to wait for
+his money. Could he be induced to wait, Mr. Spens, if the matter were
+put to him very forcibly?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am sure he could not be induced, Miss Kane; unless, indeed, you could
+manage to pay the interest at five per cent. on his six thousand pounds.
+That is, three hundred a year."</p>
+
+<p>"And then?" Frances's dark eyes brightened.</p>
+
+<p>"I would ask him the question; but such a thing is surely impossible."</p>
+
+<p>"May I have a week to think it over? I will come to you with my decision
+this day week."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well, I say nothing one way or another. You can't do
+impossibilities, Miss Kane. But a week's delay affects no one, and I
+need not go on drawing up the particulars of sale until I hear from you
+again."</p>
+
+<p>Frances bowed, and left the office without even shaking hands with Mr.
+Spens.</p>
+
+<p>"She's a proud woman," said the lawyer to himself, as he watched her
+driving away. "She looks well, too, when her eyes flash, and she puts on
+that haughty air. Odd that she should be so fond of that cantankerous
+old father. I wonder if the report is true which I heard of an
+Australian lover turning up for her. Well, there are worse-looking women
+than Frances Kane. I thought her very much aged when she first came into
+the office, but when she told me that she didn't much like me, she
+looked handsome and young enough."</p>
+
+<p>Instead of driving home, Frances turned the pony's head in the direction
+of a long shady road which led into a westerly direction away from
+Martinstown. She drove rapidly for about half an hour under the trees.
+Then she turned to the silent Pete.</p>
+
+<p>"Pete, you can go back now to the Firs, and please tell your master and
+Miss Danvers that I shall not be home until late this evening. See, I
+will send this note to the squire."</p>
+
+<p>She tore a piece of paper out of her pocket-book, and scribbled a few
+lines hastily.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Father</span>,&mdash;I have seen Mr. Spens. Don't despair. I am
+doing my best for you. </p></blockquote>
+
+<p class="f2"><span class="smcap">Frances</span>." </p>
+
+<p>"I shall be back before nightfall," said Frances, giving the note to the
+lad. "Drive home quickly, Pete. See that Bob has a feed of oats, and a
+groom-down after his journey. I shall be home at latest by nightfall."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2>
+
+<h2>FOR THE SAKE OF THREE HUNDRED A YEAR.</h2>
+
+
+<p>For nearly another quarter of a mile Frances walked quickly under the
+friendly elm-trees. Then she came to some massive and beautifully
+wrought iron gates, and paused for an instant, pressing her hand to her
+brow.</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I go on?" said she to herself. "It means giving up Philip&mdash;it
+means deliberately crushing a very bright hope."</p>
+
+<p>She remained quite still for several seconds longer. Her lips, which
+were white and tired-looking, moved silently. She raised her eyes, and
+looked full into the blue deep of the sky; and then she turned in at one
+of the gates, and walked up an exquisitely kept carriage drive.</p>
+
+<p>Some ladies in a carriage bowled past her; the ladies bent forward,
+bowed, and smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, that is Frances Kane," they said one to another. "How good of her
+to call&mdash;and this is one of Aunt Lucilla's bad days. If she will consent
+to see Frances it will do her good."</p>
+
+<p>Frances walked on. The avenue was considerably over a mile in length.
+Presently she came to smaller gates, which were flung open. She now
+found herself walking between velvety greenswards, interspersed with
+beds filled with all the bright flowers of the season. Not a leaf was
+out of place; not an untidy spray was to be seen anywhere; the garden
+was the perfection of what money and an able gardener could achieve.</p>
+
+<p>The avenue was a winding one, and a sudden bend brought Frances in full
+view of a large, square, massive-looking house&mdash;a house which contained
+many rooms, and was evidently of modern date. Frances mounted the steps
+which led to the wide front entrance, touched an electric bell, and
+waited until a footman in livery answered her summons.</p>
+
+<p>"Is Mrs. Passmore at home?"</p>
+
+<p>"I will inquire, madame. Will you step this way?"</p>
+
+<p>Frances was shown into a cool, beautifully furnished morning-room.</p>
+
+<p>"What name, madame?"</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Kane, from the Firs. Please tell Mrs. Passmore that I will not
+detain her long."</p>
+
+<p>The man bowed, and, closing the door softly after him, withdrew.</p>
+
+<p>Her long walk, and all the excitement she had gone through, made Frances
+feel faint. It was past the hour for lunch at the Firs, and she had not
+eaten much at the early breakfast. She was not conscious, however, of
+hunger, but the delicious coolness of the room caused her to close her
+eyes gratefully&mdash;gave her a queer sensation of sinking away into
+nothing, and an odd desire, hardly felt before it had vanished, that
+this might really be the case, and so that she might escape the hard
+r&ocirc;le of duty.</p>
+
+<p>The rustling of a silk dress was heard in the passage&mdash;a quick, light
+step approached&mdash;and a little lady most daintily attired, with a
+charming frank face, stepped briskly into the room.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Frances, this is delightful&mdash;how well&mdash;no, though, you are not
+looking exactly the thing, poor dear. So you have come to have lunch
+with me; how very, very nice of you! The others are all out, and I am
+quite alone."</p>
+
+<p>"But I have come to see you on business, Carrie."</p>
+
+<p>"After luncheon, then, dear. My head is swimming now, for I have been
+worrying over Aunt Lucilla's accounts. Ah, no, alas! this is not one of
+her good days. Come into the next room, Frances&mdash;if you have so little
+time to spare, you busy, busy creature, you can at least talk while we
+eat."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Passmore slipped her hand affectionately through Frances's arm, and
+led her across the wide hall to another cool and small apartment where
+covers were already placed for two.</p>
+
+<p>"I am very glad of some lunch, Carrie," said Frances. "I left home early
+this morning. I am not ashamed to say that I am both tired and hungry."</p>
+
+<p>"Eat then, my love, eat&mdash;these are lamb cutlets; these pease are not to
+be compared with what you can produce at the Firs, but still they are
+eatable. Have a glass of this cool lemonade. Oh, yes, we will help
+ourselves. You need not wait Smithson."</p>
+
+<p>The footman withdrew. Mrs. Passmore flitted about the table, waiting on
+her guest with a sort of loving tenderness. Then she seated herself
+close to Frances, pretended to eat a mouthful or two, and said suddenly:</p>
+
+<p>"I know you are in trouble. And yet I thought&mdash;I hoped&mdash;that you would
+be bringing me good news before long. Is it true, Frances, that Philip
+Arnold is really alive after all, and has returned to England?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is perfectly true, Carrie. At this moment Philip is at the Firs."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Passmore opened her lips&mdash;her bright eyes traveled all over
+Frances's face.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't look well," she said, after a long pause. "I am puzzled to
+account for your not looking well now."</p>
+
+<p>"What you think is not going to happen, Carrie. Philip is not likely to
+make a long visit. He came yesterday; he may go again to-morrow or next
+day. We won't talk of it. Oh, yes, of course it is nice to think he is
+alive and well. Carrie, does your aunt Lucilla still want a companion?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Passmore jumped from her seat&mdash;her eyes lighted up; she laid her
+two dimpled, heavily ringed hands on Frances's shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear, you can't mean it! You can't surely mean that you would come?
+You know what you are to auntie; you can do anything with her. Why, you
+would save her, Frances; you would save us all."</p>
+
+<p>"I do think of accepting the post, if you will give it to me," said
+Frances.</p>
+
+<p>"Give it to you? you darling! As if we have not been praying and longing
+for this for the last two years!"</p>
+
+<p>"But, Carrie, I warn you that I only come because necessity presses
+me&mdash;and&mdash;and&mdash;I must make conditions&mdash;I must make extravagant demands."</p>
+
+<p>"Anything, dearest. Is it a salary? Name anything you fancy. You know
+Aunt Lucilla is rolling in money. Indeed, we all have more than we know
+what to do with. Money can't buy everything, Frances. Ah, yes, I have
+proved that over and over again; but if it can buy you, it will for once
+have done us a good turn. What do you want, dear? Don't be afraid to
+name your price&mdash;a hundred a year? You shall have it with pleasure."</p>
+
+<p>"Carrie, I know what you will think of me, but if I am never frank again
+I must be now. I don't come here to oblige you, or because I have a
+real, deep, anxious desire to help your aunt. I come&mdash;I come alone
+because of a pressing necessity; there is no other way out of it that I
+can see, therefore my demand must be extravagant. If I take the post of
+companion to your aunt Lucilla, I shall want three hundred pounds a
+year."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Passmore slightly started, and for the briefest instant a frown of
+disappointment and annoyance knit her pretty brows. Then she glanced
+again at the worn face of the girl who sat opposite to her; the
+steadfast eyes looked down, the long, thin, beautifully cut fingers
+trembled as Frances played idly with her fork and spoon.</p>
+
+<p>"No one could call Frances Kane mercenary," she said to herself. "Poor
+dear, she has some trouble upon her. Certainly her demand is exorbitant;
+never before since the world was known did a companion receive such a
+salary. Still, where would one find a second Frances?"</p>
+
+<p>"So be it, dear," she said, aloud. "I admit that your terms are high,
+but in some ways your services are beyond purchase. No one ever did or
+ever will suit Aunt Lucilla as you do. Now, when will you come?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am not quite sure yet, Carrie, that I can come at all. If I do it
+will probably be in a week from now. Yes, to-morrow week; if I come at
+all I will come then; and I will let you know certainly on this day
+week."</p>
+
+<p>"My dear, you are a great puzzle to me; why can't you make up your mind
+now?"</p>
+
+<p>"My own mind is made up, Carrie, absolutely and fully, but others have
+really to decide for me. I think the chances are that I shall have my
+way. Carrie dear, you are very good; I wish I could thank you more."</p>
+
+<p>"No, don't thank me. When you come you will give as much as you get.
+Your post won't be a sinecure."</p>
+
+<p>"Sinecures never fell in my way," said Frances. "May I see your aunt for
+a few minutes to-day?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly, love&mdash;you know her room. You will find her very poorly and
+fractious this afternoon. Will you tell her that you are coming to live
+with her, Frances?"</p>
+
+<p>"No; that would be cruel, for I may not be able to come, after all.
+Still, I think I shall spend some time in doing my utmost to help you
+and yours, Carrie."</p>
+
+<p>"God bless you, dear! Now run up to auntie. You will find me in the
+summer-house whenever you like to come down. I hope you will spend the
+afternoon with me, Frances, and have tea; I can send you home in the
+evening."</p>
+
+<p>"You are very kind, Carrie, but I must not stay. I will say good-bye to
+you now, for I must go back to Martinstown for a few minutes early this
+afternoon. Good-bye, thank you. You are evidently a very real friend in
+need."</p>
+
+<p>Frances kissed Mrs. Passmore, and then ran lightly up the broad and
+richly carpeted stairs. Her footsteps made no sound on the thick
+Axminster. She flitted past down a long gallery hung with portraits,
+presently stopped before a baize door, paused for a second, then opened
+it swiftly and went in.</p>
+
+<p>She found herself in an anteroom, darkened and rendered cool with soft
+green silk drapery. The anteroom led to a large room beyond. She tapped
+at the door of the inside room, and an austere-looking woman dressed as
+a nurse opened it immediately. Her face lighted up when she saw Frances.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Kane, you're just the person of all others my mistress would like
+to see. Walk in, miss, please. Can you stay for half an hour? If so,
+I'll leave you."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Jennings. I am sorry Mrs. Carnegie is so ill to-day."</p>
+
+<p>Then she stepped across the carpeted floor, the door was closed behind
+her, and she found herself in the presence of a tall thin woman, who was
+lying full length on a sofa by the open window. Never was there a more
+peevish face than the invalid wore. Her brows were slightly drawn
+together, her lips had fretful curves; the pallor of great pain, of
+intense nervous suffering, dwelt on her brow. Frances went softly up to
+her.</p>
+
+<p>"How do you do, Mrs. Carnegie?" she said, in her gentle voice.</p>
+
+<p>The sound was so low and sweet that the invalid did not even start. A
+smile like magic chased the furrows from her face.</p>
+
+<p>"Sit down, Frances, there's a dear child," she said. "Now, I have been
+wishing for you more than for any one. I'm at my very worst to-day,
+dear. My poor back is so bad&mdash;oh, the nerves, dear child, the nerves! I
+really feel that I can not speak a civil word to any one, and Jennings
+is so awkward, painfully awkward&mdash;her very step jars me; and why will
+she wear those stiff-starched caps and aprons? But there, few understand
+those unfortunates who are martyrs to nerves."</p>
+
+<p>"You have too much light on your eyes," said Frances. She lowered the
+blind about an inch or two.</p>
+
+<p>"Now tell me, have you been down-stairs to-day?"</p>
+
+<p>"How can you ask me, my love, when I can't even crawl? Besides, I assure
+you, dear, dearest one"&mdash;here Mrs. Carnegie took Frances's hand and
+kissed it&mdash;"that they dislike having me. Freda and Alicia quite show
+their dislike in their manner. Carrie tries to smile and look friendly,
+but she is nothing better than a hypocrite. I can read through them all.
+They are only civil to me; they only put up with their poor old aunt
+because I am rich, and they enjoy my comfortable house. Ah! they none of
+them know what nerves are&mdash;the rack, the tear, to the poor system, that
+overstrained nerves can give. My darling, you understand, you pity me."</p>
+
+<p>"I am always very sorry for you, Mrs. Carnegie, but I think when you are
+better you ought to exert yourself a little more, and you must not
+encourage morbid thoughts. Now shall I tell you what I did with that
+last five-pound note you gave me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, yes, love, that will be interesting. It is nice to feel that even
+such a useless thing as money can make some people happy. Is it really,
+seriously the case, Frances, that there are any creatures so destitute
+in the world as not to know where to find a five-pound note?"</p>
+
+<p>"There are thousands and thousands who don't even know where to find a
+shilling," replied Frances.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Carnegie's faded blue eyes lighted up.</p>
+
+<p>"How interesting!" she said. "Why, it must make existence quite keen.
+Fancy being anxious about a shilling! I wish something would make life
+keen for me; but my nerves are in such a state that really everything
+that does not thrill me with torture, palls."</p>
+
+<p>"I will tell you about the people who have to find their shillings,"
+responded Frances.</p>
+
+<p>She talked with animation for about a quarter of an hour, then kissed
+the nervous sufferer, and went away.</p>
+
+<p>Half an hour's brisk walking brought her back to Martinstown. She
+reached the lawyer's house, and was fortunate in finding him within.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you tell your client, Mr. Spens, that if he will hold over the
+sale of the Firs until after my father's death, I will engage to let him
+have five per cent. on his money? I have to-day accepted the post of
+companion to Mrs. Carnegie, of Arden. For this I am to have a salary of
+three hundred pounds a year."</p>
+
+<p>"Bless me!" said the lawyer. "Such a sacrifice! Why! that woman can't
+keep even a servant about her. A heartless, selfish hypochondriac! even
+her nieces will scarcely stay in the house with her. I think she would
+get you cheap at a thousand a year, Miss Kane; but you must be joking."</p>
+
+<p>"I am in earnest," responded Frances. "Please don't make it harder for
+me, Mr. Spens. I know what I am undertaking. Will you please tell your
+client that I can pay him his interest? If he refuses to accept it, I am
+as I was before; if he consents, I go to Arden. You will do me a great
+favor by letting me know his decision as soon as possible."</p>
+
+<p>The lawyer bowed.</p>
+
+<p>"I will do so," he said. Then he added, "I hope you will forgive me,
+Miss Kane, for saying that I think you are a very brave and unselfish
+woman, but I don't believe even you will stand Mrs. Carnegie for long."</p>
+
+<p>"I think you are mistaken," responded Frances, gently. "I do it for the
+sake of three hundred pounds a year, to save the Firs for my father
+during his lifetime."</p>
+
+<p>The lawyer thought he had seldom seen anything sadder than Frances'
+smile. It quite haunted him as he wrote to his client, urging him to
+accept her terms.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2>
+
+<h2>UNDER THE ELMS.</h2>
+
+
+<p>Squire Kane had spent by no means an unhappy day. The misfortune, which
+came like a sudden crash upon Frances, he had been long prepared for.
+Only last week Mr. Spens had told him that he might expect some such
+letter as had been put into his hands that morning. He had been a little
+nervous while breaking his news to Frances&mdash;a little nervous and a
+little cross. But when once she was told, he was conscious of a feeling
+of relief; for all his hard words to her, he had unbounded faith in this
+clever managing daughter of his; she had got him out of other scrapes,
+and somehow, by hook or by crook, she would get him out of this.</p>
+
+<p>Except for Fluff's rather hard words to him when he spoke to her about
+Frances, he had rather an agreeable day. He was obliged to exert himself
+a little, and the exertion did him good and made him less sleepy than
+usual. Both Fluff and Philip did their best to make matters pass
+agreeably for him, and when Frances at last reached home, in the cool of
+the evening, she found herself in the midst of a very cheerful domestic
+scene.</p>
+
+<p>At this hour the squire was usually asleep in the south parlor; on this
+night he was out-of-doors. His circular cape, it is true, was over his
+shoulders, and Fluff had tucked a white shawl round his knees, but still
+he was sitting out-of-doors, cheering, laughing, and applauding while
+Arnold and Miss Danvers sung to him. Fluff had never looked more lovely.
+Her light gossamery white dress was even more cloudy than usual; a
+softer, richer pink mantled her rounded cheeks; her big blue eyes were
+lustrous, and out of her parted lips poured a melody as sweet as a
+nightingale's. Arnold was standing near her&mdash;he also was singing&mdash;and as
+Frances approached he did not see her, for his glance, full of
+admiration, was fixed upon Miss Danvers.</p>
+
+<p>"Halloo! here we are, Frances!" called out the squire, "and a right
+jolly time we've all had. I'm out-of-doors, as you see; broken away from
+my leading-strings when you're absent; ah, ah! How late you are, child!
+but we didn't wait dinner. It doesn't agree with me, as you know, to be
+kept waiting for dinner."</p>
+
+<p>"You look dreadfully tired, Frances," said Philip.</p>
+
+<p>He dropped the sheet of music he was holding, and ran to fetch a chair
+for her. He no longer looked at Ellen, for Frances's pallor and the
+strained look in her eyes filled him with apprehension.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't look at all well," he repeated.</p>
+
+<p>And he stood in front of her, shading her from the gaze of the others.</p>
+
+<p>Frances closed her eyes for a second.</p>
+
+<p>"It was a hot, long walk," she said then, somewhat faintly. And she
+looked up and smiled at him. It was the sweetest of smiles, but Arnold,
+too, felt, as well as the lawyer, that there was something unnatural and
+sad in it.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't understand it," he said to himself. "There's some trouble on
+her; what can it be? I'm afraid it's a private matter, for the squire's
+right enough. Never saw the old boy looking jollier." Aloud he said,
+turning to Fluff, "Would it not be a good thing to get a cup of tea for
+Frances? No?&mdash;now I insist. I mean you must let us wait on you, Frances;
+Miss Danvers and I will bring the tea out here. We absolutely forbid you
+to stir a step until you have taken it."</p>
+
+<p>His "we" meant "I."</p>
+
+<p>Frances was only too glad to lie back in the comfortable chair, and
+feel, if only for a few minutes, she might acknowledge him her master.</p>
+
+<p>The squire, finding all this fuss about Frances wonderfully uncongenial,
+had retired into the house, and Arnold and Fluff served her
+daintily&mdash;Arnold very solicitous for comfort, and Fluff very merry, and
+much enjoying her present office of waiting-maid.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish this tea might last forever," suddenly exclaimed Frances.</p>
+
+<p>Her words were spoken with energy, and her dark eyes, as they glanced at
+Arnold, were full of fire.</p>
+
+<p>It was not her way to speak in this fierce and spasmodic style, and the
+moment the little sentence dropped from her lips she blushed.</p>
+
+<p>Arnold looked at her inquiringly.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you too tired to have a walk with me?" he said. "Not far&mdash;down
+there under the shade of the elm-trees. You need not be cruel, Frances.
+You can come with me as far as that."</p>
+
+<p>Frances blushed still more vividly.</p>
+
+<p>"I am really very tired," she answered. There was unwillingness in her
+tone.</p>
+
+<p>Arnold gazed at her in surprise and perplexity.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps," he said, suddenly, looking at Fluff, "perhaps, if you are
+quite too tired even to stir a few steps, Frances, Miss Danvers would
+not greatly mind leaving us alone here for a little."</p>
+
+<p>Before she could reply, he went up to the young girl's side and took her
+hand apologetically.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't mind?" he said. "I mean, you won't think me rude when I tell
+you that I have come all the way from Australia to see Frances?"</p>
+
+<p>"Rude? I am filled with delight," said Fluff.</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes danced; she hummed the air of "Sweethearts" quite in an
+obtrusive manner as she ran into the house.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, squire," she said, running up to the old man, who had seated
+himself in his favorite chair in the parlor. "I have discovered such a
+lovely secret."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, what may that be, missy? By the way, Fluff, you will oblige me very
+much if you will call Frances here. This paraffine lamp has never been
+trimmed&mdash;if I light it, it will smell abominably; it is really careless
+of Frances to neglect my comforts in this way. Oblige me by calling her,
+Fluff; she must have finished her tea by this time."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not going to oblige you in that way," said Fluff. "Frances is
+particularly engaged&mdash;she can't come. Do you know he came all the way
+from Australia on purpose? What can a lamp matter?"</p>
+
+<p>"What a lot of rubbish you're talking, child! Who came from Australia?
+Oh, that tiresome Arnold! A lamp does matter, for I want to read."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then, I'll attend to it," said Fluff. "What is the matter with
+it?"</p>
+
+<p>"The wick isn't straight&mdash;the thing will smell, I tell you."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose I can put it right. I never touched a lamp before in my life.
+Where does the wick come?"</p>
+
+<p>"Do be careful, Ellen, you will smash that lamp&mdash;it cost three and
+sixpence. There, I knew you would; you've done it now."</p>
+
+<p>The glass globe lay in fragments on the floor. Fluff gazed at the broken
+pieces comically.</p>
+
+<p>"Frances would have managed it all right," she said. "What a useless
+little thing I am! I can do nothing but dance and sing and talk. Shall I
+talk to you, squire? We don't want light to talk, and I'm dying to tell
+you what I've discovered."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, child, well&mdash;I hate a mess on the floor like that. Well, what is
+it you've got to say to me, Fluff? It's really unreasonable of Frances
+not to come. She must have finished her tea long ago."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course she has finished her tea; she is talking to Mr. Arnold. He
+came all the way from Australia to have this talk with her. I'm so glad.
+You'll find out what a useful, dear girl Frances is by and by, when you
+never have her to trim your lamps."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean, you saucy little thing? When I don't have Frances;
+what do you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, you can't have her when she's&mdash;she's married. It must be
+wonderfully interesting to be married; I suppose I shall be some day.
+Weren't you greatly excited long, long ago, when you married?"</p>
+
+<p>"One would think I lived in the last century, miss. As to Frances,
+well&mdash;well, she knows my wishes. Where did you say she was? Really, I'm
+very much disturbed to-day; I had a shock, too, this morning&mdash;oh!
+nothing that you need know about; only Frances might be reasonable.
+Listen to me, Fluff; your father is in India, and, it so happens, can
+not have you with him at present, and your mother, poor soul, poor, dear
+soul! she's dead; it was the will of Heaven to remove her, but if there
+is a solemn duty devolving upon a girl, it is to see to her parents,
+provided they are with her. Frances has her faults, but I will say, as a
+rule, she knows her duty in this particular."</p>
+
+<p>The squire got up restlessly as he spoke, and, try as she would, Fluff
+found she could no longer keep him quiet in the dark south parlor. He
+went to the open window and called his daughter in a high and peevish
+voice. Frances, however, was nowhere within hearing.</p>
+
+<p>The fact was, when they were quite alone, Philip took her hand and said,
+almost peremptorily:</p>
+
+<p>"There is a seat under the elm-trees; we can talk there without being
+disturbed."</p>
+
+<p>"It has come," thought Frances. "I thought I might have been spared
+to-night. I have no answer ready&mdash;I don't know what is before me. The
+chances are that I must have nothing to say to Philip; every chance is
+against our marrying, and yet I can not&mdash;I know I can not refuse him
+to-night."</p>
+
+<p>They walked slowly together through the gathering dusk. When they
+reached the seat under the elm-tree Arnold turned swiftly, took
+Frances's hand in his, and spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Frances, now; and at last!" he said. "I have waited ten years for
+this moment. I have loved you with all my heart and strength for ten
+years."</p>
+
+<p>"It was very&mdash;very good of you, Philip."</p>
+
+<p>"Good of me! Why do you speak in that cold, guarded voice? Goodness had
+nothing to say to the matter. I could not help myself. What's the
+matter, Frances? A great change has come over you since the morning. Are
+you in trouble? Tell me what is troubling you, my darling?"</p>
+
+<p>Frances began to cry silently.</p>
+
+<p>"You must not use loving words to me," she said; "they&mdash;they wring my
+heart. I can not tell you what is the matter, Philip, at least for a
+week. And&mdash;oh! if you would let me answer you in a week&mdash;and oh! poor
+Philip, I am afraid there is very little hope."</p>
+
+<p>"Why so, Frances; don't you love me?"</p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;I&mdash;ought not to say it. Let me go back to the house now."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall do nothing of the kind. Do you love me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Philip, I said I would give you an answer in a week."</p>
+
+<p>"This has nothing to say to your answer. You surely know now whether you
+love me or not."</p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;Philip, can't you see? Need I speak?"</p>
+
+<p>"I see that you have kept me at a distance, Frances; that you have left
+me alone all day; that you seem very tired and unhappy. What I see&mdash;yes,
+what I see&mdash;does not, I confess, strike me in a favorable light."</p>
+
+<p>Frances, who had been standing all this time, now laid her hand on
+Arnold's shoulder. Her voice had grown quiet, and her agitation had
+disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>"A week will not be long in passing," she said. "A heavy burden has been
+laid upon me, and the worst part is the suspense. If you have waited
+ten years, you can wait another week, Philip. I can give you no other
+answer to-night."</p>
+
+<p>The hand which unconsciously had been almost caressing in its light
+touch was removed, and Frances returned quickly to the house. She came
+in by a back entrance, and, going straight to her own room, locked the
+door. Thus she could not hear her father when he called her.</p>
+
+<p>But Philip remained for a long time in the elm-walk, hurt, angry, and
+puzzled.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER X.</h2>
+
+<h2>"FLUFF WILL SUIT HIM BEST."</h2>
+
+
+<p>Frances spent a very unhappy night. She could not doubt Philip's
+affection for her, but she knew very little about men, and was just then
+incapable of grasping its depth. Like many another woman, she overlooked
+the fact that in absolutely sacrificing herself she also sacrificed the
+faithful heart of the man who had clung to her memory for ten long
+years.</p>
+
+<p>Frances was too humble to suppose it possible that any man could be in
+serious trouble because he could not win her.</p>
+
+<p>"I know what will happen," she said to herself, as she turned from side
+to side of her hot, unrestful pillow. "I know exactly how things will
+be. The man to whom my father owes the money will accept the interest
+from me. Yes, of course, that is as it should be. That is what I ought
+to wish for and pray for. In about a week from now I shall go to live at
+Arden, and the next few years of my life will be taken up soothing Mrs.
+Carnegie's nerves. It is not a brilliant prospect, but I ought to be
+thankful if in that way I can add to my poor father's life. Of course,
+as soon as I hear from Mr. Spens, I must tell Philip I can have nothing
+to say to him. I must give Philip up. I must pretend that I don't love
+him. Perhaps he will be disappointed for awhile; but of course he will
+get over it. He'll get another wife by and by; perhaps he'll choose
+Fluff. Fluff is just the girl to soothe a man and make him happy. She is
+so bright, and round, and sweet, she has no hard angles anywhere, and
+she is so very pretty. I saw Philip looking at her with great admiration
+to-night. Then she is young, too. In every way she is more suited to
+him than I am. Oh, it won't be at all difficult for Philip to transfer
+his affections to Fluff! Dear little girl, she will make him happy. They
+will both be happy, and I must hide the pain in my heart somehow. I do
+believe, I do honestly believe, that Fluff is more suited to Philip than
+I am; for now and then, even if I had the happiest lot, I must have my
+sad days. I am naturally grave, and sometimes I have a sense of
+oppression. Philip would not have liked me when I was not gay. Some days
+I must feel grave and old, and no man would like that. No doubt
+everything would be for the best; at least, for Philip, and yet how
+much&mdash;how much I love him!"</p>
+
+<p>Frances buried her head in the bed-clothes, and sobbed, long and sadly.
+After this fit of crying she fell asleep.</p>
+
+<p>It was early morning, and the summer light was filling the room when she
+woke. She felt calmer now, and she resolutely determined to turn her
+thoughts in practical directions. There was every probability that the
+proposal she had made to Mr. Spens would be accepted, and if that were
+so she had much to do during the coming week.</p>
+
+<p>She rose at her usual early hour, and, going down-stairs, occupied
+herself first in the house, and then with Watkins in the garden. She
+rather dreaded Philip's appearance, but if he were up early he did not
+come out, and when Frances met him at breakfast his face wore a tired,
+rather bored expression. He took little or no notice of her, but he
+devoted himself to Fluff, laughing at her gay witty sallies, and trying
+to draw her out.</p>
+
+<p>After breakfast Frances had a long conversation with her father. She
+then told him what she meant to do in order that he might continue to
+live at the Firs. She told her story in a very simple, ungarnished
+manner, but she said a few words in a tone which rather puzzled the
+squire at the end.</p>
+
+<p>"I will now tell you," she said, "that when Philip wrote to me asking me
+to be his wife I was very, very glad. For all the long years of his
+absence I had loved him, and when I thought he was dead I was
+heart-broken. I meant to marry him after he wrote me that letter, but I
+would not say so at once, for I knew that I had grown much older, and I
+thought it quite possible that when he saw me he might cease to love me.
+That is not the case; last night he let me see into his heart, and he
+loves me very, very deeply. Still, if your creditor consents to the
+arrangement I have proposed, I can not marry Philip&mdash;I shall then
+absolutely and forever refuse him. But I do this for you, father, for my
+heart is Philip's. I wish you to understand, therefore, that I could not
+give up more for you than I am doing. It would be a comfort for me if,
+in return, you would give me a little affection."</p>
+
+<p>Frances stood tall and straight and pale by her father's side. She now
+looked full into his face. There were no tears in her eyes, but there
+was the passion of a great cry in the voice which she tried to render
+calm.</p>
+
+<p>The squire was agitated in spite of himself; he was glad Fluff was not
+present. He had an uneasy consciousness of certain words Fluff had said
+to him yesterday.</p>
+
+<p>"You are a good girl, Frances," he said, rising to his feet and laying
+his trembling old hand on her arm. "I love you after my fashion,
+child&mdash;I am not a man of many words. By and by, when you are old
+yourself, Frances, you won't regret having done something to keep your
+old father for a short time longer out of his grave. After all, even
+with your utmost endeavor, I am not likely to trouble any one long. When
+I am dead and gone, you can marry Philip Arnold, Frances."</p>
+
+<p>"No father."</p>
+
+<p>Frances's tone was quiet and commonplace now.</p>
+
+<p>"Sit down, please; don't excite yourself. I am not a woman to keep any
+man waiting for me. I trust, long before you are dead, father, Philip
+will be happy with another wife."</p>
+
+<p>"What! Fluff, eh?" said the old man. "What a capital idea! You will
+forgive my saying that she will suit him really much better than you,
+Frances. Ah, there they go down the elm-walk together. She certainly is
+a fascinating little thing. It will comfort you, Frances, to know that
+you do Philip no injury by rejecting him; for he really gets a much more
+suitable wife in that pretty young girl&mdash;you are decidedly <i>pass&eacute;e</i>, my
+love."</p>
+
+<p>Frances bit her lips hard.</p>
+
+<p>"On the whole, then, you are pleased with what I have done," she said,
+in a constrained voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Very much pleased, my dear. You have acted well, and really with
+uncommon sense for a woman. There is only one drawback that I can see
+to your scheme. While you are enjoying the luxuries and comforts of
+Arden, who is to take care of me at the Firs?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have thought of that," said Frances. "I acknowledge there is a slight
+difficulty; but I think matters can be arranged. First of all, father,
+please disabuse yourself of the idea that I shall be in a state of
+comfort and luxury. I shall be more or less a close prisoner; I shall be
+in servitude. Make of that what you please."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes, my love&mdash;a luxurious house, carriages, and horses&mdash;an
+affectionate and most devoted friend in Lucilla Carnegie&mdash;the daintiest
+living, the most exquisitely furnished rooms. Yes, yes, I'm not
+complaining. I'm only glad your lot has fallen in such pleasant places,
+Frances. Still, I repeat, what is to become of me?"</p>
+
+<p>"I thought Mrs. Cooper, our old housekeeper, would come back and manage
+matters for you, father. She is very skillful and nice, and she knows
+your ways. Watkins quite understands the garden, and I myself, I am
+sure, will be allowed to come over once a fortnight or so. There is one
+thing&mdash;you must be very, very careful of your money, and Watkins must
+try to sell all the fruit and vegetables he can. Fluff, of course, can
+not stay here. My next thought is to arrange a home for her, but even if
+I have to leave next week, she need not hurry away at once. Now, father,
+if you will excuse me, I will go out to Watkins, for I have a great deal
+to say to him."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2>
+
+<h2>EDGE TOOLS.</h2>
+
+
+<p>"I have something to say to you, Fluff," said Frances.</p>
+
+<p>The young girl was standing in her white dress, with her guitar hung in
+its usual attitude by her side. She scarcely ever went anywhere without
+this instrument, and she was fond of striking up the sweetest, wildest
+songs to its accompaniment at any moment.</p>
+
+<p>Fluff, for all her extreme fairness and babyishness, had not a doll's
+face. The charming eyes could show many emotions, and the curved lips
+reveal many shades either of love or dislike. She had not a passionate
+face; there were neither heights nor depths about little Fluff; but she
+had a very warm heart, and was both truthful and fearless.</p>
+
+<p>She had been waiting in a sheltered part of the garden for over an hour
+for Arnold. He had promised to go down with her to the river&mdash;he was to
+sketch, and she was to play. It was intensely hot, even in the shadiest
+part of the squire's garden, but by the river there would be coolness
+and a breeze. Fluff was sweet-tempered, but she did not like to wait an
+hour for any man, and she could not help thinking it aggravating of
+Arnold to go on pacing up and down in the hot sun by the squire's side.
+What could the squire and Arnold have to say to each other? And why did
+the taller and younger man rather stoop as he walked? And why was his
+step so depressed, so lacking in energy that even Fluff, under her shady
+tree in the distance, noticed it?</p>
+
+<p>She was standing so when Frances came up to her; now and then her
+fingers idly touched her guitar, her rosy lips pouted, and her glowing
+dark-blue eyes were fixed reproachfully on Arnold's distant figure.</p>
+
+<p>Frances looked pale and fagged; she was not in the becoming white dress
+which she had worn during the first few days of Arnold's visit; she was
+in gray, and the gray was not particularly fresh nor cool in texture.</p>
+
+<p>"Fluff, I want to speak to you," she said.</p>
+
+<p>And she laid her hand on the girl's shoulder&mdash;then her eyes followed
+Fluff's; she saw Arnold, and her cheeks grew a little whiter than
+before.</p>
+
+<p>"Fluff misses him already," she whispered to her heart. "And he likes
+her. They are always together. Yes, I see plainly that I sha'n't do
+Philip any serious injury when I refuse him."</p>
+
+<p>"What is it, Frances?" said Fluff, turning her rather aggrieved little
+face full on the new-comer. "Do you want to say anything to me very
+badly? I do call it a shame of Mr. Arnold; he and the squire have
+chatted together in the South Walk for over an hour. It's just too bad,
+I might have been cooling myself by the river now; I'm frightfully hot."</p>
+
+<p>"No, you're not really very hot," said Frances, in the peculiarly
+caressing tone she always employed when speaking to her little cousin.
+"But I own it is very annoying to have to wait for any one&mdash;more
+particularly when you are doing nothing. Just lay your guitar on the
+grass, Fluff, and let us walk up and down under the shade here. I have
+something to say to you, and it will help to pass the time."</p>
+
+<p>Fluff obeyed at once.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't look well, Frances," she said, in her affectionate way, linking
+her hand through her cousin's arm. "I have noticed that you haven't looked
+yourself ever since the day you went to Martinstown&mdash;nearly a week ago now.
+Now I wonder at that, for the weather has been so perfect, and everything
+so sweet and nice; and I must say it is a comfort to have a pleasant man
+like Mr. Arnold in the house. I have enjoyed myself during the past week,
+and I greatly wonder you haven't, Frances."</p>
+
+<p>"I am glad you have been happy, dear," said Frances, ignoring the parts
+of Fluff's speech which related to herself. "But it is on that very
+subject I want now to speak to you. You like living at the Firs, don't
+you, Fluff?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, of course, Frances. It was poor mamma's"&mdash;here the blue eyes
+brimmed with tears&mdash;"it was darling mother's wish that I should come
+here to live with you and the squire. I never could be so happy anywhere
+as at the Firs; I never, never want to leave it."</p>
+
+<p>"But of course you will leave it some day, little Fluff, for in the
+ordinary course of things you will fall in love and you will marry, and
+when this happens you will love your new home even better than this.
+However, Fluff, we need not discuss the future now, for the present is
+enough for us. I wanted to tell you, dear, that it is very probable,
+almost certain, that I shall have to go away from home. What is the
+matter, Fluff?"</p>
+
+<p>"You go away? Then I suppose that is why you look ill. Oh, how you have
+startled me!"</p>
+
+<p>"I am sorry to have to go, Fluff, and I can not tell you the reason. You
+must not ask me, for it is a secret. But the part that concerns you,
+dear, is that, if I go, I do not see how you can stay on very well at
+the Firs."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I should not dream of staying, Francie. With you away, and
+Mr. Arnold gone"&mdash;here she looked hard into Frances's face&mdash;"it would be
+dull. Of course, I am fond of the squire, but I could not do without
+another companion. Where are you going, Frances? Could not I go with
+you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I wish you could, darling. I will tell you where I am going to-morrow
+or next day. It is possible that I may not go, but it is almost certain
+that I shall."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I trust, I hope, I pray that you will not go."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't do that, Fluff, for that, too, means a great trouble. Oh, yes, a
+great trouble and desolation. Now, dear, I really must talk to you about
+your own affairs. Leave me out of the question for a few moments, pet. I
+must find out what you would like to do, and where you would like to go.
+If I go away I shall have little or no time to make arrangements for
+you, so I must speak to you now. Have you any friends who would take you
+in until you would hear from your father, Fluff?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have no special friends. There are the Harewoods, but they are silly
+and flirty, and I don't care for them. They talk about dress&mdash;you should
+hear how they go on&mdash;and they always repeat the silly things the men
+they meet say to them. No, I won't go to the Harewoods. I think if I
+must leave you, Frances, I had better go to my old school-mistress, Mrs.
+Hopkins. She would be always glad to have me."</p>
+
+<p>"That is a good thought, dear. I will write to her to-day just as a
+precautionary measure. Ah, and here comes Philip. Philip, you have tried
+the patience of this little girl very sadly."</p>
+
+<p>In reply to Frances' speech Arnold slightly raised his hat; his face
+looked drawn and worried; his eyes avoided Frances's, but turned with a
+sense of refreshment to where Fluff stood looking cool and sweet, and
+with a world of tender emotion on her sensitive little face.</p>
+
+<p>"A thousand apologies," he said. "The squire kept me. Shall I carry your
+guitar? No, I won't sketch, thanks; but if you will let me lie on my
+back in the long grass by the river, and if you will sing me a song or
+two, I shall be grateful ever after."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I will write to Mrs. Hopkins, Fluff," said Frances. And as the two
+got over a stile which led down a sloping meadow to the river, she
+turned away. Arnold had neither looked at her nor addressed her again.</p>
+
+<p>"My father has been saying something to him," thought Frances. And she
+was right.</p>
+
+<p>The squire was not a man to take up an idea lightly and then drop it. He
+distinctly desired, come what might, that his daughter should not marry
+Arnold; he came to the sage conclusion that the best way to prevent
+such a catastrophe was to see Arnold safely married to some one else.
+The squire had no particular delicacy of feeling to prevent his alluding
+to topics which might be avoided by more sensitive men. He contrived to
+see Arnold alone, and then, rudely, for he did not care to mince his
+words, used expressions the reverse of truthful, which led Arnold, whose
+faith was already wavering in the balance, to feel almost certain that
+Frances never had cared for him, and never would do so. He then spoke of
+Fluff, praising her enthusiastically, and without stint, saying how
+lucky he considered the man who won not only a beautiful, but a wealthy
+bride, and directly suggested to Arnold that he should go in for her.</p>
+
+<p>"She likes you now," said the squire; "bless her little heart, she'd
+like any one who was kind to her. She's just the pleasantest companion
+any man could have&mdash;a perfect dear all round. To tell the truth, Arnold,
+even though she is my daughter, I think you are well rid of Frances."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm ashamed to hear you say so, sir. If what you tell me is true, your
+daughter has scarcely behaved kindly to me; but, notwithstanding that, I
+consider Frances quite the noblest woman I know."</p>
+
+<p>"Pshaw!" said the squire. "You agree with Fluff&mdash;she's always praising
+her, too. Of course, I have nothing to say against my daughter&mdash;she's my
+own uprearing, so it would ill beseem me to run her down. But for a
+wife, give me a fresh little soft roundabout, like Fluff yonder."</p>
+
+<p>Arnold bit his lip.</p>
+
+<p>"You have spoken frankly to me, and I thank you," he said. "If I am so
+unfortunate as not to win Miss Kane's regard, there is little use in my
+prolonging my visit here; but I have yet to hear her decision from her
+own lips. If you will allow me, I will leave you now, squire, for I
+promised Miss Danvers to spend some of this afternoon with her by the
+river."</p>
+
+<p>"With Fluff? Little puss&mdash;very good&mdash;very good&mdash;Ah!</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>'The time I've spent in wooing' </p></blockquote>
+
+<p>never wasted, my boy&mdash;never wasted. I wish you all success from the
+bottom of my heart."</p>
+
+<p>"Insufferable old idiot!" growled Arnold, under his breath.</p>
+
+<p>But he was thoroughly hurt and annoyed, and when he saw Frances, could
+not bring himself even to say a word to her.</p>
+
+<p>The squire went back to the house to enjoy his afternoon nap, and to
+reflect comfortably on the delicious fact that he had done himself a
+good turn.</p>
+
+<p>"There is no use playing with edge tools," he murmured. "Frances means
+well, but she confessed to me she loved him. What more likely, then,
+that she would accept him, and, notwithstanding her good resolutions,
+leave her poor old father in the lurch? If Frances accepts Arnold, it
+will be ruin to me, and it simply must be prevented at all hazards."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2>
+
+<h2>THE CUNNING LITTLE MOUSE.</h2>
+
+
+<p>Fluff found her companion strangely dull. They reached the river, where
+Arnold, true to his promise, did stretch himself at full length in the
+long fragrant grass; and Fluff, true to her promise, touched her guitar
+gently, and gently, softly, and sympathetically sung a song or two. She
+sung about the "Auld acquaintance" who should never be forgot; she sung
+of "Robin Adair;" and, lastly, her clear little notes warbled out the
+exquisite Irish melody, "She is far from the land." Never had Fluff sung
+better. She threw feeling and sympathy into her notes&mdash;in short, she
+excelled herself in her desire to please. But when at the end of the
+third song Arnold still made no response, when not the flicker of an
+eyelid or the faintest dawn of a smile showed either approbation or
+pleasure, the spoiled child threw her guitar aside, and spoke pettishly.</p>
+
+<p>"I won't amuse you any more," she said. "I don't like sulky people; I am
+going home to my darling Frances. She is often troubled&mdash;oh, yes, she
+knows what trouble is&mdash;but she never sulks, never!"</p>
+
+<p>"Look here, Fluff," said Arnold. "I may call you Fluff, may I not?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't mind."</p>
+
+<p>Fluff's big eyes began to dilate. She stretched out her hand to draw
+her guitar once more to her side. She was evidently willing to be
+reasonable.</p>
+
+<p>"Look here," repeated Arnold. He rose hastily, and leaning on a low wall
+which stood near, looked down at the bright little girl at his feet.
+"Fluff," he said, "should you greatly mind if I threw conventionality to
+the winds, and spoke frankly to you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I should not mind at all," said Fluff. "I don't know what you have got
+to say, but I hate conventionalities."</p>
+
+<p>"The fact is, I am very much bothered."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!"</p>
+
+<p>"And I haven't a soul to consult."</p>
+
+<p>Another "Oh!" and an upward glance of two lovely long-fringed eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"And I think you have a kind, affectionate heart, Fluff."</p>
+
+<p>"I have."</p>
+
+<p>"And you won't misunderstand a man who is half distracted?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am sorry you are half distracted. No, I won't misunderstand you."</p>
+
+<p>"That is right, and what I expected. I was thinking of all this, and
+wondering if I might speak frankly to you when you were singing those
+songs. That is the reason I did not applaud you, or say thank you, or
+anything else commonplace."</p>
+
+<p>"I understand now," said Fluff. "I'm very glad. I was puzzled at first,
+and I thought you rude. Now I quite understand."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, Fluff; if I may sit by your side I will tell you the whole
+story. The fact is, I want you to help me, but you can only do so by
+knowing everything. Why, what is the matter? Are you suddenly offended?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," answered little Ellen; "but I'm surprised. I'm so astonished that
+I'm almost troubled, and yet I never was so glad in my life. You are the
+very first person who has ever asked me to help them. I have amused
+people&mdash;oh, yes, often; but helped&mdash;you are the very first who has asked
+me that."</p>
+
+<p>"I believe you are a dear little girl," said Arnold, looking at her
+affectionately; "and if any one can set things right now, you are the
+person. Will you listen to my story? May I begin?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly."</p>
+
+<p>"Remember, I am not going to be conventional."</p>
+
+<p>"You said that before."</p>
+
+<p>"I want to impress it upon you. I am going to say the sort of things
+that girls seldom listen to."</p>
+
+<p>"You make me feel dreadfully curious," said Fluff. "Please begin."</p>
+
+<p>"The beginning is this: Ten years ago I came here. I stayed here for a
+month. I fell in love with Frances."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh&mdash;oh! darling Frances. And you fell in love with her ten years ago?"</p>
+
+<p>"I did. I went to Australia. For five years I had an awful time there;
+my friends at home supposed me to be dead. The fact is, I was taken
+captive by some of the bushmen. That has nothing to say to my story,
+only all the time I thought of Frances. I remained in Australia five
+more years. During that five years I was making my fortune. As I added
+pound to pound, I thought still of Frances. I am rich now, and I have
+come home to marry her."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," said little Fluff, with a deep-drawn sigh, "what a lovely story!
+But why, then, is not Frances happy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, that is where the mystery comes in; that is what I want you to find
+out. I see plainly that Frances is very unhappy. She won't say either
+yes or no to my suit. Her father gives me to understand that she does
+not love me; that she never loved me. He proposes that instead of
+marrying Frances I should try to make you my wife. He was urging me to
+do so just now when I kept you waiting. All the time he was telling me
+that Frances never could or would love me, and that you were the wife of
+all others for me."</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you tell me all this?" said Fluff. Her cheeks had crimsoned, and
+tears trembled on her eyelashes. "Why do you spoil a beautiful story by
+telling me this at the end?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because the squire will hint it to you, Fluff; because even Frances
+herself will begin to think that I am turning my affections in your
+direction; because if you help me as I want you to help me, we must be
+much together; because I must talk very freely to you; in short, because
+it is absolutely necessary that we should quite understand each other."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Fluff. "I see now what you mean; it is all right; thank you
+very much." She rose to her feet. "I will be a sort of sister to you,"
+she said, laying her little hand in his; "for I love Frances better than
+any sister, and when you are her husband you will be my brother."</p>
+
+<p>"No brother will ever be truer to you, Fluff; but, alas, and alas! is it
+ever likely that Frances can be my wife?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course she will," said Fluff. "Frances is so unhappy because she
+loves you."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I think so, but I'll soon find out."</p>
+
+<p>"You will? If you were my real sister, I would call you a darling."</p>
+
+<p>"You may call me anything you please. I am your sister to all intents
+and purposes, until you are married to my darling, darling Frances. Oh,
+won't I give it to the squire! I think he's a perfectly horrid old man,
+and I used to be fond of him."</p>
+
+<p>"But you will be careful, Fluff&mdash;a rash word might do lots of mischief."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I'll be careful. I have lots of tact."</p>
+
+<p>"You are the dearest girl in the world, except Frances."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I am. That was a very pretty speech, and I am going to reward
+you. I am going to tell you something."</p>
+
+<p>"What is that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Frances is going away."</p>
+
+<p>Arnold gave a slight start.</p>
+
+<p>"I did not know that," he said. "When?"</p>
+
+<p>"She told me when you were talking to the squire. She is going away very
+soon, and she wants me to go too. I am to go back to my old
+school-mistress, Mrs. Hopkins. Frances is very sorry to go, and yet when
+I told her that I hoped she would not have to, she said I must not wish
+that, for that would mean a great calamity. I don't understand Frances
+at present, but I shall soon get to the bottom of everything."</p>
+
+<p>"I fear it is all too plain," said Arnold, lugubriously. "Frances goes
+away because she does not love me, and she is unhappy because she does
+not wish to give me pain."</p>
+
+<p>"You are quite wrong, sir. Frances is unhappy on her own account, not on
+yours. Well, I'll find out lots of things to-night, and let you know.
+I'm going to be the cunningest little mouse in the world; but oh, won't
+the squire have a bad time of it!"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER XIII.</h2>
+
+<h2>"LITTLE GIRLS IMAGINE THINGS."</h2>
+
+
+<p>The morning's post brought one letter. It was addressed to Miss Kane,
+and was written in a business hand. The squire looked anxiously at his
+daughter as she laid it unopened by her plate. Fluff, who was dressed
+more becomingly than usual, whose eyes were bright, and who altogether
+seemed in excellent spirits, could not help telegraphing a quick glance
+at Arnold; the little party were seated round the breakfast-table, and
+the squire, who intercepted Fluff's glance, chuckled inwardly. He was
+very anxious with regard to the letter which Frances so provokingly left
+unopened, but he also felt a pleasing thrill of satisfaction.</p>
+
+<p>"Ha! ha!" he said to himself, "my good young man, you are following my
+advice, for all you looked so sulky yesterday. Fluff, little dear, I do
+you a good turn when I provide you with an excellent husband, and I
+declare, poor as I am, I won't see you married without giving you a
+wedding present."</p>
+
+<p>After breakfast the squire rose, pushed aside his chair, and was about
+to summon his daughter to accompany him to the south parlor, when Fluff
+ran up to his side.</p>
+
+<p>"I want to speak to you most particularly," she said. "I have a secret
+to tell you," and she raised her charming, rounded, fresh face to his.
+He patted her on the cheek.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it very important?" he said, a little uneasily, for he noticed that
+Philip and Frances were standing silently, side by side in the
+bay-window, and that Frances had removed her letter from its envelope,
+and was beginning to read it.</p>
+
+<p>"She'll absolutely tell that fellow the contents of the most important
+letter she ever received," inwardly grumbled the squire. "He'll know
+before her father knows." Aloud he said, "I have a little business to
+talk over with Frances just now, Ellen. I am afraid your secret must
+wait, little puss."</p>
+
+<p>"But that's what it can't do," answered Fluff. "Don't call Frances;
+she's reading a letter. What a rude old man you are, to think of
+disturbing her! I'm quite ashamed of you. Now come with me, for I must
+tell you my important secret."</p>
+
+<p>The squire found himself wheedled and dragged into the south parlor.
+There he was seated in his most comfortable chair, just as much sunlight
+as he liked best was allowed to warm him, a footstool was placed under
+his feet, and Fluff, drawing a second forward, seated herself on it,
+laid her hand on his knee, and looked at him with an expression of
+pleased affection.</p>
+
+<p>"Aren't you dreadfully curious?" she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, Fluff&mdash;quite devoured with curiosity. I wonder now what
+Frances is doing; the fact is, she has received an important letter.
+It's about my affairs. I am naturally anxious to know its contents. Tell
+your secret as quickly as possible, little woman, and let me get to more
+important matters."</p>
+
+<p>"More important matters? I'm ashamed of you," said Fluff, shaking her
+finger at him. "The fact is, squire, you mustn't be in a hurry about
+seeing Frances&mdash;you must curb your impatience; it's very good for you to
+curb it&mdash;it's a little discipline, and discipline properly administered
+always turns people out delightful. You'll be a very noble old man when
+you have had a little of the proper sort of training. Now, now&mdash;why, you
+look quite cross; I declare you're not a bit handsome when you're cross.
+Frances can't come to you at present&mdash;she's engaged about her own
+affairs."</p>
+
+<p>"And what may they be, pray, miss?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, that's my secret!"</p>
+
+<p>Fluff looked down; a becoming blush deepened the color in her cheeks;
+she toyed idly with a rosebud which she held in her hand. Something in
+her attitude, and the significant smile on her face, made the squire
+both angry and uneasy.</p>
+
+<p>"Speak out, child," he said. "You know I hate mysteries."</p>
+
+<p>"But I can't speak out," said Fluff. "The time to speak out hasn't
+come&mdash;I can only guess. Squire, I'm so glad&mdash;I really do think that
+Frances is in love with Philip."</p>
+
+<p>"You really do?" said the squire. He mimicked her tone sarcastically,
+red, angry spots grew on his old cheeks. "Frances in love with Philip,
+indeed! You have got pretty intimate with that young Australian, Fluff,
+when you call him by his Christian name."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes; we arranged that yesterday. He's like a brother to me. I told
+you some time ago that he was in love with Frances. Now, I'm so
+delighted to be able to say that I think Frances is in love with him."</p>
+
+<p>"Tut&mdash;tut!" said the squire. "Little girls imagine things. Little girls
+are very fanciful."</p>
+
+<p>"Tut&mdash;tut!" responded Fluff, taking off his voice to the life. "Little
+girls see far below the surface; old men are very obtuse."</p>
+
+<p>"Fluff, if that's your secret, I don't think much of it. Run away now,
+and send my daughter to me."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll do nothing of the kind, for if she's not reading her letter she's
+talking to her true love. Oh, you must have a heart of stone to wish to
+disturb them!"</p>
+
+<p>The squire, with some difficulty, pushed aside his footstool, hobbled to
+his feet, and walked to the window where the southern sun was pouring
+in. In the distance he saw the gray of Frances's dress through the
+trees, and Philip's square, manly, upright figure walking slowly by her
+side.</p>
+
+<p>He pushed open the window, and hoarsely and angrily called his
+daughter's name.</p>
+
+<p>"She doesn't hear you," said Fluff. "I expect he's proposing for her
+now; isn't it lovely? Aren't you delighted? Oh, where's my guitar? I'm
+going to play 'Sweethearts.' I do hope, squire, you'll give Frances a
+very jolly wedding."</p>
+
+<p>But the squire had hobbled out of the room.</p>
+
+<p>He was really very lame with rheumatic gout; but the sight of that gray,
+slender figure, pacing slowly under the friendly sheltering trees, was
+too much for him; he was overcome with passion, anxiety, rage.</p>
+
+<p>"She's giving herself away," he murmured. "That little vixen, Fluff, is
+right&mdash;she's in love with the fellow, and she's throwing herself at his
+head; it's perfectly awful to think of it. She has forgotten all about
+her old father. I'll be a beggar in my old age; the Firs will have to
+go; I'll be ruined, undone. Oh, was there ever such an undutiful
+daughter? I must go to her. I must hobble up to that distant spot as
+quickly as possible; perhaps when she sees me she may pause before she
+irrevocably commits so wicked an act. Oh, how lame I am! what agonies
+I'm enduring! Shall I ever be in time? He's close to her&mdash;he's almost
+touching her&mdash;good gracious, he'll kiss her if I'm not quick! that
+little wretch Fluff could have reached them in a twinkling, but she
+won't do anything to oblige me this morning. Hear her now, twanging away
+at that abominable air, 'Sweethearts'&mdash;oh&mdash;oh&mdash;puff&mdash;puff&mdash;I'm quite
+blown! This walk will kill me! Frances&mdash;I say, Frances, Frances."</p>
+
+<p>The feeble, cracked old voice was borne on the breeze, and the last high
+agonized note reached its goal.</p>
+
+<p>"I am coming, father," responded his daughter. She turned to Arnold and
+held out her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"God bless you!" she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Is your answer final, Frances?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes&mdash;yes. I wish I had not kept you a week in suspense; it was cruel to
+you, but I thought&mdash;oh, I must not keep my father."</p>
+
+<p>"Your father has you always, and this is my last moment. Then you'll
+never, never love me?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can not marry you, Philip."</p>
+
+<p>"That is no answer. You never loved me."</p>
+
+<p>"I can not marry you."</p>
+
+<p>"I won't take 'no' unless you say with it, 'I never loved you; I never
+can love you.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Look at my father, Philip; he is almost falling. His face is crimson. I
+must go to him. God bless you!"</p>
+
+<p>She took his hand, and absolutely, before the squire's horrified eyes,
+raised it to her lips, then flew lightly down the path, and joined the
+old man.</p>
+
+<p>"Is anything wrong, father? How dreadful you look!"</p>
+
+<p>"You&mdash;you have accepted the fellow! You have deserted me; I saw you kiss
+his hand. Fah! it makes me sick. You've accepted him, and I am ruined!"</p>
+
+<p>"On the contrary, I have refused Philip. That kiss was like one we give
+to the dead. Don't excite yourself; come into the house. I am yours
+absolutely from this time out."</p>
+
+<p>"Hum&mdash;haw&mdash;you gave me an awful fright, I can tell you." The squire
+breathed more freely. "You set that little Fluff on to begin it, and you
+ended it. I won't be the better of this for some time. Yes, let me lean
+on you, Frances; it's a comfort to feel I'm not without a daughter. Oh,
+it would have been a monstrous thing had you deserted me! Did I not rear
+you, and bring you up? But in cases of the affections&mdash;I mean in cases
+of those paltry passions, women are so weak."</p>
+
+<p>"But not your daughter, Frances Kane. I, for your sake, have been
+strong. Now, if you please, we will drop the subject; I will not discuss
+it further. You had better come into the house, father, until you get
+cool."</p>
+
+<p>"You had a letter this morning, Frances&mdash;from Spens, was it not?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes; I had forgotten; your creditors will accept my terms for the
+present. I must drive over to Arden this afternoon, and arrange what day
+I go there."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall miss you considerably, Frances. It's a great pity you couldn't
+arrange to come home to sleep; you might see to my comforts then by
+rising a little earlier in the morning. I wish, my dear, you would
+propose it to Mrs. Carnegie; if she is a woman of any consideration she
+will see how impossible it is that I should be left altogether."</p>
+
+<p>"I can not do that, father. Even you must pay a certain price for a
+certain good thing. You do not wish to leave the Firs, but you can not
+keep both the Firs and me. I will come and see you constantly, but my
+time from this out belongs absolutely to Mrs. Carnegie. She gives me an
+unusually large salary, and, being her servant, I must endeavor in all
+particulars to please her, and must devote my time to her to a certain
+extent day and night."</p>
+
+<p>"Good gracious, Frances, I do hope that though adversity has come to the
+house of Kane, you are not going so far to forget yourself as to stoop
+to menial work at Arden. Why, rather than that&mdash;rather than that, it
+would be better for us to give up the home of our fathers."</p>
+
+<p>"No work need be menial, done in the right spirit," responded Frances.</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes wandered away, far up among the trees, where Arnold still
+slowly paced up and down. In the cause of pride her father might even be
+induced to give up the Firs. Was love, then, to weigh nothing in the
+scale?</p>
+
+<p>She turned suddenly to the father.</p>
+
+<p>"You must rest now," she said. "You need not be the least anxious on
+your own account any more. You must rest and take things quietly, and
+do your best not to get ill. It would be very bad for you to be ill now,
+for there would be no one to nurse you. Remember that, and be careful.
+Now go and sit in the parlor and keep out of draughts. I can not read to
+you this morning, for I shall be very busy, and you must not call me nor
+send for me unless it is absolutely necessary. Now, good-bye for the
+present."</p>
+
+<p>Frances did not, as her usual custom was, establish her father in his
+easy-chair; she did not cut his morning paper for him, nor attend to the
+one or two little comforts which he considered essential; she left him
+without kissing him, only her full, grave, sorrowful eyes rested for one
+moment with a look of great pathos on his wrinkled, discontented old
+face, then she went away.</p>
+
+<p>The squire was alone; even the irritating strain of "Sweethearts" no
+longer annoyed him. Fluff had ceased to play&mdash;Fluff's gay little figure
+was no longer visible; the man who had paced up and down under the
+distant trees had disappeared; Frances's gray dress was nowhere to be
+seen.</p>
+
+<p>The whole place was still, oppressively still&mdash;not a bee hummed, not a
+bird sung. The atmosphere was hot and dry, but there was no sunshine;
+the trees were motionless, there was a feeling of coming thunder in the
+air.</p>
+
+<p>The squire felt calmed and triumphant, at the same time he felt
+irritated and depressed. His anxiety was over; his daughter had done
+what he wished her to do&mdash;the Firs was saved, at least for his
+lifetime&mdash;the marriage he so dreaded was never to be. At the same time,
+he felt dull and deserted; he knew what it was to have his desire, and
+leanness in his soul. It would be very dull at the Firs without Frances;
+he should miss her much when she went away. He was a feeble old man, and
+he was rapidly growing blind. Who would read for him, and chat with him,
+and help to while away the long and tedious hours? He could not spend
+all his time eating and sleeping. What should he do now with all the
+other hours of the long day and night? He felt pleased with Frances&mdash;he
+owned she was a good girl; but at the same time he was cross with her;
+she ought to have thought of some other way of delivering him. She was a
+clever woman&mdash;he owned she was a clever woman; but she ought not to
+have effected his salvation by deserting him.</p>
+
+<p>The squire mumbled and muttered to himself. He rose from his arm-chair
+and walked to the window; he went out and paced up and down the terrace;
+he came in again. Was there ever such a long and tiresome morning? He
+yawned; he did not know what to do with himself.</p>
+
+<p>A little after noon the door of the south parlor was quickly opened and
+Arnold came in.</p>
+
+<p>"I have just come to say good-bye, sir."</p>
+
+<p>The squire started in genuine amazement. He did not love Arnold, but
+after two hours of solitude he was glad to hear any human voice. It
+never occurred to him, too, that any one should feel Frances such a
+necessity as to alter plans on her account.</p>
+
+<p>"You are going away?" he repeated. "You told me yesterday you would stay
+here for at least another week or ten days."</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly, but I have changed my mind," said Arnold. "I came here for an
+object&mdash;my object has failed. Good-bye."</p>
+
+<p>"But now, really&mdash;" the squire strove to retain the young man's hand in
+his clasp. "You don't seriously mean to tell me that you are leaving a
+nice place like the Firs in this fine summer weather because Frances has
+refused you."</p>
+
+<p>"I am going away on that account," replied Arnold, stiffly. "Good-bye."</p>
+
+<p>"You astonish me&mdash;you quite take my breath away. Frances couldn't accept
+you, you know. She had me to see after. I spoke to you yesterday about
+her, and I suggested that you should take Fluff instead. A dear little
+thing, Fluff. Young, and with money; who would compare the two?"</p>
+
+<p>"Who would compare the two?" echoed Arnold. "I repeat, squire, that I
+must now wish you good-bye, and I distinctly refuse to discuss the
+subject of my marriage any further."</p>
+
+<p>Arnold's hand scarcely touched Squire Kane's. He left the south parlor,
+and his footsteps died away in the distance.</p>
+
+<p>Once more there was silence and solitude. The sky grew darker, the
+atmosphere hotter and denser&mdash;a growl of thunder was heard in the
+distance&mdash;a flash of lightning lighted up the squire's room. Squire Kane
+was very nervous in a storm&mdash;at all times he hated to be long alone&mdash;now
+he felt terrified, nervous, aggrieved. He rang his bell pretty sharply.</p>
+
+<p>"Jane," he said to the servant who answered his summons, "send Miss Kane
+to me at once."</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Kane has gone to Martinstown, sir. She drove in in the pony-cart
+an hour go."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh&mdash;h'm&mdash;I suppose Mr. Arnold went with her?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir. Mr. Arnold took a short cut across the fields; he says the
+carrier is to call for his portmanteau, and he's not a-coming back."</p>
+
+<p>"H'm&mdash;most inconsiderate&mdash;I hate parties broken up in a hurry like this.
+What a vivid flash that was! Jane, I'm afraid we are going to have an
+awful storm."</p>
+
+<p>"It looks like it, sir, and the clouds is coming direct this way.
+Watkins says as the strength of the storm will break right over the
+Firs, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"My good Jane, I'll thank you to shut the windows, and ask Miss Danvers
+to have the goodness to step this way."</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Danvers have a headache, sir, and is lying down. She said as no
+one is to disturb her."</p>
+
+<p>The squire murmured something inarticulate. Jane lingered for a moment
+at the door, but finding nothing more was required of her, softly
+withdrew.</p>
+
+<p>Then in the solitude of his south parlor the squire saw the storm come
+up&mdash;the black clouds gathered silently from east and west, a slight
+shiver shook the trees, a sudden wind agitated the slowly moving
+clouds&mdash;it came between the two banks of dark vapor, and then the
+thunder rolled and the lightning played. It was an awful storm, and the
+squire, who was timid at such times, covered his face with his trembling
+hands, and even feebly tried to pray. It is possible that if Frances had
+come to him then he would, in the terror fit which had seized him, have
+given her her heart's desire. Even the Firs became of small account to
+Squire Kane, while the lightning flashed in his eyes and the thunder
+rattled over his head. He was afraid&mdash;he would have done anything to
+propitiate the Maker of the storm&mdash;he would have even sacrificed himself
+if necessary.</p>
+
+<p>But the clouds rolled away, the sunshine came out. Fear vanished from
+the squire's breast, and when dinner was announced he went to partake of
+it with an excellent appetite. Fluff and he alone had seats at the
+board; Arnold and Frances were both away.</p>
+
+<p>Fluff's eyes were very red. She was untidy, too, and her whole
+appearance might best be described by the word "disheveled." She
+scarcely touched her dinner, and her chattering, merry tongue was
+silent.</p>
+
+<p>The squire was a man who never could abide melancholy in others. He had
+had a fright; his fright was over. He was therefore exactly in the mood
+to be petted and humored, to have his little jokes listened to and
+applauded, to have his thrice-told tales appreciated. He was just in the
+mood, also, to listen to pretty nothings from a pretty girl's lips, to
+hear her sing, perhaps to walk slowly with her by and by in the
+sunshine.</p>
+
+<p>Fluff's red eyes, however, Fluff's disordered, untidy appearance, her
+downcast looks, her want of appetite, presented to him, just then, a
+most unpleasing picture. As his way was, he resented it, and began to
+grumble.</p>
+
+<p>"I have had a very dull morning," he began.</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed, sir? I won't take any pease, thank you, Jane; I'm not hungry."</p>
+
+<p>"I hate little girls to come to table who are not hungry," growled the
+squire. "Bring the pease here, Jane."</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I go up to my room again?" asked Fluff, laying down her knife and
+fork.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, my love; no, not by any means."</p>
+
+<p>The squire was dreadfully afraid of having to spend as solitary an
+afternoon as morning.</p>
+
+<p>"I am sorry you are not quite well, Fluff," he said, hoping to pacify the
+angry little maid; "but I suppose it was the storm. Most girls are very
+much afraid of lightning. It is silly of them; for really in a room with
+the windows shut&mdash;glass, you know, my dear, is a non-conductor&mdash;there is
+not much danger. But there is no combating the terrors of the weaker sex. I
+can fancy you, Fluff, burying that pretty little head of yours under the
+bed-clothes. That doubtless accounts for its present rough condition. You
+should have come to me, my love; I'd have done my best to soothe your
+nervous fears."</p>
+
+<p>Fluff's blue eyes were opened wide.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know what you are talking about," she said. "I afraid of the
+storm, and burying my head under the bed-clothes, as if I were a baby or
+a silly old man! Yes, of course I knew there was a storm, but I didn't
+notice it much, I was too busy packing."</p>
+
+<p>This last remark effectually distracted the squire's attention.</p>
+
+<p>"Packing! good gracious, child, you are not going away too?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I am; you don't suppose I am going to stay here without my
+darling Francie?"</p>
+
+<p>"But what am I to do, Fluff?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know, squire. I suppose you'll stay on at the Firs."</p>
+
+<p>"Alone! Do you mean I'm to stay here alone?"</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose so, now that you have sent Frances away."</p>
+
+<p>"I have not sent her away. What do you mean, miss?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not going to say what I mean," said Fluff. "Dear Frances is very
+unhappy, and I'm very unhappy too, and Philip, I think, is the most
+miserable of all. As far as I can tell, all this unhappiness has been
+caused by you, squire, so I suppose you are happy; but if you think I am
+going to stay at the Firs without Frances you are very much mistaken. I
+would not stay with you now on any account, for you are a selfish old
+man, and I don't love you any longer."</p>
+
+<p>This angry little speech was uttered after Jane had withdrawn, and even
+while Fluff spoke she pushed some fruit toward the squire.</p>
+
+<p>"You are a selfish old man," she continued, her cheeks burning and her
+eyes flashing; "you want your comforts, you want to be amused, and to
+get the best of everything; and if that is so you don't care for others.
+Well, here is the nicest fruit in the garden&mdash;eat it; and by and by I'll
+sing for you, if my singing gives you pleasure. I'll do all this while I
+stay, but I'm going away the day after to-morrow. But I don't love you
+any more, for you are unkind to Frances."</p>
+
+<p>The squire was really too much astonished to reply. Nobody in all his
+life had ever spoken to him in this way before; he felt like one who was
+assaulted and beaten all over. He was stunned, and yet he still clung in
+a sort of mechanical way to the comforts which were dearer to him than
+life. He picked out the finest strawberries which Fluff had piled on his
+plate, and conveyed them to his lips. Fluff flew out of the room for her
+guitar, and when she returned she began to sing a gay Italian air in a
+very sprightly and effective manner. In the midst of her song the squire
+broke in with a sudden question.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean by saying I am unkind to Frances?"</p>
+
+<p>Fluff's guitar dropped with a sudden clatter to the floor.</p>
+
+<p>"You won't let her marry Philip&mdash;she loves him with all her heart, and
+he loves her. They have cared for each other for ten long years, and now
+you are parting them. You are a dreadfully, dreadfully selfish old man,
+and I hate you!"</p>
+
+<p>Here the impulsive little girl burst into tears and ran out of the room.
+The squire sat long over his strawberries.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER XIV.</h2>
+
+<h2>"I HATE THE SQUIRE."</h2>
+
+
+<p>It was arranged that Frances should take up her abode at Arden on the
+following Friday, and on Thursday Fluff was to go to London, to
+stay&mdash;for a time, at least&mdash;under the sheltering wings of her late
+school-mistress, Mrs. Hopkins. With regard to her departure, Fluff made
+an extraordinary request&mdash;she earnestly begged that Frances should not
+accompany her to Martinstown. She gave no reason for this desire; but
+she enforced it by sundry pettings, by numerous embraces, by both tears
+and smiles&mdash;in short, by the thousand and one fascinations which the
+little creature possessed. A certain Mrs. Mansfield was to escort Fluff
+to London; and Frances arranged that the two should meet at the railway
+station, and catch the twelve-o'clock train for town.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want you to introduce her to me, darling," said Fluff. "I can't
+possibly mistake her, for she is tall, and has a hooked nose, and always
+wears black, you say. And you know what I am, just exactly like my name;
+so it will be impossible for us not to recognize each other."</p>
+
+<p>Thus Fluff got her way, and Frances saw her off, not from the railway
+platform, but standing under the elm-trees where Fluff had first seen
+her and Arnold together.</p>
+
+<p>When a turn in the road quite hid Frances Kane from the little girl's
+view she clasped her hands with a mixture of ecstasy and alarm.</p>
+
+<p>"Now I can have my way," she said to herself, "and dear Frances will
+never, never suspect."</p>
+
+<p>A cab had been sent for to Martinstown to fetch away Fluff and her
+belongings. The driver was a stranger, and Fluff thought it extremely
+unlikely that, even if he wished to do so he would be able to tell
+tales. She arrived in good time at the railway station, instantly
+assumed a business-like air, looked out for no tall lady with a hooked
+nose in black, but calmly booked her luggage for a later train, and
+calling the same cabman, asked him to drive her to the house of the
+lawyer, Mr. Spens.</p>
+
+<p>The lawyer was at home, and the pretty, excitable little girl was
+quickly admitted into his presence. Mr. Spens thought he had seldom seen
+a more radiant little vision than this white-robed, eager, childish
+creature&mdash;childish and yet womanly just then, with both purpose and
+desire in her face.</p>
+
+<p>"You had my letter, hadn't you?" said Fluff. "I am Ellen Danvers; Miss
+Kane is my cousin, and my dearest, and most dear friend."</p>
+
+<p>"I have had your letter, Miss Danvers, and I remained at home in
+consequence. Won't you sit down? What a beautiful day this is!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, please, don't waste time over the weather. I am come to talk to you
+about Frances. You have got to prevent it, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"My dear young lady, to prevent what?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, she's not to go to Arden. She's not to spend the rest of her days
+with a dreadful, fanciful old woman! She's to do something else quite
+different. You've got to prevent Frances making herself and&mdash;and&mdash;others
+miserable all her life. Do you hear, Mr. Spens?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I certainly hear, Miss Danvers. But how am I to alter or affect
+Miss Kane's destiny is more than I can at present say. You must explain
+yourself. I have a very great regard for Miss Kane; I like her
+extremely. I will do anything in my power to benefit her; but as she
+chose entirely of her own free will&mdash;without any one, as far as I am
+aware, suggesting it to her&mdash;to become companion to Mrs. Carnegie, I do
+not really see how I am to interfere."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, you are," said Fluff, whose eyes were now full of tears. "You are
+to interfere because you are at the bottom of the mystery. You know why
+Frances is going to Mrs. Carnegie, and why she is refusing to marry
+Philip Arnold, who has loved her for ten years, and whom she loves with
+all her heart. Oh, I can't help telling you this! It is a secret, a kind
+of secret, but you have got to give me another confidence in return."</p>
+
+<p>"I did not know about Arnold, certainly," responded Spens. "That alters
+things. I am truly sorry; I am really extremely sorry. Still I don't see
+how Miss Kane can act differently. She has promised her father now: it
+is the only way to save him. Poor girl! I am sorry for her, but it is
+the only way to save the squire."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, the squire!" exclaimed Fluff, jumping up in her seat, and clasping
+her hands with vexation. "Who cares for the squire? Is he to have
+everything. Is nobody to be thought of but him? Why should Frances make
+all her days wretched on his account? Why should Frances give up the man
+she is so fond of, just to give him a little more comfort and luxuries
+that he doesn't want? Look here, Mr. Spens, it is wrong&mdash;it must not be!
+I won't have it!"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Spens could not help smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"You are very eager and emphatic," he said. "I should like to know how
+you are going to prevent Miss Kane taking her own way."</p>
+
+<p>"It is not her own way; it is the squire's way."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, it comes to the same thing. How are you to prevent her taking the
+squire's way?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you leave that to me! I have an idea. I think I can work it
+through. Only I want you, Mr. Spens, to tell me the real reason why
+Frances is going away from the Firs, and why she has to live at Arden.
+She will explain nothing; she only says it is necessary. She won't give
+any reason either to Philip or me."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you think, Miss Danvers, I ought to respect her confidence? If
+she wished you to know, she would tell you herself."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, please&mdash;please tell me! Do tell me! I won't do any mischief, I
+promise you. Oh, if only you knew how important it is that I should find
+out!"</p>
+
+<p>The lawyer considered for a moment. Fluff's pretty words and beseeching
+gestures were having an effect upon him. After all, if there was any
+chance of benefiting Miss Kane, why should the squire's miserable
+secret be concealed? After a time he said:</p>
+
+<p>"You look like a child, but I believe you have sense. I suppose whatever
+I tell you, you intend to repeat straight-way to Mr. Arnold?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, yes; I certainly mean to tell him."</p>
+
+<p>"Will you promise to tell no one but Arnold?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I can promise that."</p>
+
+<p>"Then the facts are simple enough. The squire owes six thousand pounds
+to a client of mine in London. My client wants to sell the Firs in order
+to recover his money. The squire says if he leaves the Firs he must die.
+Miss Kane comes forward and offers to go as companion to Mrs. Carnegie,
+Mrs. Carnegie paying her three hundred pounds a year, which sum she
+hands over to my client as interest at five per cent. on the six
+thousand pounds. These are the facts of the case in a nutshell, Miss
+Danvers. Do you understand them?"</p>
+
+<p>"I think I do. I am very much obliged to you. What is the name of your
+client?"</p>
+
+<p>"You must excuse me, young lady&mdash;I can not divulge my client's name."</p>
+
+<p>"But if Philip wanted to know very badly, you would tell him?"</p>
+
+<p>"That depends on the reason he gave for requiring the information."</p>
+
+<p>"I think it is all right, then," said Fluff, rising to her feet.
+"Good-bye, I am greatly obliged to you. Oh, that dear Frances. Mr.
+Spens, I think I hate the squire."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER XV.</h2>
+
+<h2>"MR. LOVER."</h2>
+
+
+<p>If there was a girl that was a prime favorite with her school-fellows,
+that girl was Ellen Danvers. She had all the qualifications which insure
+success in school life. She was extremely pretty, but she was
+unconscious of it; she never prided herself on her looks, she never
+tried to heighten her loveliness by a thousand little arts which
+school-girls always find out and despise. She had always plenty of
+money, which at school, if not elsewhere, is much appreciated. She was
+generous, she was bright, she was loving; she was not sufficiently
+clever to make any one envious of her, but at the same time she was so
+very smart and quick that not the cleverest girl in the school could
+despise her.</p>
+
+<p>When Fluff went away from Merton House the tribulation experienced on
+all sides was really severe. The girls put their heads together, and
+clubbed to present her with a gold bangle, and she in return left them
+her blessing, a kiss all round, and a pound's worth of chocolate creams.</p>
+
+<p>The school was dull when Fluff went away; she took a place which no one
+else quite held. She was not at all weak or namby-pamby, but she was a
+universal peace-maker. Fluff made peace simply by throwing oil on
+troubled waters, for she certainly was not one to preach; and as to
+pointing a moral, she did not know the meaning of the word.</p>
+
+<p>It was with great rejoicing, therefore, that the young ladies of Mrs.
+Hopkins' select seminary were informed on a certain Thursday morning
+that their idol was about to return to them. She was no longer to take
+her place in any of the classes; she was to be a parlor boarder, and go
+in and out pretty much as she pleased; but she was to be in the house
+again, and they were to see her bright face, and hear her gay laugh, and
+doubtless she would once more be every one's confidante and friend.</p>
+
+<p>In due course Fluff arrived. It was late when she made her appearance,
+for she had missed the train by which Frances had intended her to
+travel. But late as the hour was&mdash;past nine o'clock&mdash;Fluff found time to
+pay a visit to the school-room, where the elder girls were finishing
+preparations for to-morrow, to rush through the dormitories, and kiss
+each expectant little one.</p>
+
+<p>"It's just delicious!" whispered Sibyl Lake, the youngest scholar in the
+school. "We have you for the last fortnight before we break up. Just
+fancy, you will be there to see me if I get a prize!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Sibyl, and if you do I'll give you sixpennyworth of chocolate
+creams."</p>
+
+<p>Sibyl shouted with joy.</p>
+
+<p>The other children echoed her glee. One of the teachers was obliged to
+interfere. Fluff vanished to the very select bedroom that she was now to
+occupy, and order was once more restored.</p>
+
+<p>Fluff's name was now in every one's mouth. Didn't she look prettier than
+ever? Wasn't she nicer than ever? Hadn't she a wonderfully grown-up air?</p>
+
+<p>One day it was whispered through the school that Fluff had got a lover.
+This news ran like wildfire from the highest class to the lowest. Little
+Sibyl asked what a lover meant, and Marion Jones, a lanky girl of
+twelve, blushed while she answered her.</p>
+
+<p>"It isn't proper to speak about lovers," said Katie Philips. "Mother
+said we weren't to know anything about them. I asked her once, and that
+was what she said. She said it wasn't proper for little girls to know
+about lovers."</p>
+
+<p>"But grown girls have them," responded Marion, "I think it must be
+captivating. I wish I was grown up."</p>
+
+<p>"You're much too ugly, Marion, to have a lover," responded Mary Mills.
+"Oh, for goodness' sake, don't get so red and angry! She's going to
+strike me! Save me, girls!"</p>
+
+<p>"Hush!" exclaimed Katie, "hush! come this way. Look through the lattice.
+Look through the wire fence just here. Can you see? There's Fluff, and
+there's her lover. He's rather old, isn't he? But hasn't he <i>l'air
+distingu&eacute;</i>? Isn't Fluff pretty when she blushes? The lover is rather
+tall. Oh, do look, Mary, can you see&mdash;can you see?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, he has fair hair," responded Mary. "It curls. I'm sorry it is fair
+and curly, for Fluff's is the same. He should be dark, like a Spaniard.
+Oh, girls, girls, he has got such lovely blue eyes, and such white
+teeth! He smiled just now, and I saw them."</p>
+
+<p>"Let me peep," said Marion. "I haven't got one peep yet."</p>
+
+<p>But here the voices became a little loud, and the lovers, if they were
+lovers, passed out of sight behind the yew hedge.</p>
+
+<p>"That's it," said Fluff when she had finished her story; "it's all
+explained now. I hope you're obliged to me."</p>
+
+<p>"No brother could love you better, nor appreciate you more than I do,
+Fluff."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you; I'll tell you how much I care for those words when you let
+me know what you are going to do."</p>
+
+<p>Arnold put his hand to his forehead; his face grew grave, he looked
+with an earnest, half-puzzled glance at the childish creature by his
+side.</p>
+
+<p>"I really think you are the best girl in the world, and one of the
+cleverest," he said. "I have a feeling that you have an idea in your
+head, but I am sorry to say nothing very hopeful up to the present time
+has occurred to me. It does seem possible, after your explanation, that
+Frances may love me, and yet refuse me; yes, certainly, that does now
+seem possible."</p>
+
+<p>"How foolish you are to speak in that doubting tone," half snapped Fluff
+(certainly, if the girls had seen her now they would have thought she
+was quarreling with her lover). "How can you say perhaps Frances loves
+you? Loves you! She is breaking her heart for you. Oh! I could cry when
+I think of Frances's pain!"</p>
+
+<p>"Dear little friend!" said Arnold. "Then if that is so&mdash;God grant it,
+oh, God grant it&mdash;Frances and I must turn to you to help us."</p>
+
+<p>Fluff's face brightened.</p>
+
+<p>"I will tell you my plan," she said. "But first of all you must answer
+me a question."</p>
+
+<p>"What is it? I will answer anything."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Arnold&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You said you would call me Philip."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, well, Philip&mdash;I rather like the name of Philip&mdash;Philip, are you a
+rich man?"</p>
+
+<p>"That depends on what you call riches, Fluff. I have brought fifteen
+thousand pounds with me from the other side of the world. I took five
+years earning it, for all those five years I lived as a very poor man, I
+was adding penny to penny, and pound to pound, to Frances's fortune."</p>
+
+<p>"That is right," exclaimed Fluff, clapping her hands. "Frances's
+fortune&mdash;then, of course, then you will spend it in saving her."</p>
+
+<p>"I would spend every penny to save her, if I only knew how."</p>
+
+<p>"How stupid you are," said Fluff. "Oh, if only I were a man!"</p>
+
+<p>"What would you do, if you were?"</p>
+
+<p>"What would I not do? You have fifteen thousand pounds, and Frances is
+in all this trouble because of six thousand pounds. Shall I tell you,
+must I tell you what you ought to do?"</p>
+
+<p>"Please&mdash;pray tell me."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it is so easy. You must get the name of the old horror in London to
+whom the squire owes six thousand pounds, and you must give him six out
+of your fifteen, and so pay off the squire's debt. You must do this
+and&mdash;and&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Fluff; I really do think you are the cleverest little girl I ever
+came across."</p>
+
+<p>"The best part is to come now," said Fluff. "Then you go to the squire;
+tell him that you will sell the Firs over his head, unless he allows you
+to marry Frances. Oh, it is so easy, so, so delightful!"</p>
+
+<p>"Give me your hand, Fluff. Yes, I see light&mdash;yes. God bless you, Fluff!"</p>
+
+<p>"There is no doubt she has accepted him," reported Mary Mills to her
+fellows. "They have both appeared again around the yew hedge, and he has
+taken her hand, and he is smiling. Oh, he is lovely when he smiles!"</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I was grown up," sighed Marion, from behind. "I'd give anything
+in all the world to have a lover."</p>
+
+<p>"It will be interesting to watch Fluff at supper to-night," exclaimed
+Katie Philips. "Of course she'll look intensely happy. I wonder if
+she'll wear an engagement-ring."</p>
+
+<p>The supper hour came. Fluff took her seat among the smaller girls; her
+face was radiant enough to satisfy the most exacting, but her small
+dimpled fingers were bare.</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you all stare at my hands so?" she exclaimed once.</p>
+
+<p>"It's on account of the ring," whispered little Sibyl. "Hasn't he given
+you the ring yet?"</p>
+
+<p>"Who is 'he,' dear?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I wasn't to say. His name is Mr. Lover."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER XVI.</h2>
+
+<h2>SWEETLY ROMANTIC.</h2>
+
+
+<p>Mrs. Carnegie could scarcely be considered the most cheerful companion
+in the world. There was a general sense of rejoicing when Frances took
+up her abode at Arden, but the victim who was to spend the greater part
+of her life in Mrs. Carnegie's heated chambers could scarcely be
+expected to participate in it. This good lady having turned her thoughts
+inward for so long, could only see the world from this extremely narrow
+standpoint. She was hypochondriacal, she was fretful, and although
+Frances managed her, and, in consequence, the rest of the household
+experienced a good deal of ease, Frances herself, whose heart just now
+was not of the lightest, could not help suffering. Her cheeks grew
+paler, her figure slighter and thinner. She could only cry at night, but
+then she certainly cried a good deal.</p>
+
+<p>On a certain sunny afternoon, Mrs. Carnegie, who thought it her bounden
+duty on all occasions to look out for grievances, suddenly took it upon
+herself to complain of Frances's looks.</p>
+
+<p>"It is not that you are dull, my dear," she remarked. "You are fairly
+cheerful, and your laugh is absolutely soothing; but you are pale,
+dreadfully pale, and pallor jars on my nerves, dear. Yes, I assure you,
+in the sensitive state of my poor nerves a pale face like yours is
+absolutely excruciating to them, darling."</p>
+
+<p>"I am very sorry," replied Frances. She had been a month with Mrs.
+Carnegie now, and the changed life had certainly not improved her. "I am
+very sorry." Then she thought a moment. "Would you like to know why I am
+pale?"</p>
+
+<p>"How interesting you are, my love&mdash;so different from every other
+individual that comes to see me. It is good for my poor nerves to have
+my attention distracted to any other trivial matter? Tell me, dearest,
+why you are so pallid. I do trust the story is exciting&mdash;I need
+excitement, my darling. Is it an affair of the heart, precious?"</p>
+
+<p>Frances's face grew very red. Even Mrs. Carnegie ought to have been
+satisfied for one brief moment with her bloom.</p>
+
+<p>"I fear I can only give you a very prosaic reason," she said, in her
+gentle, sad voice. "I have little or no color because I am always shut
+up in hot rooms, and because I miss the open-air life to which I was
+accustomed."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Carnegie tried to smile, but a frown came between her brows.</p>
+
+<p>"That means," she said, "that you would like to go out. You would leave
+your poor friend in solitude."</p>
+
+<p>"I would take my friend with me," responded Frances. "And she should
+have the pleasure of seeing the color coming back into my cheeks."</p>
+
+<p>"And a most interesting sight it would be, darling. But oh, my poor,
+poor nerves! The neuralgia in my back is positively excruciating at this
+moment, dearest. I am positively on the rack; even a zephyr would slay
+me."</p>
+
+<p>"On the contrary," replied Frances in a firm voice, "you would be
+strengthened and refreshed by the soft, sweet air outside. Come, Mrs.
+Carnegie, I am your doctor and nurse, as well as your friend, and I
+prescribe a drive in the open air for you this morning. After dinner,
+too, your sofa, shall be placed in the arbor; in short, I intend you to
+live out-of-doors while this fine weather lasts."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, dear imperious one! And yet you will kill me with this so-called
+kindness."</p>
+
+<p>"On the contrary, I will make you a strong woman if I can. Now I am
+going to ring to order the carriage."</p>
+
+<p>She bustled about, had her way, and to the amazement of every one Mrs.
+Carnegie submitted to a drive for an hour in an open carriage.</p>
+
+<p>All the time they were out Frances regaled her with the stories of the
+poor and suffering people. She told her stories with great skill,
+knowing just where to leave off, and just the points that would be most
+likely to interest her companion. So interesting did she make herself
+that never once during the drive was Mrs. Carnegie heard to mention the
+word "nerves," and so practical and to the point were her words that the
+rich woman's purse was opened, and two five-pound notes were given to
+Frances to relieve those who stood most in need of them.</p>
+
+<p>"Positively I am better," explained Mrs. Carnegie, as she ate her dainty
+dinner with appetite.</p>
+
+<p>An hour later she was seated cosily in the arbor which faced down the
+celebrated Rose Walk, a place well known to all the visitors at Arden.</p>
+
+<p>"You are a witch," she said to Frances; "for positively I do declare the
+racking, torturing pain in my back is easier. The jolting of the
+carriage ought to have made it ten times worse, but it didn't. I
+positively can't understand it, my love."</p>
+
+<p>"You forget," said Frances, "that although the jolting of the carriage
+might have tried your nerves a very little, the soft, sweet air and
+change of scene did them good."</p>
+
+<p>"And your conversation, dearest&mdash;the limpid notes of that sweetest
+voice. Ah, Frances, your tales were harrowing!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; but they were more harrowing to be lived through. You, dear Mrs.
+Carnegie, to-day have relieved a certain amount of this misery."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, my sweet, how good your words sound! They are like balm to this
+tempest-tossed heart and nerve-racked form. Frances dear, we have an
+affinity one for the other. I trust it may be our fate to live and die
+together."</p>
+
+<p>Frances could scarcely suppress a slight shudder. Mrs. Carnegie suddenly
+caught her arm.</p>
+
+<p>"Who is that radiant-looking young creature coming down the Rose Walk?"
+she exclaimed. "See&mdash;ah, my dear Frances, what a little beauty! What
+style! what exquisite bloom!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, it is Fluff!" exclaimed Frances.</p>
+
+<p>She rushed from Mrs. Carnegie's side, and the next moment Miss Danvers's
+arms were round her neck.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I've come, Frances," she exclaimed. "I have really come back. And
+who do you think I am staying with?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Fluff&mdash;at the Firs! It would be kind of you to cheer my poor old
+father up with a visit."</p>
+
+<p>"But I'm not cheering him up with any visit&mdash;I'm not particularly fond
+of him. I'm staying with Mr. and Mrs. Spens."</p>
+
+<p>Frances opened her eyes very wide; she felt a kind of shock, and a
+feeling almost of disgust crept over her.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Spens? Surely you don't mean my father's lawyer, Mr. Spens, who
+lives in Martinstown, Fluff?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I don't mean anybody else."</p>
+
+<p>"But I did not think you knew him."</p>
+
+<p>"I did not when last I saw you, but I do now&mdash;very well, oh, very well
+indeed. He's a darling."</p>
+
+<p>"Fluff! How can you speak of dull old Mr. Spens in that way? Well, you
+puzzle me. I don't know why you are staying with him."</p>
+
+<p>"You are not going to know just at present, dearest Francie. There's a
+little bit of a secret afloat. Quite a harmless, innocent secret, which
+I promise you will break nobody's heart. I like so much being with Mr.
+Spens, and so does Philip&mdash;Philip is there, too."</p>
+
+<p>"Philip? Then they are engaged," thought Frances. "It was very soon. It
+is all right, of course, but it is rather a shock. Poor little
+Fluff&mdash;dear Philip&mdash;may they be happy!"</p>
+
+<p>She turned her head away for a moment, then, with a white face, but
+steady, quiet eyes, said in her gentlest tones:</p>
+
+<p>"Am I to congratulate you, then, Fluff?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, you are&mdash;yes, you are. Oh, I am so happy, and everything is
+delicious! It's going on beautifully. I mean the&mdash;the affair&mdash;the
+secret. Frances, I left Philip at the gate. He would like to see you so
+much. Won't you go down and have a chat with him?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can not; you forget that I am Mrs. Carnegie's companion. I am not my
+own mistress."</p>
+
+<p>"That thin, cross-looking woman staring at us out of the bower yonder?
+Oh, I'll take care of her. I promise you I'll make myself just as
+agreeable as you can. There, run down, run down&mdash;I see Philip coming to
+meet you. Oh, what a cold wretch you are, Frances! You don't deserve a
+lover like Philip Arnold&mdash;no, you don't."</p>
+
+<p>"He is not my lover, he is yours."</p>
+
+<p>"Mine? No, thank you&mdash;there, he is walking down the Rose-path. He is
+sick of waiting, poor fellow! I am off to Mrs. Carnegie. Oh, for
+goodness' sake, Francie, don't look so foolish!"</p>
+
+<p>Fluff turned on her heel, put wings to her feet, and in a moment,
+panting and laughing, stood by Mrs. Carnegie's side.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I beg your pardon," she exclaimed when she could speak. "I know who
+you are, and I am dear Frances's cousin, Fluff. I know you would not
+mind giving the poor thing a chance, and allowing me to stay and try to
+entertain you for a little."</p>
+
+<p>"Sit down, my dear, sit down. You really are a radiant little vision. It
+is really most entertaining to me to see anything so fresh and pretty. I
+must congratulate you on the damask roses you wear in your cheeks, my
+pretty one."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you very much; I know I have plenty of color. Do you mind sitting
+a little bit, just so&mdash;ah, that is right. Now we'll have our backs to
+the poor things, and they'll feel more comfortable."</p>
+
+<p>"My dear, extraordinary, entertaining little friend, what poor things do
+you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Frances and&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Frances&mdash;my companion&mdash;Frances Kane?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, your companion. Only she oughtn't to be your companion, and she
+won't be long. Your companion, and my darling cousin, Frances Kane, and
+her lover."</p>
+
+<p>"Her lover! I knew there was a love affair. That accounts for the
+pallor! Oh, naughty Frances; oh, cruel maiden, to deceive your Lucilla!
+I felt it, I guessed it, it throbbed in the air. Frances and her lover!
+My child, I adore lovers&mdash;let me get a peep at him. Dear Frances, dear
+girl! And is the course of true love going smoothly, miss&mdash;miss&mdash;I
+really don't know your name, my little charmer."</p>
+
+<p>"My name is Fluff&mdash;please don't look round. It's a very melancholy love
+affair just at present, but I'm making it right."</p>
+
+<p>"My little bewitching one, I would embrace you, but my poor miserable
+nerves won't permit of the least exertion. And so Frances, my Frances,
+has a lover! It was wrong of her, darling, not to tell of this."</p>
+
+<p>"She gave him up to come to you."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, the noble girl! But do you think, my child, I would permit such a
+sacrifice? No, no; far rather would Lucilla Carnegie bury her sorrows in
+the lonely tomb. Lend me your handkerchief, sweet one&mdash;I can't find my
+own, and my tears overflow. Ah, my Frances, my Frances, I always knew
+you loved me, but to this extent&mdash;oh, it is too much!"</p>
+
+<p>"But she didn't do it for you," said Fluff. "She wanted the money to
+help her father&mdash;he's such a cross, selfish old man. He wouldn't let her
+marry Philip, although Philip loved her for ten years, and saved all his
+pence in Australia to try and get enough money to marry her, and was
+nearly eaten himself by the blacks, but never forgot her day or
+night&mdash;and she loved him beyond anything. Don't you think, Mrs.
+Carnegie, that they ought to be married? Don't you think so?"</p>
+
+<p>"My child, my little fair one, you excite me much. Oh, I shall suffer
+presently! But now your enthusiasm carries that of Lucilla Carnegie
+along with you. Yes, they ought to be married."</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Carnegie, they must be married. I'm determined, and so is Philip,
+and so is Mr. Spens. Won't you be determined too?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my child. But, oh, what shall I not lose in my Frances? Forgive
+one tear for myself&mdash;my little rose in June."</p>
+
+<p>"You needn't fret for yourself at all. You'll be ever so happy when
+you've done a noble thing. Now listen. This is our little plot&mdash;only
+first of all promise, promise most faithfully, that you won't say a word
+to Frances."</p>
+
+<p>"I promise, my child. How intensely you arouse my curiosity! Really I
+begin to live."</p>
+
+<p>"You won't give Frances a hint?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, you may trust me, little bright one."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I do trust you. I know you won't spoil all our plans. You'll
+share them and help us. Oh, what a happy woman you'll be by and by! Now
+listen."</p>
+
+<p>Then Fluff seated herself close to Mrs. Carnegie, and began to whisper
+an elaborately got-up scheme into that lady's ear, to all of which she
+listened with glowing eyes, her hands clasping Fluff's, her attention
+riveted on the sweet and eager face.</p>
+
+<p>"It's my plot," concluded the narrator. "Philip doesn't much like
+it&mdash;not some of it&mdash;but I say that I will only help him in my own way."</p>
+
+<p>"My dear love, I don't think I ever heard anything more clever and
+original, and absolutely to the point."</p>
+
+<p>"Now did you? I can't sleep at night, thinking of it&mdash;you'll be sure to
+help me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Help you? With my heart, my life, my purse!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, we don't want your purse. You see there's plenty of money; there's
+the fortune Philip made for Frances. It would be a great pity anything
+else should rescue her from this dilemma."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it is so sweetly romantic!" said Mrs. Carnegie, clasping her hands.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, that's what I think. You'll be quite ready when the time comes?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, quite. More than ready, my brightest fairy!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, here comes Frances&mdash;remember, you're not to let out a word, a
+hint. I think I've amused Mrs. Carnegie quite nicely, Francie."</p>
+
+<p>Frances's cheeks had that delicate bloom on them which comes now and
+then as a special and finishing touch, as the last crown of beauty to
+very pale faces. Her eyes were soft, and her dark eyelashes were still a
+little wet with some tears which were not unhappy ones.</p>
+
+<p>"Philip wrung a confession out of me," she whispered to her little
+cousin. "No, Fluff&mdash;no, dear Fluff, it does no good&mdash;no good whatever.
+Still, I am almost glad I told him."</p>
+
+<p>"You told him what?"</p>
+
+<p>"I won't say. It can never come to anything."</p>
+
+<p>"I know what you said&mdash;you have made Philip very happy, Frances. Now I
+must run away."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER XVII.</h2>
+
+<h2>THE FIRS OR FRANCES?</h2>
+
+
+<p>It is necessary for some people to go away to be missed. There are
+certain very quiet people in the world, who make no fuss, who think
+humbly of themselves, who never on any occasion blow their own trumpets,
+who under all possible circumstances keep in the background, but who yet
+have a knack of filling odd corners, of smoothing down sharp angles, of
+shedding the sunshine of kindness and unselfishness over things
+generally. There are such people, and they are seldom very much missed
+until they go away.</p>
+
+<p>Then there is a hue and cry. Who did this? Whose duty was the other?
+Where is such a thing to be found? Will nobody attend to this small but
+necessary want? The person who never made any talk, but did all the
+small things, and made all the other people comfortable, is suddenly
+missed, and in an instant his or her virtues are discovered.</p>
+
+<p>This was the case at the Firs when Frances on a certain morning drove
+away.</p>
+
+<p>Watkins missed her&mdash;the stable-boy, the house-servant&mdash;the cat, the
+dog&mdash;many other domestic pets&mdash;and most of all, Squire Kane.</p>
+
+<p>He was not neglected, but he had a sense of loneliness which began at
+the moment he awoke, and never left him till he went to sleep again.</p>
+
+<p>He had his meals regularly; he was called in good time in the morning;
+the new housekeeper lighted his candle and brought it to him at night;
+his favorite fruit and his favorite flowers were still set before him,
+and the newspaper he liked best always lay by his plate at
+breakfast-time. Watkins was really an excellent gardener, and the ribbon
+border still bloomed and flourished, the birds sung in the trees as of
+yore, the lawn was smoothly kept. It was early September now, but the
+old place never looked gayer, sweeter, brighter. Still, somehow or other
+the squire was dull. His newspaper was there, but there was no one to
+cut it, no one to read it aloud to him. The flowers were making a
+wonderful bloom, but there was no special person to talk them over with.
+He had no one to tell his thoughts to, no one to criticise, no one to
+praise, and&mdash;saddest want of all to a nature like his&mdash;not a soul in the
+world to blame.</p>
+
+<p>Really, Frances was very much missed; he could not quite have believed
+it before she went, for she was such a quiet, grave woman, but there
+wasn't the least doubt on the subject. She had a way of making a place
+pleasant and home-like. Although she was so quiet herself, wherever she
+went the sun shone. It was quite remarkable how she was missed&mdash;even the
+Firs, even the home of his ancestors, was quite dull without her.</p>
+
+<p>Frances had been away for five weeks, and the squire was beginning to
+wonder if he could endure much more of his present monotonous life, when
+one day, as he was passing up and down in the sunny South Walk, he was
+startled, and his attention pleasingly diverted by the jangling sweet
+sound of silver bells. A smart little carriage, drawn by a pair of Arab
+ponies, and driven by a lady, drew up somewhere in the elm avenue; a
+girl in white jumped lightly out, and ran toward him.</p>
+
+<p>"Good gracious!" he said to himself, "why, it's that dear little Fluff.
+Well, I am glad to see her."</p>
+
+<p>He hobbled down the path as fast as he could, and as Fluff drew near,
+sung out cheerily:</p>
+
+<p>"Now this is a pleasing surprise! But welcome to the Firs, my
+love&mdash;welcome most heartily to the Firs."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, squire," replied Fluff. "I've come to see you on a most
+important matter. Shall we go into the house, or may I talk to you
+here?"</p>
+
+<p>"I hope, my dear, that you have come to say that you are going to pay me
+another visit&mdash;I do hope that is your important business. Your little
+room can be got ready in no time, and your guitar&mdash;I hope you've brought
+your guitar, my dear. It really is a fact, but I haven't had one scrap
+of entertainment since Frances went away&mdash;preposterous, is it not?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, of course I knew you'd miss her," said Fluff in a tranquil voice.
+"I always told you there was no one in the world like Frances."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my dear, yes&mdash;I will own, yes, undoubtedly, Frances, for all she
+is so quiet, and not what you would call a young person, is a good deal
+missed in the place. But you have not answered my query yet, Fluff. Have
+you come to stay?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, I've not come to stay; at least, I think not. Squire, I am glad you
+appreciate dear Frances at last."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, my love, of course. A good creature&mdash;not young, but a good,
+worthy creature. It is a great affliction to me, being obliged, owing to
+sad circumstances, to live apart from my daughter. I am vexed that you
+can not pay me a little visit, Fluff. Whose carriage was that you came
+in? and what part of the world are you staying in at present?"</p>
+
+<p>"That dear little pony-trap belongs to Mrs. Carnegie, of Arden; and her
+niece, Mrs. Passmore, drove me over. I am staying with Mr. and Mrs.
+Spens, at Martinstown."</p>
+
+<p>"Spens the lawyer?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Spens the lawyer. I may stay with him if I like, may I not? I am a
+great friend of his. He sent me over here to-day to see you on most
+important business."</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Fluff! Really, if Spens has business with me, he might have the
+goodness to come here himself."</p>
+
+<p>"He couldn't&mdash;he has a very bad influenza cold; he's in bed with it.
+That was why I offered to come. Because the business is so very
+important."</p>
+
+<p>"How came he to talk over my affairs with a child like you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, as you'll learn presently, they happen to be my affairs too. He
+thought, as he couldn't stir out of his bed, and I knew all the
+particulars, that I had better come over and explain everything to you,
+as the matter is of such great importance, and as a decision must be
+arrived at to-day."</p>
+
+<p>Fluff spoke with great eagerness. Her eyes were glowing, her cheeks
+burning, and there wasn't a scrap of her usual fun about her.</p>
+
+<p>In spite of himself the squire was impressed.</p>
+
+<p>"I can not imagine what you have to say to me," he said; "but perhaps we
+had better go into the house."</p>
+
+<p>"I think we had," said Fluff; "for as what I have got to say will
+startle you a good deal, you had better sit in your favorite arm-chair,
+and have some water near you in case you feel faint."</p>
+
+<p>As she spoke she took his hand, led him through the French windows into
+his little parlor, and seated him comfortably in his favorite chair.</p>
+
+<p>"Now I'll begin," said Fluff. "You must not interrupt me, although I'm
+afraid you will be a little startled. You have mortgaged the Firs for
+six thousand pounds."</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Ellen!"&mdash;an angry flush rose in the squire's cheeks. "Who has
+informed you with regard to my private affairs? Frances has done very&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Frances has had nothing to say to it; I won't go on if you interrupt
+me. You have mortgaged the Firs for six thousand pounds, to some people
+of the name of Dawson &amp; Blake, in London. Frances lives at Arden, in
+order to pay them three hundred pounds a year interest on the mortgage."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes; really, Frances&mdash;really, Spens&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Now do stop talking; how can I tell my story if you interrupt every
+minute? Messrs. Dawson &amp; Blake were very anxious to get back their
+money, and they wanted to sell the Firs in order to realize it. Mr.
+Spens had the greatest work in the world to get them to accept Frances's
+noble offer. He put tremendous pressure to bear, and at last, very
+unwillingly, they yielded."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well, my dear"&mdash;the squire wiped the moisture from his
+brow&mdash;"they have yielded, that is the great thing&mdash;that is the end of
+the story; at least, for the present."</p>
+
+<p>"No, it is not the end of the story," said Fluff, looking up angrily
+into the old man's face. "You were quite satisfied, for it seemed all
+right to you; you were to stay on quietly here, and have your comforts,
+and the life you thought so pleasant; and Frances was to give up Philip
+Arnold, whom she loves, and go away to toil and slave and be miserable.
+Oh, it was all right for you, but it was bitterly all wrong for
+Frances!"</p>
+
+<p>"My dear little Fluff, my dear Ellen, pray try and compose yourself; I
+assure you my side of the bargain is dull, very dull. I am alone; I
+have no companionship. Not a living soul who cares for me is now to be
+found at the Firs. My side is not all sunshine, Fluff; and I own
+it&mdash;yes, I will own it, Fluff; I miss Frances very much."</p>
+
+<p>"I am glad of that; I am very glad. Now I am coming to the second part
+of my story. A week ago Mr. Spens had a letter from Messrs. Dawson &amp;
+Blake to say that they had sold their mortgage on the Firs to a
+stranger&mdash;a man who had plenty of money, but who had taken a fancy to
+the Firs, and who wished to get it cheap."</p>
+
+<p>The squire sat upright on his chair.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Spens wrote at once to the new owner of the mortgage, and asked him
+if he would take five per cent. interest on his money, and not disturb
+you while you lived. Mr. Spens received a reply yesterday, and it is
+because of that I am here now."</p>
+
+<p>The squire's face had grown very white; his lips trembled a little.</p>
+
+<p>"What was the reply?" he asked. "Really&mdash;really, a most extraordinary
+statement; most queer of Spens not to come to me himself about it. What
+was the reply, Fluff?"</p>
+
+<p>"I told you Mr. Spens was ill and in bed. The stranger's reply was not
+favorable to your wishes. He wishes for the Firs; he has seen the place,
+and would like to live there. He says you must sell; or, there is
+another condition."</p>
+
+<p>"What is that? This news is most alarming and disquieting. What is the
+other condition&mdash;the alternative?"</p>
+
+<p>Fluff rose, yawned slightly, and half turned her back to the squire.</p>
+
+<p>"It is scarcely worth naming," she said, in a light and indifferent
+voice; "for as Frances loves Philip, of course she would not think of
+marrying any one else. But it seems that this stranger, when he was
+poking about the place, had caught sight of Frances, and he thought her
+very beautiful and very charming. In short, he fell in love with her,
+and he says if you will let him marry her, that he and she can live
+here, and you need never stir from the Firs. I mention this," said
+Fluff; "but of course there's no use in thinking of it, as Frances loves
+Philip."</p>
+
+<p>"But there is a great deal of use in thinking of it, my dear; I don't
+know what you mean by talking in that silly fashion. A rich man falls in
+love with my daughter. Really, Frances must be much better-looking than
+I gave her credit for. This man, who practically now owns the Firs,
+wishes to release me from all difficulties if I give him Frances. Of
+course I shall give him Frances. It is an admirable arrangement. Frances
+would be most handsomely provided for, and I shall no longer be lonely
+with my daughter and son-in-law residing at the Firs."</p>
+
+<p>"But Frances loves Philip!"</p>
+
+<p>"Pooh! a boy-and-girl affair. My dear, I never did, and never will,
+believe in anything between Frances and Arnold. I always said Arnold
+should be your husband."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want him, thank you."</p>
+
+<p>"Frances was always a good girl," continued the squire; "an excellent,
+good, obedient girl. She refused Philip because I told her to, and now
+she'll marry this stranger because I wish her to. Really, my dear, on
+the whole, your news is pleasant; only, by the way, you have not told me
+the name of the man who now holds my mortgage."</p>
+
+<p>"He particularly wishes his name to be kept a secret for the present,
+but he is a nice fellow; I have seen him. I think, if Frances could be
+got to consent to marry him, he would make her an excellent husband."</p>
+
+<p>"My dear, she must consent. Leave my daughter to me; I'll manage her."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, the stranger wants an answer to-day."</p>
+
+<p>"How am I to manage that? I must write to Frances, or see her. Here she
+is at this moment, driving down the avenue with Mrs. Carnegie. Well,
+that is fortunate. Now, Fluff, you will take my part; but, of course,
+Frances will do what I wish."</p>
+
+<p>"You can ask her, squire. I'm going to walk about outside with Mrs.
+Carnegie."</p>
+
+<p>"And you won't take my part?"</p>
+
+<p>"I won't take anybody's part. I suppose Frances can make up her own
+mind."</p>
+
+<p>When Miss Kane came into her father's presence her eyes were brighter,
+and her lips wore a happier expression than the squire had seen on them
+for many a long day. She stepped lightly, and looked young and fresh.</p>
+
+<p>Fluff and Mrs. Carnegie paced up and down in the South Walk. Mrs.
+Carnegie could walk now, and she was certainly wonderfully improved in
+appearance.</p>
+
+<p>"Beloved little fairy," she whispered to her companion, "this excitement
+almost overpowers me. It was with the utmost difficulty I could control
+myself as we drove over. Our sweet Frances looks happy, but I do not
+think she suspects anything. Dear little one, are you certain, quite
+certain, that the hero of the hour has really arrived?"</p>
+
+<p>"Philip? I have locked him up in the dining-room," said Fluff, "and he
+is pacing up and down there now like a caged lion. I do hope the squire
+will be quick, or he'll certainly burst the lock of the door."</p>
+
+<p>The two ladies paced the South Walk side by side.</p>
+
+<p>"We'll give them half an hour," said Fluff.</p>
+
+<p>When this time had expired, she took Mrs. Carnegie's hand, and they both
+approached the open windows of the squire's parlor. When the squire saw
+them he rose and confronted them. Angry red spots were on his cheeks;
+his hands trembled. Frances was seated at the table; she looked very
+pale, and as the two ladies approached she was wiping some tears
+silently from her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, look at her," said the squire, who was almost choking with anger.
+"She refuses him&mdash;she absolutely refuses him! She is satisfied that her
+poor old father shall end his days in the work-house, rather than unite
+herself to an amiable and worthy man, who can amply provide for her. Oh,
+it is preposterous! I have no patience with her; she won't even listen
+to me. Not a word I say has the smallest effect."</p>
+
+<p>"Because, father&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"No, Frances, I won't listen to any of your 'becauses.' But never, never
+again even profess to care for your father. Don't waste words, my child;
+for words are empty when they are not followed by deeds."</p>
+
+<p>"I must take an answer to Mr. Spens to-day," said Fluff. "Perhaps, if
+Frances thought a little, she would change her mind."</p>
+
+<p>These words seemed to sting Frances, who rose quickly to her feet.</p>
+
+<p>"You know why I can not help my father in this particular," she said.
+"Oh, I think, between you all, you will drive me mad."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps," said Fluff, suddenly&mdash;"perhaps if you saw the gentleman,
+Frances, you might be able to give a different answer. He really is very
+nice, and&mdash;and&mdash;the fact is, he's very impatient. He has arrived&mdash;he is
+in the dining room."</p>
+
+<p>"The gentleman who has purchased the mortgage is in the dining-room!"
+said the squire.</p>
+
+<p>He rubbed his hands gleefully.</p>
+
+<p>"Excellent! Frances will never be so rude as to refuse a rich man to his
+face. I look upon him already as our deliverer. I, for my part, shall
+give him a hearty welcome, and will assure him, if he will only give me
+time, that I will not leave a stone unturned to overcome my daughter's
+absurd infatuation. Frances, do you hear me? I desire you to behave
+politely to the stranger when he comes."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps I had better go away," said Frances.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, dear Frances; do stay," pleaded Fluff. "I'll go and fetch the
+gentleman; I know him; he is really very nice."</p>
+
+<p>She darted away.</p>
+
+<p>Frances turned her back to the window.</p>
+
+<p>"You know, father, all I have done for you," she said, her beautiful
+eyes shining and her slim figure very erect. "I have loved Philip&mdash;oh,
+so deeply, so faithfully!&mdash;for ten years. For five of these years I
+thought he was in his grave; and my heart went there, too, with him.
+Then he came back, and I was very happy; for I found that he had loved
+me, and thought of me alone, also, all that long, long time. I was happy
+then, beyond words, and no woman ever more fervently thanked God.
+Then&mdash;then&mdash;you know what happened. I gave Philip up. I consented to let
+my light, my hope, and my joy die out. I did that for you; but I did not
+consent to let my love die; and I tell you now, once and for all, that
+my love will never die; and that, as I so love Philip, I can never, even
+for your sake, marry any one but Philip!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Francie! Francie!" suddenly exclaimed a joyful little voice. "No
+one in all the world wants you to marry any one else! The stranger isn't
+a stranger. Say 'Yes' to your father and to Philip at the same time."</p>
+
+<p>Frances turned; Arnold stepped in through the open window and put his
+arm round her.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, sir," he said, holding Frances's hand, and turning to the squire,
+"which am I to have&mdash;the Firs or Frances?"</p>
+
+<p>Of course everybody present knew the answer, so there is no need to
+record it here.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3>THE END.</h3>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="MONSIEUR_THE_VISCOUNTS_FRIEND" id="MONSIEUR_THE_VISCOUNTS_FRIEND"></a>MONSIEUR THE VISCOUNT'S FRIEND.</h2>
+
+<h2>A TALE IN THREE CHAPTERS</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">"Sweet are the vses of aduersitie<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Which like the toad, ougly and venemous,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Weares yet a precious Iewell in his head."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="f3"><span class="smcap">As You Like It</span>: <span class="smcap">a.d.</span> 1623.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2>
+
+
+<p>It was the year of grace 1779. In one of the most beautiful corners of
+beautiful France stood a grand old chateau. It was a fine old building,
+with countless windows large and small, with high pitched roofs and
+pointed towers, which, in good taste or bad, did its best to be
+everywhere ornamental, from the gorgon heads which frowned from its
+turrets to the long row of stables and the fantastic dovecotes. It stood
+(as became such a castle) upon an eminence, and looked down. Very
+beautiful indeed was what it looked upon. Terrace below terrace glowed
+with the most brilliant flowers, and broad flights of steps led from one
+garden to the other. On the last terrace of all, fountains and jets of
+water poured into one large basin, in which were gold and silver fish.
+Beyond this were shady walks, which led to a lake on which floated
+waterlilies and swans. From the top of the topmost flight of steps you
+could see the blazing gardens one below the other, the fountains and the
+basin, the walks and the lake, and beyond these the trees, and the
+smiling country, and the blue sky of France.</p>
+
+<p>Within the castle, as without, beauty reigned supreme. The sunlight,
+subdued by blinds and curtains, stole into rooms furnished with every
+grace and luxury that could be procured in a country that then accounted
+itself the most highly-civilized in the world. It fell upon beautiful
+flowers and beautiful china, upon beautiful tapestry and pictures; and
+it fell upon Madame the Viscountess, sitting at her embroidery. Madame
+the Viscountess was not young, but she was not the least beautiful
+object in those stately rooms. She had married into a race of nobles who
+(themselves famed for personal beauty) had been scrupulous in the choice
+of lovely wives. The late Viscount (for Madame was a widow) had been one
+of the handsomest of the gay courtiers of his day; and Madame had not
+been unworthy of him. Even now, though the roses on her cheeks were more
+entirely artificial than they had been in the days of her youth, she was
+like some exquisite piece of porcelain. Standing by the embroidery frame
+was Madame's only child, a boy who, in spite of his youth, was already
+Monsieur the Viscount. He also was beautiful. His exquisitely-cut mouth
+had a curl which was the inheritance of scornful generations, but which
+was redeemed by his soft violet eyes and by natural amiability reflected
+on his face. His hair was cut square across the forehead, and fell in
+natural curls behind. His childish figure had already been trained in
+the fencing school, and had gathered dignity from perpetually treading
+upon shallow steps and in lofty rooms. From the rosettes on his little
+shoes to his <i>chapeau &agrave; plumes</i>, he also was like some porcelain figure.
+Surely, such beings could not exist except in such a chateau as this,
+where the very air (unlike that breathed by common mortals) had in the
+ante-rooms a faint aristocratic odor, and was for yards round Madame the
+Viscountess dimly suggestive of frangipani! Monsieur the Viscount did
+not stay long by the embroidery frame; he was entertaining to-day a
+party of children from the estate, and had come for the key of an old
+cabinet of which he wished to display the treasures. When tired of this,
+they went out on to the terrace, and one of the children who had not
+been there before exclaimed at the beauty of the view.</p>
+
+<p>"It is true," said the little Viscount, carelessly, "and all, as far as
+you can see, is the estate."</p>
+
+<p>"I will throw a stone to the end of your property, Monsieur," said one
+of the boys, laughing; and he picked one off the walk, and stepping
+back, flung it with all his little strength. The stone fell before it
+had passed the fountains, and the failure was received with shouts of
+laughter.</p>
+
+<p>"Let us see who can beat that," they cried; and there was a general
+search for pebbles, which were flung at random among the flower-beds.</p>
+
+<p>"One may easily throw such as those," said the Viscount, who was poking
+under the wall of the first terrace; "but here is a stone that one may
+call a stone. Who will send this into the fish-pond? It will make a
+fountain of itself."</p>
+
+<p>The children drew round him as, with ruffles turned back, he tugged and
+pulled at a large dirty-looking stone, which was half-buried in the
+earth by the wall. "Up it comes!" said the Viscount, at length; and sure
+enough, up it came; but underneath it, his bright eyes shining out of
+his dirty wrinkled body&mdash;horror of horrors!&mdash;there lay a toad. Now, even
+in England, toads are not looked upon with much favor, and a party of
+English children would have been startled by such a discovery. But with
+French people, the dread of toads is ludicrous in its intensity. In
+France toads are believed to have teeth, to bite, and to spit poison; so
+my hero and his young guests must be excused for taking flight at once
+with a cry of dismay. On the next terrace, however, they paused, and
+seeing no signs of the enemy, crept slowly back again. The little
+Viscount (be it said) began to feel ashamed of himself and led the way,
+with his hand upon the miniature sword which hung at his side. All eyes
+were fixed upon the fatal stone, when from behind it was seen slowly to
+push forth, first a dirty wrinkled leg, and then half a dirty wrinkled
+head, with one gleaming eye. It was too much; with cries of, "It is he!
+he comes! he spits! he pursues us!" the young guests of the chateau fled
+in good earnest, and never stopped until they reached the fountain and
+the fish-pond.</p>
+
+<p>But Monsieur the Viscount stood his ground. At the sudden apparition the
+blood rushed to his heart, and made him very white, then it flooded
+back again and made him very red, and then he fairly drew his sword, and
+shouting, "<i>Vive la France!</i>" rushed upon the enemy. The sword if small
+was sharp, and stabbed the poor toad would most undoubtedly have been,
+but for a sudden check received by the valiant little nobleman. It came
+in the shape of a large heavy hand that seized Monsieur the Viscount
+with the grasp of a giant, while a voice which could only have belonged
+to the owner of such a hand said in slow deep tones,</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Que faites-vous?</i>" ("What are you doing?")</p>
+
+<p>It was the tutor, who had been pacing up and down the terrace with a
+book, and who now stood holding the book in his right hand, and our hero
+in his left.</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur the Viscount's tutor was a remarkable man. If he had not been
+so, he would hardly have been tolerated at the chateau, since he was not
+particularly beautiful, and not especially refined. He was in holy
+orders, as his tonsured head and clerical costume bore witness&mdash;a
+costume which, from its tightness and simplicity, only served to
+exaggerate the unusual proportions of his person. Monsieur the
+Preceptor, had English blood in his veins, and his northern origin
+betrayed itself in his towering height and corresponding breadth, as
+well as by his fair hair and light blue eyes. But the most remarkable
+parts of his outward man were his hands, which were of immense size,
+especially about the thumbs. Monsieur the Preceptor was not exactly in
+keeping with his present abode. It was not only that he was wanting in
+the grace and beauty that reigned around him, but that his presence made
+those very graces and beauties to look small. He seemed to have a gift
+the reverse of that bestowed upon King Midas&mdash;the gold on which his
+heavy hand was laid seemed to become rubbish. In the presence of the
+late Viscount, and in that of Madame his widow, you would have felt
+fully the deep importance of your dress being <i>&agrave; la mode</i>, and your
+complexion <i>&agrave; la</i> strawberries and cream (such influences still exist);
+but let the burly tutor appear upon the scene, and all the magic died at
+once out of brocaded silks and pearl-colored stockings, and dress and
+complexion became subjects almost of insignificance. Monsieur the
+Preceptor was certainly a singular man to have been chosen as an inmate
+of such a household; but, though young, he had unusual talents, and
+added to them the not more usual accompaniments of modesty and
+trustworthiness. To crown all, he was rigidly pious in times when piety
+was not fashionable, and an obedient son of the church of which he was a
+minister. Moreover, a family that fashion does not permit to be
+demonstratively religious, may gain a reflected credit from an austere
+chaplain; and so Monsieur the Preceptor remained in the chateau and went
+his own way. It was this man who now laid hands on the Viscount, and, in
+a voice that sounded like amiable thunder, made the inquiry, "<i>Que
+faites-vous?</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"I am going to kill this animal&mdash;this hideous horrible animal," said
+Monsieur the Viscount, struggling vainly under the grasp of the tutor's
+finger and thumb.</p>
+
+<p>"It is only a toad," said Monsieur the Preceptor, in his laconic tones.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Only</i> a toad, do you say, Monsieur?" said the Viscount. "That is
+enough, I think. It will bite&mdash;it will spit&mdash;it will poison; it is like
+that dragon you tell me of, that devastated Rhodes&mdash;I am the good knight
+that shall kill it."</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur the Preceptor laughed heartily "You are misled by a vulgar
+error. Toads do not bite&mdash;they have no teeth; neither do they spit
+poison."</p>
+
+<p>"You are wrong, Monsieur," said the Viscount; "I have seen their teeth
+myself. Claude Mignon, at the lodge, has two terrible ones, which he
+keeps in his pocket as a charm."</p>
+
+<p>"I have seen them," said the tutor, "in Monsieur Claude's pocket. When
+he can show me similar ones in a toad's head I will believe. Meanwhile,
+I must beg of you, Monsieur, to put up your sword. You must not kill
+this poor animal, which is quite harmless, and very useful in a
+garden&mdash;it feeds upon many insects and reptiles which injure the
+plants."</p>
+
+<p>"It shall not be useful in this garden," said the little Viscount,
+fretfully. "There are plenty of gardeners to destroy the insects, and
+if needful, we can have more. But the toad shall not remain. My mother
+would faint if she saw so hideous a beast among her beautiful flowers."</p>
+
+<p>"Jacques!" roared the tutor to a gardener who was at some distance.
+Jacques started as if a clap of thunder had sounded in his ear, and
+approached with low bows. "Take that toad, Jacques, and carry it to the
+<i>potager</i>. It will keep the slugs from your cabbages."</p>
+
+<p>Jacques bowed low and lower, and scratched his head, and then did
+reverence again with Asiatic humility, but at the same time moved
+gradually backwards, and never even looked at the toad.</p>
+
+<p>"You also have seen the contents of Monsieur Claude's pocket?" said the
+tutor, significantly, and quitting his hold of the Viscount, he stooped
+down, seized the toad in his huge finger and thumb, and strode off in
+the direction of the <i>potager</i>, followed at a respectful distance by
+Jacques, who vented his awe and astonishment in alternate bows and
+exclamations at the astounding conduct of the incomprehensible
+Preceptor.</p>
+
+<p>"What is the use of such ugly beasts?" said the Viscount to his tutor,
+on his return from the <i>potager</i>. "Birds and butterflies are pretty, but
+what can such villains as these toads have been made for?"</p>
+
+<p>"You should study natural history, Monsieur&mdash;" began the priest, who was
+himself a naturalist.</p>
+
+<p>"That is what you always say," interrupted the Viscount, with the
+perverse folly of ignorance; "but if I knew as much as you do, it would
+not make me understand why such ugly creatures need have been made."</p>
+
+<p>"Nor," said the priest, firmly, "is it necessary that you should
+understand it, particularly if you do not care to inquire. It is enough
+for you and me if we remember Who made them, some six thousand years
+before either of us was born."</p>
+
+<p>With which Monsieur the Preceptor (who had all this time kept his place
+in the little book with his big thumb) returned to the terrace, and
+resumed his devotions at the point where they had been interrupted;
+which exercise he continued till he was joined by the Cur&eacute; of the
+village, and the two priests relaxed in the political and religious
+gossip of the day.</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur the Viscount rejoined his young guests, and they fed the gold
+fish and the swans, and played <i>Colin Millard</i> in the shady walks, and
+made a beautiful bouquet for Madame, and then fled indoors at the first
+approach of evening chill, and found that the Viscountess had prepared a
+feast of fruit and flowers for them in the great hall. Here, at the head
+of the table, with the Madame at his right hand, his guests around, and
+the liveried lackeys waiting his commands, Monsieur the Viscount forgot
+that anything had ever been made which could mar beauty and enjoyment;
+while the two priests outside stalked up and down under the falling
+twilight, and talked ugly talk of crime and poverty that were
+<i>somewhere</i> now, and of troubles to come hereafter.</p>
+
+<p>And so night fell over the beautiful sky, the beautiful chateau, and the
+beautiful gardens; and upon the secure slumbers of beautiful Madame and
+her beautiful son, and beautiful, beautiful France.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2>
+
+
+<p>It was the year of grace 1792, thirteen years after the events related
+in the last chapter. It was the 2d of September, and Sunday, a day of
+rest and peace in all Christian countries, and even more in gay,
+beautiful France&mdash;a day of festivity and merriment. This Sunday,
+however, seemed rather an exception to the general rule. There were no
+gay groups of bannered processions; the typical incense and the public
+devotion of which it is the symbol were alike wanting; the streets in
+some places seemed deserted, and in others there was an ominous crowd,
+and the dreary silence was now and then broken by a distant sound of
+yells and cries, that struck terror into the hearts of the Parisians.</p>
+
+<p>It was a deserted by-street overlooked by some shut-up warehouses, and
+from the cellar of one of these a young man crept up on to the pathway.
+His dress had once been beautiful, but it was torn and soiled; his face
+was beautiful still, but it was marred by the hideous eagerness of a
+face on which famine has laid her hand&mdash;he was starving. As this man
+came out from the warehouse, another man came down the street. His dress
+was not beautiful, neither was he. There was a red look about him&mdash;he
+wore a red flannel cap, tricolor ribbons, and had something red upon his
+hands, which was neither ribbon nor flannel. He also looked hungry; but
+it was not for food. The other stopped when he saw him, and pulled
+something from his pocket. It was a watch, a repeater, in a gold
+filigree case of exquisite workmanship, with raised figures depicting
+the loves of an Arcadian shepherd and shepherdess; and, as it lay on the
+white hand of its owner, it bore an evanescent fragrance that seemed to
+recall scenes as beautiful and as completely past as the days of
+pastoral perfection, when&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"All the world and love were young,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And truth in every shepherd's tongue."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>The young man held it up to the other and spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"It is my mother's," he said, with an appealing glance of violet eyes;
+"I would not part with it, but that I am starving. Will you get me
+food?"</p>
+
+<p>"You are hiding?" said he of the red cap.</p>
+
+<p>"Is that a crime in these days?" said the other, with a smile that would
+in other days have been irresistible.</p>
+
+<p>The man took the watch, shaded the donor's beautiful face with a rough
+red cap and tricolor ribbon, and bade him follow him. He, who had but
+lately come to Paris, dragged his exhausted body after his conductor,
+hardly noticed the crowds in the streets, the signs by which the man got
+free passage for them both, or their entrance by a little side-door into
+a large dark building, and never knew till he was delivered to one of
+the gaolers that he had been led into the prison of the Abbaye. Then
+the wretch tore the cap of liberty from his victim's head, and pointed
+to him with a fierce laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"He wants food, this aristocrat. He shall not wait long&mdash;there is a
+feast in the court below, which he shall join presently. See to it,
+Antoine! and you <i>Monsieur</i>, <i>Mons-ieur</i>! listen to the banqueters."</p>
+
+<p>He ceased, and in the silence yells and cries from a court below came up
+like some horrid answer to imprecation.</p>
+
+<p>The man continued&mdash;-</p>
+
+<p>"He has paid for his admission, this Monsieur. It belonged to Madame his
+mother. Behold!"</p>
+
+<p>He held the watch above his head, and dashed it with insane fury on the
+ground, and bidding the gaoler see to his prisoner, rushed away to the
+court below.</p>
+
+<p>The prisoner needed some attention. Weakness and fasting and horror had
+overpowered a delicate body and a sensitive mind, and he lay senseless
+by the shattered relic of happier times. Antoine the gaoler (a
+weak-minded man, whom circumstances had made cruel), looked at him with
+indifference while the Jacobin remained in the place, and with
+half-suppressed pity when he had gone. The place where he lay was a hall
+or passage in the prison, into which several cells opened, and a number
+of the prisoners were gathered together at one end of it. One of them
+had watched the proceedings of the Jacobin and his victim with profound
+interest, and now advanced to where the poor youth lay. He was a priest,
+and though thirteen years had passed over his head since we saw him in
+the chateau, and though toil and suffering and anxiety had added the
+traces of as many more: yet it would not have been difficult to
+recognize the towering height, the candid face, and finally the large
+thumb in the little book of &mdash;&mdash;, Monsieur the Preceptor, who had years
+ago exchanged his old position for a parochial cure. He strode up to the
+gaoler (whose head came a little above the priest's elbow), and drawing
+him aside, asked with his old abruptness, "Who is this?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is the Vicomte de B&mdash;&mdash;. I know his face. He has escaped the
+commissaires for some days."</p>
+
+<p>"I thought so. Is his name on the registers?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. He escaped arrest, and has just been brought in as you saw."</p>
+
+<p>"Antoine," said the Priest, in a low voice, and with a gaze that seemed
+to pierce the soul of the weak little gaoler; "Antoine, when you were a
+shoemaker in the Rue de la Croix, in two or three hard winters I think
+you found me a friend."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Monsieur le Cur&eacute;," said Antoine, writhing; "if Monsieur le Cur&eacute;
+would believe that if I could save his life! but&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Pshaw!" said the Priest, "it is not for myself, but for this boy. You
+must save him, Antoine. Hear me, you <i>must</i>. Take him now to one of the
+lower cells and hide him. You risk nothing. His name is not on the
+prison register. He will not be called, he will not be missed; that
+fanatic will think that he has perished with the rest of us;" (Antoine
+shuddered, though the priest did not move a muscle;) "and when this mad
+fever has subsided and order is restored, he will reward you. And
+Antoine&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Here the Priest pocketed his book and somewhat awkwardly with his huge
+hands unfastened the left side of his cassock, and tore the silk from
+the lining. Monsieur the Cur&eacute;'s cassock seemed a cabinet of oddities.
+First he pulled from this ingenious hiding-place a crucifix, which he
+replaced; then a knot of white ribbon which he also restored; and
+finally a tiny pocket or bag of what had been cream-colored satin
+embroidered with small bunches of heartsease, and which was aromatic
+with otto of roses. Awkwardly, and somewhat slowly he drew out of this a
+small locket, in the center of which was some unreadable legend in
+cabalistic looking character, and which blazed with the finest diamonds.
+Heaven alone knows the secret of that gem, or the struggle with which
+the Priest yielded it. He put it into Antoine's hand, talking as he did
+so, partly to himself and partly to the gaoler.</p>
+
+<p>"We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry
+nothing out. The diamonds are of the finest, Antoine, and will sell for
+much. The blessing of a dying priest upon you if you do kindly, and his
+curse if you do ill to his poor child, whose home was my home in better
+days. And for the locket,&mdash;it is but a remembrance, and to remember is
+not difficult!"</p>
+
+<p>As the last observation was not addressed to Antoine, so also he did not
+hear it. He was discontentedly watching the body of the Viscount, whom
+he consented to help, but with genuine weak-mindedness consented
+ungraciously.</p>
+
+<p>"How am I to get him there? Monsieur le Cur&eacute; sees that he cannot stand
+upon his feet!"</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur le Cur&eacute; smiled, and stooping, picked his old pupil up in his
+arms as if he had been a baby, and bore him to one of the doors.</p>
+
+<p>"You must come no further," said Antoine hastily.</p>
+
+<p>"Ingrate!" muttered the priest in momentary anger, and than ashamed, he
+crossed himself and pressing the young nobleman to his bosom with the
+last gush of earthly affection that he was to feel, he kissed his
+senseless face, spoke a benediction to ears that could not hear it, and
+laid his burden down.</p>
+
+<p>"God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, be with thee now and in
+the dread hour of death. Adieu! we shall meet hereafter."</p>
+
+<p>The look of pity, the yearning of rekindled love, the struggle of
+silenced memories passed from his face and left a shining
+calm&mdash;foretaste of the perpetual Light and the eternal Rest.</p>
+
+<p>Before he reached the other prisoners, the large thumb had found its old
+place in the little book, the lips formed the old old words; but it
+might almost have been said of him already, that "his spirit was with
+the God who gave it."</p>
+
+<p>As for Monsieur the Viscount, it was perhaps well that he was not too
+sensible of his position, for Antoine got him down the flight of stone
+steps that led to the cell by the simple process of dragging him by the
+heels. After a similar fashion he crossed the floor, and was deposited
+on a pallet; the gaoler then emptied a broken pitcher of water over his
+face, and locking the door securely, hurried back to his charge.</p>
+
+<p>When Monsieur the Viscount came to his senses he raised himself and
+looked round his new abode. It was a small stone cell; it was
+underground, with a little grated window at the top that seemed to be
+level with the court; there was a pallet&mdash;painfully pressed and worn,&mdash;a
+chair, a stone on which stood a plate and broken pitcher, and in one
+corner a huge bundle of firewood which mocked a place where there was no
+fire. Stones by lay scattered about, the walls were black, and in the
+far dark corners the wet oozed out and trickled slowly down, and lizards
+and other reptiles crawled up.</p>
+
+<p>I suppose that the first object that attracts the hopes of a new
+prisoner is the window of his cell, and to this, despite his weakness,
+Monsieur the Viscount crept. It afforded him little satisfaction. It was
+too high in the cell for him to reach it, too low in the prison to
+command any view, and was securely grated with iron. Then he examined
+the walls, but not a stone was loose. As he did so, his eye fell upon
+the floor, and he noticed that two of the stones that lay about had been
+raised up by some one and a third laid upon the top. It looked like
+child's play, and Monsieur the Viscount kicked it down, and then he saw
+that underneath it there was a pellet of paper roughly rolled together.
+Evidently it was something left by the former occupant of the cell for
+his successor. Perhaps he had begun some plan for getting away which he
+had not had time to perfect on his own account. Perhaps&mdash;but by this
+time the paper was spread out, and Monsieur the Viscount read the
+writing. The paper was old and yellow. It was the fly leaf torn out of a
+little book and it was written in black chalk, the words&mdash;</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+"<i>Souvenez-vous du Sauveur.</i>"<br />
+(Remember the Saviour.)
+</p>
+
+<p>He turned it over, he turned it back again; there was no other mark;
+there was nothing more; and Monsieur the Viscount did not conceal it
+from himself that he was disappointed. How could it be otherwise? He had
+been bred in ease and luxury, and surrounded with everything that could
+make life beautiful; while ugliness, and want, and sickness, and all
+that make life miserable, had been kept, as far as they can be kept,
+from the precincts of the beautiful chateau which was his home. What
+were the <i>consolations</i> of religion to him? They are offered to those,
+(and to those only) who need them. They were to Monsieur the Viscount
+what the Crucified Christ was to the Greeks of old&mdash;foolishness.</p>
+
+<p>He put the paper in his pocket and lay down again, feeling it the
+crowning disappointment of what he had lately suffered. Presently,
+Antoine came with some food; it was not dainty, but Monsieur the
+Viscount devoured it like a famished hound, and then made inquiries as
+to how he came and how long he had been there. When the gaoler began to
+describe him whom he called the Cur&eacute;, Monsieur the Viscount's attention
+quickened into eagerness, an eagerness deepened by the tender interest
+that always hangs round the names of those whom we have known in happier
+and younger days. The happy memories recalled by hearing of his old
+tutor seemed to blot out his present misfortunes. With French
+excitability, he laughed and wept alternately.</p>
+
+<p>"As burly as ever, you say? The little book? I remember it, it was his
+breviary. Ah! it is he. It is Monsieur the Preceptor, whom I have not
+seen for years. Take me to him, bring him here, let me see him!"</p>
+
+<p>But Monsieur the Preceptor was in Paradise.</p>
+
+<p>That first night of Monsieur the Viscount's imprisonment was a terrible
+one. The bitter chill of a Parisian autumn, the gnawings of
+half-satisfied hunger, the thick walls that shut out all hope of escape
+but did not exclude those fearful cries that lasted with few intervals
+throughout the night, made it like some hideous dream. At last the
+morning broke; at half-past two o'clock, some members of the <i>commune</i>
+presented themselves in the hall of the National Assembly with the
+significant announcement: "The prisons are empty!" and Antoine, who had
+been quaking for hours, took courage, and went with a half loaf of bread
+and a pitcher of water to the cell that was not "empty." He found his
+prisoner struggling with a knot of white ribbon, which he was trying to
+fasten in his hair. One glance at his face told all.</p>
+
+<p>"It is the fever," said Antoine; and he put down the bread and water and
+fetched an old blanket and a pillow; and that day and for many days, the
+gaoler hung above his prisoner's pallet with the tenderness of a woman.
+Was he haunted by the vision of a burly figure that had bent over his
+own sick bed in the Rue de la Croix? Did the voice (once so familiar in
+counsel and benediction!) echo still in his ears?</p>
+
+<p>"<i>The blessing of a dying priest upon you if you do well, and his curse
+if you do ill to this poor child, whose home was my home in better
+days.</i>"</p>
+
+<p>Be this as it may, Antoine tended his patient with all the constancy
+compatible with keeping his presence in the prison a secret; and it was
+not till the crisis was safely past, that he began to visit the cell
+less frequently, and re-assumed the harsh manners which he held to befit
+his office.</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur the Viscount's mind rambled much in his illness. He called for
+his mother, who had long been dead. He fancied himself in his own
+chateau. He thought that all his servants stood in a body before him,
+but that not one would move to wait on him. He thought that he had
+abundance of the most tempting food and cooling drinks, but placed just
+beyond his reach. He thought that he saw two lights like stars near
+together, which were close to the ground, and kept appearing and then
+vanishing away. In time he became more sensible; the chateau melted into
+the stern reality of his prison walls; the delicate food became bread
+and water; the servants disappeared like spectres; but in the empty
+cells, in the dark corners near the floor, he still fancied that he saw
+two sparks of light coming and going, appearing and then vanishing away.
+He watched them till his giddy head would bear it no longer, and he
+closed his eyes and slept. When he awoke he was much better, but when he
+raised himself and turned towards the stone&mdash;there, by the bread and the
+broken pitcher, sat a dirty, ugly, wrinkled toad gazing at him, Monsieur
+the Viscount, with eyes of yellow fire.</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur the Viscount had long ago forgotten the toad which had alarmed
+his childhood; but his national dislike to that animal had not been
+lessened by years, and the toad of the prison seemed likely to fare no
+better than the toad of the chateau. He dragged himself from his pallet,
+and took up one of the large damp stones which lay about the floor of
+the cell, to throw at the intruder. He expected that when he approached
+it, the toad would crawl away, and that he could throw the stone after
+it; but to his surprise, the beast sat quite unmoved, looking at him
+with calm shining eyes, and somehow or other, Monsieur the Viscount
+lacked strength or heart to kill it. He stood doubtful for a moment, and
+then a sudden feeling of weakness obliged him to drop the stone, and sit
+down, while tears sprang to his eyes with a sense of his helplessness.</p>
+
+<p>"Why should I kill it?" he said bitterly. "The beast will live and grow
+fat upon this damp and loathsomeness, long after they have put an end to
+my feeble life. It shall remain. The cell is not big, but it is big
+enough for us both. However large be the rooms a man builds himself to
+live in, it needs but little space in which to die!"</p>
+
+<p>So Monsieur the Viscount dragged his pallet away from the toad, placed
+another stone by it, and removed the pitcher; and then, wearied with his
+efforts, lay down and slept heavily.</p>
+
+<p>When he awoke, on the new stone by the pitcher was the toad, staring
+full at him with topaz eyes. He lay still this time and did not move,
+for the animal showed no intention of spitting, and he was puzzled by
+its tameness.</p>
+
+<p>"It seems to like the sight of a man," he thought. "Is it possible that
+any former inmate of this wretched prison can have amused his solitude
+by making a pet of such a creature? and if there were such a man, where
+is he now?"</p>
+
+<p>Henceforward, sleeping or waking, whenever Monsieur the Viscount lay
+down upon his pallet, the toad crawled up on to the stone, and kept
+watch over him with shining lustrous eyes; but whenever there was a
+sound of the key grating in the lock, and the gaoler coming his rounds,
+away crept the toad, and was quickly lost in the dark corners of the
+room. When the man was gone, it returned to its place, and Monsieur the
+Viscount would talk to it, as he lay on his pallet.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! Monsieur Crapaud," he would say with mournful pleasantry, "without
+doubt you have had a master, and a kind one; but tell me who was he, and
+where is he now? Was he old or young, and was it in the last stage of
+maddening loneliness that he made friends with such a creature as you?"</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur Crapaud looked very intelligent, but he made no reply, and
+Monsieur the Viscount had recourse to Antoine.</p>
+
+<p>"Who was in this cell before me?" he asked at the gaoler's next visit.</p>
+
+<p>Antoine's face clouded. "Monsieur le Cur&eacute; had this room. My orders were
+that he was to be imprisoned 'in secret.'"</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur le Cur&eacute; had this room. There was a revelation in those words.
+It was all explained now. The priest had always had a love for animals
+(and for ugly, common animals) which his pupil had by no means shared.
+His room at the chateau had been little less than a menagerie. He had
+even kept a glass beehive there, which communicated with a hole in the
+window through which the bees flew in and out, and he would stand for
+hours with his thumb in the breviary, watching the labors of his pets.
+And this also had been his room! This dark, damp cell. Here, breviary in
+hand, he had stood, and lain, and knelt. Here, in this miserable prison,
+he had found something to love, and on which to expend the rare
+intelligence and benevolence of his nature. Here, finally, in the last
+hours of his life, he had written on the fly-leaf of his prayer-book
+something to comfort his successor, and "being dead yet spoke" the words
+of consolation which he had administered in his lifetime. Monsieur the
+Viscount read that paper now with different feelings.</p>
+
+<p>There is perhaps no argument so strong, and no virtue that so commands
+the respect of young men, as consistency. Monsieur the Preceptor's
+lifelong counsel and example would have done less for his pupil than was
+effected by the knowledge of his consistent career, now that it was
+past. It was not the nobility of the priest's principles that awoke in
+Monsieur the Viscount a desire to imitate his religious example, but the
+fact that he had applied them to his own life, not only in the time of
+wealth, but in the time of tribulation and in the hour of death. All
+that high-strung piety&mdash;that life of prayer&mdash;those unswerving
+admonitions to consider the vanity of earthly treasures, and to prepare
+for death&mdash;which had sounded so unreal amidst the perfumed elegancies of
+the chateau, came back now with a reality gained from experiment. The
+daily life of self-denial, the conversation garnished from Scripture and
+from the Fathers, had not, after all, been mere priestly affectations.
+In no symbolic manner, but, literally, he had "watched for the coming of
+his Lord," and "taken up the cross daily;" and so, when the cross was
+laid on him, and when the voice spoke which must speak to all, "The
+Master is come, and calleth for thee," he bore the burden and obeyed the
+summons unmoved.</p>
+
+<p><i>Unmoved!</i>&mdash;this was the fact that struck deep into the heart of
+Monsieur the Viscount, as he listened to Antoine's account of the Cur&eacute;'s
+imprisonment. What had astonished and overpowered his own undisciplined
+nature had not disturbed Monsieur the Preceptor. He had prayed in the
+chateau&mdash;he prayed in the prison. He had often spoken in the chateau of
+the softening and comforting influences of communion with the lower
+animals and with nature, and in the uncertainty of imprisonment he had
+tamed a toad. "None of these things had moved him," and in a storm of
+grief and admiration, Monsieur the Viscount bewailed the memory of his
+tutor.</p>
+
+<p>"If he had only lived to teach me!"</p>
+
+<p>But he was dead, and there was nothing for Monsieur the Viscount but to
+make the most of his example. This was not so easy to follow as he
+imagined. Things seemed to be different with him to what they had been
+with Monsieur the Preceptor. He had no lofty meditations, no ardent
+prayers, and calm and peace seemed more distant than ever. Monsieur the
+Viscount met, in short, with all those difficulties that the soul must
+meet with, which, in a moment of enthusiasm, has resolved upon a higher
+and a better way of life, and in moments of depression is perpetually
+tempted to forego that resolution. His prison life was, however, a
+pretty severe discipline, and he held on with struggles and prayers; and
+so, little by little, and day by day, as the time of his imprisonment
+went by, the consolations of religion became a daily strength against
+the fretfulness of imperious temper, the sickness of hope deferred, and
+the dark suggestions of despair.</p>
+
+<p>The term of his imprisonment was a long one. Many prisoners came and
+went within the walls of the Abbaye, but Monsieur the Viscount still
+remained in his cell: indeed, he would have gained little by leaving it
+if he could have done so, as he would almost certainly have been
+retaken. As it was, Antoine on more than one occasion concealed him
+behind the bundles of firewood, and once or twice he narrowly escaped
+detection by less friendly officials. There were times when the
+guillotine seemed to him almost better than this long suspense: but
+while other heads passed to the block, his remained on his shoulders;
+and so weeks and even months went by. And during all this time, sleeping
+or waking, whenever he lay down upon his pallet, the toad crept up on to
+the stone, and kept watch over him with lustrous eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur the Viscount hardly acknowledged to himself the affection with
+which he came to regard this ugly and despicable animal. The greater
+part of his regard for it he believed to be due to its connection with
+his tutor, and the rest he set down to the score of his own humanity,
+and took credit to himself accordingly; whereas in truth Monsieur
+Crapaud was of incalculable service to his new master, who would lie and
+chatter to him for hours, and almost forget his present discomfort in
+recalling past happiness, as he described the chateau, the gardens, the
+burly tutor, and beautiful Madame, or laughed over his childish
+remembrances of the toad's teeth in Claude Mignon's pocket; whilst
+Monsieur Crapaud sat well-bred and silent, with a world of comprehension
+in his fiery eyes. Whoever thinks this puerile must remember that my
+hero was a Frenchman, and a young Frenchman, with a prescriptive right
+to chatter for chattering's sake, and also that he had not a very highly
+cultivated mind of his own to converse with, even if the most highly
+cultivated intellect is ever a reliable resource against the terrors of
+solitary confinement.</p>
+
+<p>Foolish or wise, however, Monsieur the Viscount's attachment
+strengthened daily; and one day something happened which showed his pet
+in a new light, and afforded him fresh amusement.</p>
+
+<p>The prison was much infested with certain large black spiders, which
+crawled about the floor and walls; and, as Monsieur the Viscount was
+lying on his pallet, he saw one of these scramble up and over the stone
+on which sat Monsieur Crapaud. That good gentleman, whose eyes, till
+then, had been fixed as usual on his master, now turned his attention to
+the intruder. The spider, as if conscious of danger, had suddenly
+stopped still. Monsieur Crapaud gazed at it intently with his beautiful
+eyes, and bent himself slightly forward. So they remained for some
+seconds, then the spider turned round, and began suddenly to scramble
+away. At this instant Monsieur the Viscount saw his friend's eyes gleam
+with an intenser fire, his head was jerked forwards; it almost seemed as
+if something had been projected from his mouth, and drawn back again
+with the rapidity of lightning. Then Monsieur Crapaud resumed his
+position, drew in his head, and gazed mildly and sedately before him;
+<i>but the spider was nowhere to be seen</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur the Viscount burst into a loud laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"Eh, well! Monsieur," said he, "but this is not well-bred on your part.
+Who gave you leave to eat my spiders, and to bolt them in such an
+unmannerly way, moreover?"</p>
+
+<p>In spite of this reproof Monsieur Crapaud looked in no way ashamed of
+himself, and I regret to state that hence-forward (with the partial
+humaneness of mankind in general), Monsieur the Viscount amused himself
+by catching the insects (which were only too plentiful) in an old
+oyster-shell, and setting them at liberty on the stone for the benefit
+of his friend. As for him, all appeared to be fish that came to his
+net&mdash;spiders and beetles, slugs and snails from the damp corners,
+flies, and wood-lice found on turning up the large stone, disappeared
+one after the other. The wood-lice were an especial amusement: when
+Monsieur the Viscount touched them, they shut up into tight little
+balls, and in this condition he removed them to the stone, and placed
+them like marbles in a row, Monsieur Crapaud watching the proceeding
+with rapt attention. After awhile the balls would slowly open and begin
+to crawl away; but he was a very active wood-louse indeed who escaped
+the suction of Monsieur Crapaud's tongue, as his eyes glowing with eager
+enjoyment, he bolted one after another, and Monsieur the Viscount
+clapped his hands and applauded.</p>
+
+<p>The grated window was a fine field for spiders and other insects, and by
+piling up stones on the floor, Monsieur the Viscount contrived to
+scramble up to it, and fill his friend's oyster-shell with the prey.</p>
+
+<p>One day, about a year and nine months after his first arrival at the
+prison, he climbed to the embrasure of the window, as usual,
+oyster-shell in hand. He always chose a time for this when he knew that
+the court would most probably be deserted, to avoid the danger of being
+recognized through the grating. He was therefore, not a little startled
+at being disturbed in his capture of a fat black spider by a sound of
+something bumping against the iron bars. On looking up, he saw that a
+string was dangling before the window with something attached to the end
+of it. He drew it in, and, as he did so, he fancied that he heard a
+distant sound of voices and clapped hands, as if from some window above.
+He proceeded to examine his prize, and found that it was a little round
+pincushion of sand, such as women use to polish their needles with, and
+that, apparently, it was used as a make-weight to ensure the steady
+descent of a neat little letter that was tied beside it, in company with
+a small lead pencil. The letter was directed to "<i>The prisoner who finds
+this.</i>" Monsieur the Viscount opened it at once. This was the letter:</p>
+
+<p class="f2">"<i>In prison, 24th Prairial, year 2.</i></p>
+<blockquote>
+<p>"<i>Fellow-sufferer, who are you? how long have you been
+imprisoned? Be good enough to answer.</i>" </p></blockquote>
+
+<p>Monsieur the Viscount hesitated for a moment, and then determined to
+risk all. He tore off a bit of the paper, and with the little pencil
+hurriedly wrote this reply:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p class="f2">"<i>In secret, June 12, 1794.</i></p>
+<blockquote>
+<p>"<i>Louis Archambaud Jean-Marie Arnaud, Vicomte de B. supposed
+to have perished in the massacres of September, 1792. Keep
+my secret. I have been imprisoned a year and nine months.
+Who are you? how long have you been here?</i>" </p></blockquote>
+
+<p>The letter was drawn up, and he watched anxiously for the reply. It
+came, and with it some sheets of blank paper.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>"<i>Monsieur,&mdash;We have the honor to reply to your inquiries
+and thank you for your frankness. Henri Edouard Clermont,
+Baron de St. Claire. Valerie de St. Claire. We have been
+here but two days. Accept our sympathy for your
+misfortunes.</i>" </p></blockquote>
+
+<p>Four words in this note seized at once upon Monsieur the Viscount's
+interest&mdash;<i>Valerie de St. Claire</i>:&mdash;and for some reasons which I do not
+pretend to explain, he decided that it was she who was the author of
+these epistles, and the demon of curiosity forthwith took possession of
+his mind. Who was she? was she old or young. And in which relation did
+she stand to Monsieur le Baron&mdash;that of wife, of sister, or of daughter?
+And from some equally inexplicable cause Monsieur the Viscount
+determined in his own mind that it was the latter. To make assurance
+doubly sure, however, he laid a trap to discover the real state of the
+case. He wrote a letter of thanks and sympathy, expressed with all the
+delicate chivalrous politeness of a nobleman of the old <i>r&eacute;gime</i>, and
+addressed it to <i>Madame la Baronne</i>. The plan succeeded. The next note
+he received contained these sentences:&mdash;"<i>I am not the Baroness. Madame
+my mother is, alas! dead. I and my father are alone. He is ill; but
+thanks you, Monsieur, for your letters, which relieve the</i> ennui <i>of
+imprisonment. Are you alone?</i>"</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur the Viscount, as in duty bound, relieved the ennui of the
+Baron's captivity by another epistle. Before answering the last
+question, he turned round involuntarily and looked to where Monsieur
+Crapaud sat by the broken pitcher. The beautiful eyes were turned
+towards him, and Monsieur the Viscount took up his pencil, and wrote
+hastily, "<i>I am not alone&mdash;I have a friend.</i>"</p>
+
+<p>Henceforward the oyster-shell took a long time to fill, and patience
+seemed a harder virtue than ever. Perhaps the last fact had something to
+do with the rapid decline of Monsieur the Viscount's health. He became
+paler and weaker, and more fretful. His prayers were accompanied by
+greater mental struggles, and watered with more tears. He was, however,
+most positive in his assurances to Monsieur Crapaud that he knew the
+exact nature and cause of the malady that was consuming him. It
+resulted, he said, from the noxious and unwholesome condition of his
+cell; and he would entreat Antoine to have it swept out. After some
+difficulty the gaoler consented.</p>
+
+<p>It was nearly a month since Monsieur the Viscount had first been
+startled by the appearance of the little pincushion. The stock of paper
+had long been exhausted. He had torn up his cambric ruffles to write
+upon, and Mademoiselle de St. Claire had made havoc of her
+pocket-handkerchiefs for the same purpose. The Viscount was feebler than
+ever, and Antoine became alarmed. The cell should be swept out the next
+morning. He would come himself, he said, and bring another man out of
+the town with him to help him, for the work was heavy, and he had a
+touch of rheumatism. The man was a stupid fellow from the country, who
+had only been a week in Paris; he had never heard of the Viscount, and
+Antoine would tell him that the prisoner was a certain young lawyer who
+had really died of fever in prison the day before. Monsieur the Viscount
+thanked him; and it was not till the next morning arrived, and he was
+expecting them every moment, that Monsieur the Viscount remembered the
+toad, and that he would without doubt be swept away with the rest in
+the general clearance. At first he thought that he would beg them to
+leave it, but some knowledge of the petty insults which that class of
+men heaped upon their prisoners made him feel that this would probably
+be only an additional reason for their taking the animal away. There was
+no place to hide it in, for they would go all round the room;
+unless&mdash;unless Monsieur the Viscount took it up in his hand. And this
+was just what he objected to do. All his old feelings of repugnance came
+back, he had not even got gloves on; his long white hands were bare, he
+could not touch a toad. It was true that the beast had amused him, and
+that he had chatted to it; but after all, this was a piece of childish
+folly&mdash;an unmanly way, to say the least, of relieving the tedium of
+captivity. What was Monsieur Crapaud but a very ugly (and most people
+said a venomous) reptile? To what a folly he had been condescending!
+With these thoughts, Monsieur the Viscount steeled himself against the
+glances of his topaz-eyed friend, and when the steps of thee men were
+heard upon the stairs, he did not move from the window where he had
+placed himself, with his back to the stone.</p>
+
+<p>The steps came nearer and nearer, Monsieur the Viscount began to
+whistle;&mdash;the key was rattled into the lock, and Monsieur the Viscount
+heard a bit of bread fall, as the toad hastily descended to hide itself
+as usual in the corners. In a moment his resolution was gone; another
+second, and it would be too late. He dashed after the creature, picked
+it up, and when the men came in he was standing with his hands behind
+him, in which Monsieur Crapaud was quietly and safely seated.</p>
+
+<p>The room was swept, and Antoine was preparing to go, when the other, who
+had been eyeing the prisoner suspiciously, stopped and said with a sharp
+sneer, "Does the citizen always preserve that position?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not he," said the gaoler, good-naturedly. "He spends most of his time
+in bed, which saves his legs. Come along Francois."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall not come," said the other, obstinately. "Let the citizen show
+me his hands."</p>
+
+<p>"Plague take you!" said Antoine, in a whisper. "What sulky fit
+possesses you, my comrade! Let the poor wretch alone. What wouldst thou
+with his hands? Wait a little, and thou shalt have his head."</p>
+
+<p>"We should have few heads or prisoners either, if thou hadst the care of
+them," said Francois sharply. "I say that the prisoner secretes
+something, and that I will see it. Show your hands, dog of an
+aristocrat!"</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur the Viscount set his teeth to keep himself from speaking, and
+held out his hands in silence, toad and all.</p>
+
+<p>Both the men started back with an exclamation, and Francois got behind
+his comrade, and swore over his shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur the Viscount stood upright and still, with a smile on his white
+face. "Behold, citizen, what I secrete, and what I desire to keep.
+Behold all that I have left to secrete or to desire! There is nothing
+more."</p>
+
+<p>"Throw it down!" screamed Francois; "many a witch has been burnt for
+less&mdash;throw it down."</p>
+
+<p>The color began to flood over Monsieur the Viscount's face; but still he
+spoke gently, and with bated breath. "If you wish me to suffer, citizen,
+let this be my witness that I have suffered. I must be very friendless
+to desire such a friend. I must be brought very low to ask such a favor.
+Let the Republic give me this."</p>
+
+<p>"The Republic has one safe rule for aristocrats," said the other; "she
+gives them nothing but their keep till she pays for their shaving&mdash;once
+for all. She gave one of these dogs a few rags to dress a wound on his
+back with, and he made a rope of his dressings, and let himself down
+from the window. We will have no more such games. You may be training
+the beast to spit poison at good citizens. Throw it down and kill it."</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur the Viscount made no reply. His hands had moved towards his
+breast, against which he was holding his golden-eyed friend. There are
+times in life when the brute creation contrasts favorably with the lords
+thereof, and this was one of them. It was hard to part just now.</p>
+
+<p>Antoine, who had been internally cursing his own folly in bringing such
+a companion into the cell, now interfered. "If you are going to stay
+here to be bitten or spit at, Francois, my friend," said he, "I am not.
+Thou art zealous, my comrade, but dull as an owl. The Republic is
+far-sighted in her wisdom beyond thy coarse ideas, and has more ways of
+taking their heads from these aristocrats than one. Dost thou not see?"
+And he tapped his forehead significantly, and looked at the prisoner;
+and so, between talking and pushing, got his sulky companion out of the
+cell, and locked the door after them.</p>
+
+<p>"And so, my friend&mdash;my friend!" said Monsieur the Viscount, tenderly,
+"we are safe once more; but it will not be for long, my Crapaud.
+Something tells me that I cannot much longer be overlooked. A little
+while, and I shall be gone; and thou wilt have, perchance, another
+master, when I am summoned before mine."</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur the Viscount's misgivings were just. Francois, on whose
+stupidity Antoine had relied, was (as is not uncommon with people stupid
+in other respects) just clever enough to be mischievous. Antoine's
+evident alarm made him suspicious, and he began to talk about the
+too-elegant-looking young lawyer who was imprisoned "in secret," and
+permitted by the gaoler to keep venomous beasts. Antoine was examined
+and committed to one of his own cells, and Monsieur the Viscount was
+summoned before the revolutionary tribunal.</p>
+
+<p>There was little need even for the scanty inquiry that in those days
+preceded sentence. In every line of his beautiful face, marred as it was
+by sickness and suffering&mdash;in the unconquerable dignity, which dirt and
+raggedness were powerless to hide, the fatal nobility of his birth and
+breeding were betrayed. When he returned to the anteroom, he did not
+positively know his fate; but in his mind there was a moral certainty
+that left him no hope.</p>
+
+<p>The room was filled with other prisoners awaiting trial; and as he
+entered, his eyes wandered round it to see if there were any familiar
+faces. They fell upon two figures standing with their backs to him&mdash;a
+tall, fierce-looking man, who, despite his height and fierceness, had a
+restless, nervous despondency expressed in all his movements; and a
+young girl who leant on his arm as if for support, but whose steady
+quietude gave her more the air of a supporter. Without seeing their
+faces, and for no reasonable reason, Monsieur the Viscount decided with
+himself that they were the Baron and his daughter, and he begged the man
+who was conducting him, for a moment's delay. The man consented. France
+was becoming sick of unmitigated carnage, and even the executioners
+sometimes indulged in pity by way of a change.</p>
+
+<p>As Monsieur the Viscount approached the two they turned round, and he
+saw her face&mdash;a very fair and very resolute one, with ashen hair and
+large eyes. In common with almost all the faces in that room, it was
+blanched with suffering; and it is fair to say, in common with many of
+them, it was pervaded by a lofty calm. Monsieur the Viscount never for
+an instant doubted his own conviction; he drew near and said in a low
+voice, "Mademoiselle de St. Claire!"</p>
+
+<p>The Baron looked first fierce, and then alarmed. His daughter's face
+illumined; she turned her large eyes on the speaker, and said simply,</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur le Vicomte?"</p>
+
+<p>The Baron apologized, commiserated, and sat down on a seat near, with a
+look of fretful despair; and his daughter and Monsieur the Viscount were
+left standing together. Monsieur the Viscount desired to say a great
+deal and could say very little. The moments went by and hardly a word
+had been spoken.</p>
+
+<p>Valerie asked if he knew his fate.</p>
+
+<p>"I have not heard it," he said; "but I am morally certain. There can be
+but one end in these days."</p>
+
+<p>She sighed. "It is the same with us. And if you must suffer, Monsieur, I
+wish that we may suffer together. It would comfort my father&mdash;and me."</p>
+
+<p>Her composure vexed him. Just, too, when he was sensible that the desire
+of life was making a few fierce struggles in his own breast.</p>
+
+<p>"You seem to look forward to death with great cheerfulness,
+Mademoiselle."</p>
+
+<p>The large eyes were raised to him with a look of surprise at the
+irritation of his tone.</p>
+
+<p>"I think," she said gently, "that one does not look forward to, but
+<i>beyond</i> it." She stopped and hesitated, still watching his face, and
+then spoke hurriedly and diffidently:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur, it seems impertinent to make such suggestions to you, who
+have doubtless a full fund of consolation; but I remember, when a child,
+going to hear the preaching of a monk who was famous for his eloquence.
+He said that his text was from the Scriptures&mdash;it has been in my mind
+all to-day&mdash;'<i>There the wicked cease from troubling, and there the weary
+be at rest.</i>' The man is becoming impatient. Adieu! Monsieur. A thousand
+thanks and a thousand blessings."</p>
+
+<p>She offered her cheek, on which there was not a ray of increased color,
+and Monsieur the Viscount stooped and kissed it, with a thick mist
+gathering in his eyes, through which he could not see her face.</p>
+
+<p>"Adieu! Valerie!"</p>
+
+<p>"Adieu! Louis!"</p>
+
+<p>So they met, and so they parted; and as Monsieur the Viscount went back
+to his prison, he flattered himself that the last link was broken for
+him in the chain of earthly interests.</p>
+
+<p>When he reached the cell he was tired, and lay down, and in a few
+seconds a soft scrambling over the floor announced the return of
+Monsieur Crapaud from his hiding place. With one wrinkled leg after
+another he clambered on to the stone, and Monsieur the Viscount started
+when he saw him.</p>
+
+<p>"Friend Crapaud! I had actually forgotten thee. I fancied I had said
+adieu for the last time;" and he gave a choked sigh, which Monsieur
+Crapaud could not be expected to understand. In about five minutes he
+sprang up suddenly. "Monsieur Crapaud, I have not long to live, and no
+time must be lost in making my will." Monsieur Crapaud was too wise to
+express any astonishment; and his master began to hunt for a
+tidy-looking stone (paper and cambric were both at an end). They were
+all rough and dirty; but necessity had made the Viscount inventive, and
+he took a couple and rubbed them together till he had polished both.
+Then he pulled out the little pencil, and for the next half hour wrote
+busily. When it was done he lay down, and read it to his friend. This
+was Monsieur the Viscount's last will and testament:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p class="center">"<i>To my successor in this cell.</i></p>
+<blockquote>
+<p>"To you whom Providence has chosen to be the inheritor of my
+sorrows and my captivity, I desire to make another bequest.
+There is in this prison a toad. He was tamed by a man (peace
+to his memory!) who tenanted this cell before me. He has
+been my friend and companion for nearly two years of sad
+imprisonment. He has sat by my bedside, fed from my hand,
+and shared all my confidence. He is ugly, but he has
+beautiful eyes; he is silent, but he is attentive; he is a
+brute, but I wish the men of France were in this respect
+more his superiors! He is very faithful. May you never have
+a worse friend! He feeds upon insects, which I have been
+accustomed to procure for him. Be kind to him; he will repay
+it. Like other men, I bequeath what I would take with me if
+I could.</p>
+
+<p>"Fellow-sufferer, adieu! God comfort you as He has comforted
+me! The sorrows of this life are sharp but short; the joys
+of the next life are eternal. Think some times on him who
+commends his friend to your pity, and himself to your
+prayers.</p>
+
+<p>"This is the last will and testament of Louis Archambaud
+Jean-Marie Arnaud, Vicomte de B&mdash;&mdash;." </p></blockquote>
+
+<p>Monsieur the Viscount's last will and testament was with difficulty
+squeezed into the surface of the larger of the stones. Then he hid it
+where the priest had hid his bequest long ago, and then lay down to
+dream of Monsieur the Preceptor, and that they had met at last.</p>
+
+<p>The next day was one of anxious suspense. In the evening, as usual, a
+list of those who were to be guillotined next morning, was brought into
+the prison; and Monsieur the Viscount begged for a sight of it. It was
+brought to him. First on the list was Antoine! Halfway down was his own
+name, "Louis de B&mdash;," and a little lower his fascinated gaze fell upon
+names that stirred his heart with such a passion of regret as he had
+fancied it would never feel again, "Henri de St. Claire, Valerie de St.
+Claire."</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes seemed to shine on him from the gathering twilight, and her
+calm voice to echo in his ears. "<i>It has been in my mind all to-day.
+There the wicked cease from troubling, and there the weary be at rest.</i>"</p>
+
+<p><i>There!</i> He buried his face and prayed.</p>
+
+<p>He was disturbed by the unlocking of the door, and the new gaoler
+appeared with Antoine! The poor wretch seemed overpowered by terror. He
+had begged to be imprisoned for this last night with Monsieur the
+Viscount. It was only a matter of a few hours, as they were to die at
+daybreak, and his request was granted.</p>
+
+<p>Antoine's entrance turned the current of Monsieur the Viscount's
+thoughts. No more selfish reflections now. He must comfort this poor
+creature, of whose death he was to be the unintentional cause. Antoine's
+first anxiety was that Monsieur the Viscount should bear witness that
+the gaoler had treated him kindly, and so earned the blessing and not
+the curse of Monsieur le Cur&eacute;, whose powerful presence seemed to haunt
+him still. On this score he was soon set at rest, and then came the old,
+old story. He had been but a bad man. If his life were to come over
+again, he would do differently. Did Monsieur the Viscount think that
+there was any hope?</p>
+
+<p>Would Monsieur the Viscount have recognized himself, could he, two years
+ago, have seen himself as he was now? Kneeling by that rough,
+uncultivated figure, and pleading with all the eloquence that he could
+master to that rough uncultivated heart, the great Truths of
+Christianity,&mdash;so great and few and simple in their application to our
+needs! The violet eyes had never appealed more tenderly, the soft voice
+had never been softer than now, as he strove to explain to this ignorant
+soul, the cardinal doctrines of Faith and Repentance, and Charity, with
+an earnestness that was perhaps more effectual than his preaching.</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur the Viscount was quite as much astonished as flattered by the
+success of his instructions. The faith on which he had laid hold with
+such mortal struggles, seemed almost to "come natural" (as people say)
+to Antoine. With abundant tears, he professed the deepest penitence for
+his past life, at the same time that he accepted the doctrine of the
+Atonement as a natural remedy, and never seemed to have a doubt in the
+Infinite Mercy that should cover his infinite guilt.</p>
+
+<p>It was all so orthodox that even if he had doubted (which he did not)
+the sincerity of the gaoler's contrition and belief, Monsieur the
+Viscount could have done nothing but envy the easy nature of Antoine's
+convictions. He forgot the difference of their respective capabilities!</p>
+
+<p>When the night was far advanced the men rose from their knees, and
+Monsieur the Viscount persuaded Antoine to lie down on his pallet, and
+when the gaoler's heavy breathing told that he was asleep, Monsieur the
+Viscount felt relieved to be alone once more; alone, except for Monsieur
+Crapaud, whose round fiery eyes were open as usual.</p>
+
+<p>The simplicity with which he had been obliged to explain the truths of
+Divine Love to Antoine, was of signal service to Monsieur the Viscount
+himself. It left him no excuse for those intricacies of doubt, with
+which refined minds too often torture themselves; and as he paced feebly
+up and down the cell, all the long-withheld peace for which he had
+striven since his imprisonment seemed to flood into his soul. How
+blessed&mdash;how undeservedly blessed&mdash;was his fate! Who or what was he that
+after such short, such mitigated sufferings, the crown of victory should
+be so near? The way had seemed long to come, it was short to look back
+upon, and now the golden gates were almost reached, the everlasting
+doors were open. A few more hours, and then&mdash;! and as Monsieur the
+Viscount buried his worn face in his hands, the tears that trickled from
+his fingers were literally tears of joy.</p>
+
+<p>He groped his way to the stone, pushed some straw close to it, and lay
+down on the ground to rest, watched by Monsieur Crapaud's fiery eyes.
+And as he lay, faces seemed to him to rise out of the darkness, to take
+the form and features of the face of the Priest, and to gaze at him with
+unutterable benediction. And in his mind, like some familiar piece of
+music, awoke the words that had been written on the fly-leaf of the
+little book; coming back, sleepily and dreamily, over and over again&mdash;</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+"<i>Souvenez-vous du Sauveur! Souvenez-vous du Sauveur!</i>"<br />
+(Remember the Saviour!)
+</p>
+
+<p>In that remembrance he fell asleep.</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur the Viscount's sleep for some hours was without a dream. Then
+it began to be disturbed by that uneasy consciousness of sleeping too
+long, which enables some people to awake at whatever hour they have
+resolved upon. At last it became intolerable, and wearied as he was, he
+awoke. It was broad daylight, and Antoine was snoring beside him. Surely
+the cart would come soon, the executions were generally at an early
+hour. But time went on, and no one came, and Antoine awoke. The hours of
+suspense passed heavily, but at last there were steps and a key rattled
+into the lock. The door opened, and the gaoler appeared with a jug of
+milk and a loaf. With a strange smile he set them down.</p>
+
+<p>"A good appetite to you, citizens."</p>
+
+<p>Antoine flew on him. "Comrade! we used to be friends. Tell me, what is
+it? Is the execution deferred?"</p>
+
+<p>"The execution has taken place at last," said the other, significantly;
+"<i>Robespierre is dead!</i>" and he vanished.</p>
+
+<p>Antoine uttered a shriek of joy. He wept, he laughed, he cut capers, and
+flinging himself at Monsieur the Viscount's feet, he kissed them
+rapturously. When he raised his eyes to Monsieur the Viscount's face,
+his transports moderated. The last shock had been too much, he seemed
+almost in a stupor. Antoine got him on the pallet, dragged the blanket
+over him, broke the bread into the milk, and played the nurse once more.</p>
+
+<p>On that day thousands of prisoners in the city of Paris alone awoke from
+the shadow of death to the hope of life. The Reign of Terror was ended!</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2>
+
+
+<p>It was a year of grace early in the present century.</p>
+
+<p>We are again in the beautiful country of beautiful France. It is the
+chateau once more. It is the same, but changed. The unapproachable
+elegance, the inviolable security, have witnessed invasion. The right
+wing of the chateau is in ruins, with traces of fire upon the blackened
+walls; while here and there, a broken statue or a roofless temple, are
+sad memorials of the Revolution. Within the restored part of the
+chateau, however, all looks well. Monsieur the Viscount has been
+fortunate, and if not so rich a man as his father, has yet regained
+enough of his property to live with comfort, and, as he thinks, luxury.
+The long rooms are little less elegant than in former days, and Madame
+the present Viscountess's boudoir is a model of taste. Not far from it
+is another room, to which it forms a singular contrast. This room
+belongs to Monsieur the Viscount. It is small, with one window. The
+floor and walls are bare, and it contains no furniture; but on the floor
+is a worn-out pallet, by which lies a stone, and on that a broken
+pitcher, and in a little frame against the wall is preserved a crumpled
+bit of paper like the fly-leaf of some little book, on which is a
+half-effaced inscription, which can be deciphered by Monsieur the
+Viscount if by no one else. Above the window is written in large
+letters, a date and the word REMEMBER. Monsieur the Viscount is not
+likely to forget, but he is afraid of himself and of prosperity lest it
+should spoil him.</p>
+
+<p>It is evening, and Monsieur the Viscount is strolling along the terrace
+with Madame on his arm. He has only one to offer her, for where the
+other should be an empty sleeve is pinned to his breast, on which a bit
+of ribbon is stirred by the breeze. Monsieur the Viscount has not been
+idle since we saw him last; the faith that taught him to die, has
+taught him also how to live,&mdash;an honorable, useful life.</p>
+
+<p>It is evening, and the air comes up perfumed from a bed of violets by
+which Monsieur the Viscount is kneeling. Madame (who has a fair face and
+ashen hair) stands by him with her little hand on his shoulder and her
+large eyes upon the violets.</p>
+
+<p>"My friend! My friend! My friend!" It is Monsieur the Viscount's voice,
+and at the sound of it, there is a rustle among the violets that sends
+the perfume high into the air. Then from the parted leaves come forth
+first a dirty wrinkled leg, then a dirty wrinkled head with gleaming
+eyes, and Monsieur Crapaud crawls with self-satisfied dignity on to
+Monsieur the Viscount's outstretched hand.</p>
+
+<p>So they stay laughing and chatting, and then Monsieur the Viscount bids
+his friend good-night, and holds him towards Madame, that she may do the
+same. But Madame (who did not enjoy Monsieur Crapaud's society in
+prison) cannot be induced to do more than scratch his head delicately
+with the tip of her white finger. But she respects him greatly, at a
+distance, she says. Then they go back along the terrace, and are met by
+a man-servant in Monsieur the Viscount's livery. Is it possible that
+this is Antoine, with his shock head covered with powder?</p>
+
+<p>Yes; that grating voice which no mental change avails to subdue, is his,
+and he announces that Monsieur le Cur&eacute; has arrived. It is the old Cur&eacute;
+of the village (who has survived the troubles of the Revolution), and
+many are the evenings he spends at the chateau, and many the times in
+which the closing acts of a noble life are recounted to him, the life of
+his old friend whom he hopes ere long to see,&mdash;of Monsieur the
+Preceptor. He is kindly welcomed by Monsieur and by Madame, and they
+pass on together into the chateau. And when Monsieur the Viscount's
+steps have ceased to echo from the terrace, Monsieur Crapaud buries
+himself once more among the violets.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>Monsieur the Viscount is dead, and Madame sleeps also at his side; and
+their possessions have descended to their son.</p>
+
+<p>Not the least valued among them, is a case with a glass front and sides,
+in which, seated upon a stone is the body of a toad stuffed with
+exquisite skill, from whose head gleam eyes of genuine topaz. Above it
+in letters of gold is a date, and this inscription:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+"<span class="smcap">Monsieur the Viscount's Friend.</span>"<br />
+<span class="smcap">Adieu!</span>
+</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="THE_YEW-LANE_GHOSTS" id="THE_YEW-LANE_GHOSTS"></a>THE YEW-LANE GHOSTS.</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i18">"Cowards are cruel."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="f5"><span class="smcap">Old Proverb.</span></p>
+
+
+<p>This story begins on a fine autumn afternoon, when at the end of a field
+over which the shadows of a few wayside trees were stalking like long
+thin giants, a man and a boy sat side by side upon a stile. They were
+not a happy looking pair. The boy looked uncomfortable, because he
+wanted to get away, and dared not go. The man looked uncomfortable also;
+but then no one had ever seen him look otherwise, which was the more
+strange as he never professed to have any object in life but his own
+pleasure and gratification. Not troubling himself with any consideration
+of law or principle&mdash;of his own duty or other people's comfort&mdash;he had
+consistently spent his whole time and energies in trying to be jolly;
+and though now a grown-up young man, had so far had every appearance of
+failing in the attempt. From this it will be seen that he was not the
+most estimable of characters, and we shall have no more to do with him
+than we can help; but as he must appear in the story, he may as well be
+described.</p>
+
+<p>If constant self-indulgence had answered as well as it should have done,
+he would have been a fine-looking young man; as it was, the habits of
+his life were fast destroying his appearance. His hair would have been
+golden if it had been kept clean. His figure was tall and strong; but
+the custom of slinking about places where he had no business to be, and
+lounging in corners where he had nothing to do, had given it such a
+hopeless slouch, that for the matter of beauty he might almost as well
+have been knock-kneed. His eyes would have been handsome if the lids had
+been less red; and if he had ever looked you in the face, you would have
+seen that they were blue. His complexion was fair by nature, and
+discolored by drink. His manner was something between a sneak and a
+swagger, and he generally wore his cap a-one-side, carried his hands in
+his pockets, and a short stick under his arm, and whistled when any one
+passed him. His chief characteristic perhaps was a habit he had of
+kicking. Indoors he kicked the furniture; in the road he kicked the
+stones; if he lounged against a wall he kicked it; he kicked all
+animals, and such human beings as he felt sure would not kick him again.</p>
+
+<p>It should be said here that he had once announced his intention of
+"turning steady, and settling, and getting wed." The object of his
+choice was the prettiest girl in the village, and was as good as she was
+pretty. To say the truth, the time had been when Bessy had not felt
+unkindly towards the yellow-haired lad; but his conduct had long put a
+gulf between them, which only the conceit of a scamp would have
+attempted to pass. However, he flattered himself that he "knew what the
+lasses meant when they said no;" and on the strength of this knowledge
+he presumed far enough to elicit a rebuff so hearty and unmistakable,
+that for a week he was the laughing-stock of the village. There was no
+mistake this time as to what "no" meant; his admiration turned to a
+hatred almost as intense, and he went faster "to the bad" than ever.</p>
+
+<p>It was Bessy's little brother who sat by him on the stile; "Beauty
+Bill," as he was called, from the large share he possessed of the family
+good looks. The lad was one of those people who seem born to be
+favorites. He was handsome and merry and intelligent; and being well
+brought up, was well-conducted and amiable&mdash;the pride and pet of the
+village. Why did Mother Muggins of the shop let the goody side of her
+scales of justice drop the lower by one lollipop for Bill than for any
+other lad, and exempt him by unwonted smiles from her general anathema
+on the urchin race? There were other honest boys in the parish who paid
+for their treacle-sticks in sterling copper of the realm! The very
+roughs of the village were proud of him, and would have showed their
+good nature in ways little to his benefit, had not his father kept a
+somewhat severe watch upon his habits and conduct. Indeed, good parents
+and a strict home counterbalanced the evils of popularity with Beauty
+Bill, and on the whole he was little spoilt, and well deserved the favor
+he met with. It was under cover of friendly patronage that his companion
+was now detaining him; but all the circumstances considered, Bill felt
+more suspicious than gratified, and wished Bully Tom anywhere but where
+he was.</p>
+
+<p>The man threw out one leg before him like the pendulum of a clock&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Night school's opened, eh?" he inquired; and back swung the pendulum
+against Bill's shins.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes;" and the boy screwed his legs on one side.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't go, do you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I do," said Bill, trying not to feel ashamed of the fact. "Father
+can't spare me to the day-school now, so our Bessy persuaded him to let
+me go at nights."</p>
+
+<p>Bully Tom's face looked a shade darker, and the pendulum took a swing
+which it was fortunate the lad avoided; but the conversation continued
+with every appearance of civility.</p>
+
+<p>"You come back by Yew-lane, I suppose?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, there's no one lives your way but old Johnson; you must come back
+alone?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I do," said Bill, beginning to feel vaguely uncomfortable.</p>
+
+<p>"It must be dark now before school looses?" was the next inquiry; and
+the boy's discomfort increased, he hardly knew why, as he answered&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"There's a moon."</p>
+
+<p>"So there is," said Bully Tom, in a tone of polite assent; "and there's
+a weathercock on the church steeple; but I never heard of either of 'em
+coming down to help a body, whatever happened."</p>
+
+<p>Bill's discomfort had become alarm.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, what could happen?" he asked. "I don't understand you."</p>
+
+<p>His companion whistled, looked up in the air, and kicked vigorously, but
+said nothing. Bill was not extraordinarily brave, but he had a fair
+amount both of spirit and sense; and having a shrewd suspicion that
+Bully Tom was trying to frighten him, he almost made up his mind to run
+off then and there. Curiosity, however, and a vague alarm which he could
+not throw off, made him stay for a little more information.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish you'd out with it!" he exclaimed impatiently. "What could
+happen? No one ever comes along Yew-lane; and if they did, they wouldn't
+hurt me."</p>
+
+<p>"I know no one ever comes near it when they can help it," was the reply;
+"so to be sure you couldn't get set upon; and a pious lad of your sort
+wouldn't mind no other kind. Not like ghosts or anything of that."</p>
+
+<p>And Bully Tom looked round at his companion; a fact disagreeable from
+its rarity.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't believe in ghosts," said Bill, stoutly.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course you don't," sneered his tormentor; "you're too well educated.
+Some people does, though. I suppose them that has seen them does. Some
+people thinks that murdered men walk. P'raps some people thinks the man
+as was murdered in Yew-lane walks."</p>
+
+<p>"What man?" gasped Bill, feeling very chilly down the spine.</p>
+
+<p>"Him that was riding by the cross roads and dragged into Yew-lane, and
+his head cut off and never found, and his body buried in the
+churchyard," said Bully Tom, with a rush of superior information; "and
+all I know is, if I thought he walked in Yew-lane, or any other lane, I
+wouldn't go within five mile of it after dusk&mdash;that's all. But then I'm
+not book-larned."</p>
+
+<p>The two last statements were true if nothing else was that the man had
+said; and after holding up his feet and examining his boots with his
+head a-one-side, as if considering their probable efficiency against
+flesh and blood, he slid from his perch, and "loafed" slowly up the
+street, whistling and kicking the stones as he went along. As to Beauty
+Bill, he fled home as fast as his legs would carry him. By the door
+stood Bessy, washing some clothes, who turned her pretty face as he came
+up.</p>
+
+<p>"You're late, Bill," she said. "Go in and get your tea, it's set out.
+It's night-school night, thou knows, and Master Arthur always likes his
+class to time." He lingered, and she continued&mdash;"John Gardener was down
+this afternoon about some potatoes, and he says Master Arthur is
+expecting a friend."</p>
+
+<p>Bill did not heed this piece of news, any more than the slight flush on
+his sister's face as she delivered it; he was wondering whether what
+Bully Tom said was mere invention to frighten him, or whether there was
+any truth in it.</p>
+
+<p>"Bessy!" he said, "was there a man ever murdered in Yew-lane?"</p>
+
+<p>Bessy was occupied with her own thoughts, and did not notice the anxiety
+of the question.</p>
+
+<p>"I believe there was," she answered carelessly, "somewhere about there.
+It's a hundred years ago or more. There's an old gravestone over him in
+the churchyard by the wall, with an odd verse on it. They say the parish
+clerk wrote it. But get your tea, or you'll be late, and father'll be
+angry;" and Bessy took up her tub and departed.</p>
+
+<p>Poor Bill! Then it was too true. He began to pull up his trousers and
+look at his grazed legs; and the thoughts of his aching shins, Bully
+Tom's cruelty, the unavoidable night-school, and the possible ghost,
+were too much for him, and he burst into tears.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">"There are birds out on the bushes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">In the meadows lies the lamb;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">How I wonder if they're ever<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Half as frightened as I am?"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="f2"><span class="smcap">C. F. Alexander.</span></p>
+
+
+<p>The night-school was drawing to a close. The attendance had been good,
+and the room looked cheerful. In one corner the Rector was teaching a
+group of grown-up men, who (better late than never) were zealously
+learning to read; in another the schoolmaster was flourishing his stick
+before a map as he concluded his lesson in geography. By the fire sat
+Master Arthur, the Rector's son, surrounded by his class, and in front
+of him stood Beauty Bill. Master Arthur was very popular with the
+people, especially with his pupils. The boys were anxious to get into
+his class, and loath to leave it. They admired his great height, his
+merry laugh, the variety of walking-sticks he brought with him, and his
+very funny way of explaining pictures. He was not a very methodical
+teacher, and was rather apt to give unexpected lessons on subjects in
+which he happened just then to be interested himself; but he had a clear
+simple way of explaining anything, which impressed it on the memory, and
+he took a great deal of pains in his own way. Bill was especially
+devoted to him. He often wished that Master Arthur could get very rich,
+and take him for his man-servant; he thought he should like to brush his
+clothes and take care of his sticks. He had a great interest in the
+growth of his mustache and whiskers. For some time past Master Arthur
+had had a trick of pulling at his upper lip while he was teaching; which
+occasionally provoked a whisper of "Moostarch, guvernor!" between two
+unruly members of his class; but never till to-night had Bill seen
+anything in that line which answered his expectations. Now, however, as
+he stood before the young gentleman, the fire-light fell on such a
+distinct growth of hair, that Bill's interest became absorbed to the
+exclusion of all but the most perfunctory attention to the lesson on
+hand. Would Master Arthur grow a beard? Would his mustache be short like
+the pictures of Prince Albert, or long and pointed like that of some
+other great man whose portrait he had seen in the papers? He was
+calculating on the probable effect of either style, when the order was
+given to put away books, and then the thought which had been for a time
+diverted came back again,&mdash;his walk home.</p>
+
+<p>Poor Bill! his fears returned with double force from having been for a
+while forgotten. He dawdled over the books, he hunted in wrong places
+for his cap and comforter, he lingered till the last boy had clattered
+through the door-way and left him with the group of elders who closed
+the proceedings and locked up the school. But after this, further delay
+was impossible. The whole party moved out into the moonlight, and the
+Rector and his son, the schoolmaster and the teachers, commenced a
+sedate parish gossip, while Bill trotted behind, wondering whether any
+possible or impossible business would take one of them his way. But when
+the turning-point was reached, the Rector destroyed all his hopes.</p>
+
+<p>"None of us go your way, I think," said he, as lightly as if there were
+no grievance in the case; "however, it's not far. Good-night, my boy!"</p>
+
+<p>And so with a volley of good-nights, the cheerful voices passed on up
+the village. Bill stood till they had quite died away, and then, when
+all was silent, he turned into the lane.</p>
+
+<p>The cold night-wind crept into his ears, and made uncomfortable noises
+among the trees, and blew clouds over the face of the moon. He almost
+wished that there were no moon. The shifting shadows under his feet, and
+the sudden patches of light on unexpected objects, startled him, and he
+thought he should have felt less frightened if it had been quite dark.
+Once he ran for a bit, then he resolved to be brave, then to be
+reasonable; he repeated scraps of lessons, hymns, and last Sunday's
+Collect, to divert and compose his mind; and as this plan seemed to
+answer, he determined to go through the Catechism, both question and
+answer, which he hoped might carry him to the end of his unpleasant
+journey. He had just asked himself a question with considerable dignity,
+and was about to reply, when a sudden gleam of moonlight lit up a round
+object in the ditch. Bill's heart seemed to grow cold, and he thought
+his senses would have forsaken him. Could this be the head of&mdash;? No! on
+nearer inspection it proved to be only a turnip; and when one came to
+think of it, that would have been rather a conspicuous place for the
+murdered man's skull to have been lost in for so many years.</p>
+
+<p>My hero must not be ridiculed too much for his fears. The terrors that
+visit childhood are not the less real and overpowering from being
+unreasonable; and to excite them is wanton cruelty. Moreover, he was but
+a little lad, and had been up and down Yew-lane both in daylight and
+dark without any fears, till Bully Tom's tormenting suggestions had
+alarmed him. Even now, as he reached the avenue of yews from which the
+lane took its name, and passed into their gloomy shade, he tried to be
+brave. He tried to think of the good God Who takes care of His children,
+and to Whom the darkness and the light are both alike. He thought of all
+he had been taught about angels, and wondered if one were near him now,
+and wished that he could see him, as Abraham and other good people had
+seen angels. In short, the poor lad did his best to apply what he had
+been taught to the present emergency, and very likely had he not done so
+he would have been worse; but as it was, he was not a little frightened,
+as we shall see.</p>
+
+<p>Yew-lane&mdash;cool and dark when the hottest sunshine lay beyond it&mdash;a
+loitering-place for lovers&mdash;the dearly loved play-place of generations
+of children on sultry summer days&mdash;looked very grim and vault-like, with
+narrow streaks of moonlight peeping in at rare intervals to make the
+darkness to be felt! Moreover, it was really damp and cold, which is not
+favorable to courage. At a certain point Yew-lane skirted a corner of
+the churchyard, and was itself crossed by another road, thus forming a
+"four-want-way," where suicides were buried in times past. This road
+was the old highroad, where the mail-coach ran, and along which, on such
+a night as this, a hundred years ago, a horseman rode his last ride. As
+he passed the church on his fatal journey, did anything warn him how
+soon his headless body would be buried beneath its shadow? Bill
+wondered. He wondered if he were old or young&mdash;what sort of a horse he
+rode&mdash;whose cruel hands dragged him into the shadow of the yews and slew
+him, and where his head was hidden and why. Did the church look just the
+same, and the moon shine just as brightly, that night a century ago?
+Bully Tom was right. The weathercock and the moon sit still, whatever
+happens. The boy watched the gleaming highroad as it lay beyond the dark
+aisle of trees, till he fancied he could hear the footfalls of the
+solitary horse&mdash;and yet no! The sound was not upon the hard road, but
+nearer; it was not the clatter of hoofs, but something&mdash;and a
+rustle&mdash;and then Bill's blood seemed to freeze in his veins, as he saw a
+white figure, wrapped in what seemed to be a shroud, glide out of the
+shadow of the yews and move slowly down the lane. When it reached the
+road it paused, raised a long arm warningly towards him for a moment,
+and then vanished in the direction of the churchyard.</p>
+
+<p>What would have been the consequence of the intense fright the poor lad
+experienced is more than any one can say, if at that moment the church
+clock had not begun to strike nine. The familiar sound, close in his
+ears, roused him from the first shock, and before it had ceased he
+contrived to make a desperate rally of his courage, flew over the road,
+and crossed the two fields that now lay between him and home without
+looking behind him.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2>
+
+<blockquote><p>"It was to her a real <i>grief of heart</i>, acute, as children's
+sorrows often are.</p>
+
+<p>"We beheld this from the opposite windows&mdash;and, seen thus
+from a little distance, how many of our own and of other
+people's sorrows might not seem equally trivial, and equally
+deserving of ridicule!"</p></blockquote>
+
+<p class="f5"><span class="smcap">Hans Christian Andersen.</span> </p>
+
+
+<p>When Bill got home he found the household busy with a much more
+practical subject than that of ghosts and haunted yew-trees. Bessy was
+ill. She had felt a pain in her side all the day, which towards night
+had become so violent that the doctor was sent for, who had pronounced
+it pleurisy, and had sent her to bed. He was just coming down-stairs as
+Bill burst into the house. The mother was too much occupied about her
+daughter to notice the lad's condition; but the doctor's sharp eyes saw
+that something was amiss, and he at once inquired what it was. Bill
+hammered and stammered, and stopped short. The doctor was such a tall,
+stout, comfortable-looking man, he looked as if he couldn't believe in
+ghosts. A slight frown however had come over his comfortable face, and
+he laid two fingers on Bill's wrist as he repeated his question.</p>
+
+<p>"Please sir," said Bill, "I've seen&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"A mad dog?" suggested the doctor.</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"A mad bull?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir," said Bill, desperately, "I've seen a ghost."</p>
+
+<p>The doctor exploded into a fit of laughter, and looked more comfortable
+than ever.</p>
+
+<p>"And <i>where</i> did we see the ghost?" he inquired in a professional voice,
+as he took up his coat-tails and warmed himself at the fire.</p>
+
+<p>"In Yew-lane, sir; and I'm sure I did see it," said Bill, half crying;
+"it was all in white, and beckoned me."</p>
+
+<p>"That's to say, you saw a white gravestone, or a tree in the moonlight,
+or one of your classmates dressed up in a table-cloth. It was all
+moonshine, depend upon it," said the doctor, with a chuckle at his own
+joke; "take my advice, my boy, and don't give way to foolish fancies."</p>
+
+<p>At this point the mother spoke&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"If his father knew, sir, as he'd got any such fads in his head, he'd
+soon flog 'em out of him."</p>
+
+<p>"His father is a very good one," said the doctor; "a little too fond of
+the stick, perhaps. There," he added good-naturedly, slipping sixpence
+into Bill's hand, "get a new knife, my boy, and cut a good thick stick,
+and the next ghost you meet, lay hold of him and let him taste it."</p>
+
+<p>Bill tried to thank him, but somehow his voice was choked, and the
+doctor turned to his mother.</p>
+
+<p>"The boy has been frightened," he said, "and is upset. Give him some
+supper, and put him to bed." And the good gentleman departed.</p>
+
+<p>Bill was duly feasted and sent to rest. His mother did not mention the
+matter to her husband, as she knew he would be angry; and occupied with
+real anxiety for her daughter, she soon forgot it herself. Consequently,
+the next night-school night she sent Bill to "clean himself," hurried on
+his tea, and packed him off, just as if nothing had happened. The boy's
+feelings since the night of the apparition had not been enviable. He
+could neither eat nor sleep. As he lay in bed at night, he kept his face
+covered with the clothes, dreading that if he peeped out into the room
+the phantom of the murdered horseman would beckon to him from the dark
+corners. Lying so till the dawn broke and the cocks began to crow, he
+would then look cautiously forth, and seeing by the gray light that the
+corners were empty, and that the figure by the door was not the Yew-lane
+Ghost, but his mother's faded print dress hanging on a nail, would drop
+his head and fall wearily asleep. The day was no better, for each hour
+brought him nearer to the next night-school; and Bessy's illness made
+his mother so busy that he never could find the right moment to ask her
+sympathy for his fears, and still less could he feel himself able to
+overcome them. And so the night-school came round again, and there he
+sat, gulping down a few mouthfuls of food, and wondering how he should
+begin to tell his mother that he neither dare, could, nor would, go down
+Yew-lane again at night. He had just opened his lips when the father
+came in, and asked in a loud voice "why Bill was not off." This
+effectually put a stop to any confidences, and the boy ran out of the
+house. Not, however, to school. He made one or two desperate efforts at
+determination, and then gave up altogether. He <i>could</i> not go!</p>
+
+<p>He was wondering what he should do with himself, when it struck him that
+he would go while it was daylight and look for the grave with the odd
+verse of which Bessy had spoken. He had no difficulty in finding it. It
+was marked by a large ugly stone, on which the inscription was green,
+and in some places almost effaced.</p>
+
+
+<h4><span class="smcap">Sacred To The Memory.</span></h4>
+<h4><span class="smcap">Of</span></h4>
+<h3>EPHRAIM GARNETT&mdash;</h3>
+
+
+<p>He had read so far when a voice close by him said&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"You'll be late for school, young chap."</p>
+
+<p>Bill looked up, and to his horror beheld Bully Tom standing in the road
+and kicking the churchyard wall.</p>
+
+<p>"Aren't you going!" he asked, as Bill did not speak.</p>
+
+<p>"Not to-night," said Bill, with crimson cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>"Larking, eh?" said Bully Tom. "My eyes, won't your father give it you!"
+and he began to move off.</p>
+
+<p>"Stop!" shouted Bill in an agony; "don't tell him, Tom. That would be a
+dirty trick. I'll go next time, I will indeed; I can't go to-night. I'm
+not larking, I'm scared. You won't tell?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not this time, maybe," was the reply; "but I wouldn't be in your shoes
+if you play this game next night;" and off he went.</p>
+
+<p>Bill thought it well to quit the churchyard at once for some place where
+he was not likely to be seen; he had never played truant before, and for
+the next hour or two was thoroughly miserable as he slunk about the
+premises of a neighboring farm, and finally took refuge in a shed, and
+began to consider his position. He would remain hidden till nine
+o'clock, and then go home. If nothing were said, well and good; unless
+some accident should afterwards betray him. But if his mother asked any
+questions about the school? He dared not, and he would not, tell a lie;
+and yet what would be the result of the truth coming out? There could be
+no doubt that his father would beat him. Bill thought again, and decided
+that he could bear a thrashing, but not the sight of the Yew-lane Ghost;
+so he remained where he was, wondering how it would be, and how he
+should get over the next school-night when it came. The prospect was so
+hopeless, and the poor lad so wearied with anxiety and wakeful nights,
+that he was almost asleep when he was startled by the church clock
+striking nine; and jumping up he ran home. His heart beat heavily as he
+crossed the threshold; but his mother was still absorbed by thoughts of
+Bessy, and he went to bed unquestioned. The next day too passed over
+without any awkward remarks, which was very satisfactory; but then
+night-school day came again, and Bill felt that he was in a worse
+position than ever. He had played truant once with success; but he was
+aware that it would not do a second time. Bully Tom was spiteful, and
+Master Arthur might come to "look up" his recreant pupil, and then
+Bill's father would know all.</p>
+
+<p>On the morning of the much-dreaded day, his mother sent him up to the
+Rectory to fetch some little delicacy that had been promised for Bessy's
+dinner. He generally found it rather amusing to go there. He liked to
+peep at the pretty garden, to look out for Master Arthur, and to sit in
+the kitchen and watch the cook, and wonder what she did with all the
+dishes and bright things that decorated the walls. To-day all was quite
+different. He avoided the gardens, he was afraid of being seen by his
+teacher, and though cook had an unusual display of pots and pans in
+operation, he sat in the corner of the kitchen indifferent to everything
+but the thought of the Yew-lane Ghost. The dinner for Bessy was put
+between two saucers, and as cook gave it into his hands she asked kindly
+after his sister, and added&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"You don't look over-well yourself, lad! What's amiss?"</p>
+
+<p>Bill answered that he was quite well, and hurried out of the house to
+avoid further inquiries. He was becoming afraid of every one! As he
+passed the garden he thought of the gardener, and wondered if he would
+help him. He was very young and very good-natured; he had taken of late
+to coming to see Bessy, and Bill had his own ideas upon that point;
+finally, he had a small class at the night-school. Bill wondered whether
+if he screwed up his courage to-night to go, John Gardener would walk
+back with him for the pleasure of hearing the latest accounts of Bessy.
+But all hopes of this sort were cut off by Master Arthur's voice
+shouting to him from the garden&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Hi there! I want you, Willie! Come here, I say."</p>
+
+<p>Bill ran through the evergreens, and there among the flower-beds in the
+sunshine he saw&mdash;first, John Gardener driving a mowing-machine over the
+velvety grass under Master Arthur's very nose, so there was no getting a
+private interview with him. Secondly, Master Arthur himself, sitting on
+the ground with his terrier in his lap, directing the proceedings by
+means of a donkey-headed stick with elaborately carved ears; and thirdly
+Master Arthur's friend.</p>
+
+<p>Now little bits of gossip will fly; and it had been heard in the
+dining-room, and conveyed by the parlor-maid to the kitchen, and passed
+from the kitchen into the village, that Master Arthur's friend was a
+very clever young gentleman; consequently Beauty Bill had been very
+anxious to see him. As, however, the clever young gentleman was lying on
+his back on the grass, with his hat flattened over his face to keep out
+the sun, and an open book lying on its face upon his waistcoat to keep
+the place, and otherwise quite immovable, and very like other young
+gentlemen, Bill did not feel much the wiser for looking at him. He had
+a better view of him soon, however, for Master Arthur began to poke his
+friend's legs with the donkey-headed stick, and to exhort him to get up.</p>
+
+<p>"Hi! Bartram, get up! Here's my prime pupil. See what we can turn out.
+You may examine him if you like&mdash;Willie! this gentleman is a very clever
+gentleman, so you must keep your wits about you. <i>He'll</i> put questions
+to you, I can tell you! There's as much difference between his head and
+mine, as between mine and the head of this stick." And Master Arthur
+flourished his "one-legged donkey," as he called it, in the air, and
+added, "Bertram! you lazy lout! <i>will</i> you get up and take an interest
+in my humble efforts for the good of my fellow-creatures?"</p>
+
+<p>Thus adjured, Mr. Bartram sat up with a jerk which threw his book on to
+his boots, and his hat after it, and looked at Bill. Now Bill and the
+gardener had both been grinning, as they always did at Master Arthur's
+funny speeches; but when Bill found the clever gentleman looking at him,
+he straightened his face very quickly. The gentleman was not at all like
+his friend ("nothing near so handsome," Bill reported at home), and he
+had such a large prominent forehead that he looked as if he were bald.
+When he had sat up, he suddenly screwed up his eyes in a very peculiar
+way, pulled out a double gold eye-glass, fixed it on his nose, and
+stared through it for a second; after which his eyes unexpectedly opened
+to their full extent (they were not small ones), and took a sharp survey
+of Bill over the top of his spectacles, and this ended, he lay back on
+his elbow without speaking. Bill then and there decided that Mr. Bartram
+was very proud, rather mad, and the most disagreeable gentleman he ever
+saw; and he felt sure could see as well as he (Bill) could, and only
+wore spectacles out of a peculiar kind of pride and vain-glory which he
+could not exactly specify. Master Arthur seemed to think, at any rate,
+that he was not very civil, and began at once to talk to the boy
+himself.</p>
+
+<p>"Why were you not at school last time, Willie? Couldn't your mother
+spare you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Then why didn't you come?" said Master Arthur, in evident astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>Poor Bill! He stammered as he had stammered before the doctor, and
+finally gasped&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Please, sir, I was scared."</p>
+
+<p>"Scared? What of?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ghosts," murmured Bill in a very ghostly whisper. Mr. Bartram raised
+himself a little. Master Arthur seemed confounded.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, you little goose! How is it you never were afraid before?"</p>
+
+<p>"Please, sir, I saw one the other night."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Bartram took another look over the top of his eye-glass and sat bolt
+upright, and John Gardener stayed his machine and listened, while poor
+Bill told the whole story of the Yew-lane Ghost.</p>
+
+<p>When it was finished, the gardener, who was behind Master Arthur, said&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I've heard something of this, sir, in the village," and then added more
+which Bill could not hear.</p>
+
+<p>"Eh, what?" said Master Arthur. "Willie, take the machine and drive
+about the garden a bit wherever you like.&mdash;Now John."</p>
+
+<p>Willie did not at all like being sent away at this interesting point.
+Another time he would have enjoyed driving over the short grass, and
+seeing it jump up like a little green fountain in front of him; but now
+his whole mind was absorbed by the few words he caught at intervals of
+the conversation going on between John and the young gentleman. What
+could it mean? Mr. Bartram seemed to have awakened to extraordinary
+energy, and was talking rapidly. Bill heard the words "lime-light" and
+"large sheet," and thought they must be planning a magic-lantern
+exhibition, but was puzzled by catching the word "turnip." At last, as
+he was rounding the corner of the bed of geraniums, he distinctly heard
+Mr. Bartram ask,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"They cut the man's head off, didn't they?"</p>
+
+<p>Then they were talking about the ghost, after all! Bill gave the machine
+a jerk, and to his dismay sliced a branch off one of the geraniums. What
+was to be done? He must tell Master Arthur, but he could not interrupt
+him just now; so on he drove, feeling very much dispirited, and by no
+means cheered by hearing shouts of laughter from the party on the grass.
+When one is puzzled and out of spirits, it is no consolation to hear
+other people laughing over a private joke; moreover, Bill felt that if
+they were still on the subject of the murdered man and his ghost, their
+merriment was very unsuitable: Whatever was going on, it was quite
+evident that Mr. Bartram was the leading spirit of it, for Bill could
+see Master Arthur waving the one-legged donkey in an ecstasy, as he
+clapped his friend on the back till the eye-glass danced upon his nose.
+At last Mr. Bartram threw himself back as if closing a discussion, and
+said loud enough for Bill to hear&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"You never heard of a bully who wasn't a coward."</p>
+
+<p>Bill thought of Bully Tom, and how he had said he dared not risk the
+chance of meeting with a ghost, and began to think that this was a
+clever young gentleman, after all. Just then Master Arthur called to
+him, and he took the bit of broken geranium and went.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Willie!" said Master Arthur, "we've been talking over your
+misfortunes&mdash;geranium? fiddlesticks! put it in your button-hole&mdash;your
+misfortunes, I say, and for to-night at any rate we intend to help you
+out of them. John&mdash;ahem!&mdash;will be&mdash;ahem!&mdash;engaged to-night, and unable
+to take his class as usual; but this gentleman has kindly consented to
+fill his place ("Hear, hear," said the gentleman alluded to), and if
+you'll come to-night, like a good lad, he and I will walk back with you;
+so if you do see the ghost, it will be in good company. But mind, this
+is on one condition. You must not say anything about it&mdash;about our
+walking back with you, I mean&mdash;to anybody. Say nothing; but get ready
+and come to school as usual. You understand?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir," said Bill; "and I'm very much obliged to you, sir, and the
+other gentleman as well."</p>
+
+<p>Nothing more was said, so Bill made his best bow and retired. As he went
+he heard Master Arthur say to the gardener&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Then you'll go to the town at once, John. We shall want the things as soon
+as possible. You'd better take the pony, and we'll have the list ready for
+you."</p>
+
+<p>Bill heard no more words; but as he left the grounds the laughter of the
+young gentleman rang out into the road.</p>
+
+<p>What did it all mean?</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2>
+
+<blockquote><p>"The night was now pitmirk; the wind soughed amid the
+headstones and railings of the gentry (for we all must die),
+and the black corbies in the steeple-holes cackled and
+crawed in a fearsome manner."</p></blockquote>
+
+<p class="f5"><span class="smcap">Mansie Wauch.</span> </p>
+
+
+<p>Bill was early at the night-school. No other of his class had arrived,
+so he took the corner by the fire, sacred to first-comers, and watched
+the gradual gathering of the school. Presently Master Arthur appeared,
+and close behind him came his friend. Mr. Bartram Lindsay looked more
+attractive now than he had done in the garden. When standing, he was an
+elegant though plain-looking young man, neat in his dress, and with an
+admirable figure. He was apt to stand very still and silent for a length
+of time, and had a habit of holding his chin up in the air, which led
+some people to say that he "held himself very high." This was the
+opinion that Bill had formed, and he was rather alarmed by hearing
+Master Arthur pressing his friend to take his class instead of the more
+backward one, over which the gardener usually presided; and he was
+proportionably relieved when Mr. Bartram steadily declined.</p>
+
+<p>"To say the truth, Bartram," said the young gentleman, "I am much
+obliged to you, for I am used to my own boys, and prefer them."</p>
+
+<p>Then up came the schoolmaster.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Lindsay going to take John's class? Thank you, sir. I've put out
+the books; if you want anything else, sir, p'raps you'll mention it.
+When they have done reading, perhaps, sir, you will kindly draft them
+off for writing, and take the upper classes in arithmetic, if you don't
+object, sir."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Lindsay did not object.</p>
+
+<p>"If you have a picture or two," he said. "Thank you. Know their letters?
+All right. Different stages of progression. Very good. I've no doubt we
+shall get on together."</p>
+
+<p>"Between ourselves, Bartram," whispered Master Arthur into his friend's
+ear, "the class is composed of boys who ought to have been to school,
+and haven't; or who have been, and are none the better for it. Some of
+them can what they call 'read in the Testament,' and all of them
+confound <i>b</i> and <i>d</i> when they meet with them. They are at one point of
+general information; namely, they all know what you have just told them,
+and will none of them know it by next time. <i>I</i> call it the rag-tag and
+bob-tail class. John says they are like forced tulips. They won't
+blossom simultaneously. He can't get them all to one standard of
+reading."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Lindsay laughed and said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"He had better read less, and try a little general oral instruction.
+Perhaps they don't remember because they can't understand;"&mdash;and the
+Rector coming in at that moment, the business of the evening commenced.</p>
+
+<p>Having afterwards to cross the school for something, Bill passed the new
+teacher and his class, and came to the conclusion that they did "get on
+together," and very well too. The rag-tag and bob-tail shone that night,
+and afterwards were loud in praises of the lesson.</p>
+
+<p>"It was so clear" and "He was so patient." Indeed, patience was one
+great secret of Mr. Lindsay's teaching; he waited so long for an answer
+that he generally got it. His pupils were obliged to exert themselves
+when there was no hope of being passed over, and everybody was waiting.
+Finally, Bill's share of the arithmetic lesson converted him to Master
+Arthur's friend. He <i>was</i> a clever young gentleman, and a kind one too.</p>
+
+<p>The lesson had been so interesting&mdash;the clever young gentleman, standing
+(without his eye-glass) by the blackboard, had been so strict and yet so
+entertaining, was so obviously competent, and so pleasantly kind, that
+Bill, who liked arithmetic, and (like all intelligent children)
+appreciated good teaching, had had no time to think of the Yew-lane
+Ghost till the lesson was ended. It was not till the hymn began (they
+always ended the night-school with singing,) that he remembered it.
+Then, while he was shouting with all his might Bishop Ken's glorious old
+lines&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Keep me, O keep me, King of kings,"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>he caught Mr. Lindsay's eyes fixed on him, and back came the thoughts of
+his terrible fright, with a little shame too at his own timidity. Which
+of us trusts as we should do in the "defence of the Most High"?</p>
+
+<p>Bill lingered as he had done the last time, and went out with the
+"grown-ups." It had been raining, and the ground was wet and sludgy,
+though it was fair overhead. The wind was cold too, and Mr. Lindsay
+began to cough so violently, that Bill felt rather ashamed of taking him
+so far out of his way, through the damp, chilly lane, and began to
+wonder whether he could not summon up courage to go alone. The result
+was, that with some effort he said&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Please, Mr. Lindsay, sir, I think you won't like to come so far this
+cold night. I'll try and manage, if you like."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Lindsay laid one hand on Bill's shoulder, and said quietly&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"No, thank you, my boy, we'll come with you. Thank you, all the same."</p>
+
+<p>"Nevertheless, Bartram," said Master Arthur, "I wish you could keep that
+cough of yours quiet&mdash;it will spoil everything. A boy was eating
+peppermints in the shade of his copybook this very night. I did box his
+ears; but I wish I had seized the goodies, they might have kept you
+quiet."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," was the reply, "I abhor peppermint; but I have got some
+lozenges, if that will satisfy you. And when I smell ghosts, I can
+smother myself in my pocket-handkerchief."</p>
+
+<p>Master Arthur laughed boisterously.</p>
+
+<p>"We shall smell one if brimstone will do it. I hope he won't set himself
+on fire, or the scenic effect will be stronger than we bargained for."</p>
+
+<p>This was the beginning of a desultory conversation carried on at
+intervals between the two young gentlemen, of which, though Bill heard
+every sentence, he couldn't understand one. He made one effort to
+discover what Master Arthur was alluding to, but with no satisfactory
+result as we shall see.</p>
+
+<p>"Please, Master Arthur," he said desperately, "you don't think there'll
+be two ghosts, do you, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>"I should say," said Master Arthur, so slowly and with such gravity that
+Bill felt sure he was making fun of him, "I should say, Bill, that if a
+place is haunted at all there is no limit to the number of ghosts&mdash;fifty
+quite as likely as one.&mdash;What do you you say, Bartram?"</p>
+
+<p>"Quite so," said Bartram.</p>
+
+<p>Bill made no further attempts to understand the mystery. He listened,
+but only grew more and more bewildered at the dark hints he heard, and
+never understood what it all meant until the end came; when (as is not
+uncommon) he wondered how he could have been so stupid, and why he had
+not seen it all from the very first.</p>
+
+<p>They had now reached the turning point, and as they passed into the dark
+lane, where the wind was shuddering and shivering among the trees, Bill
+shuddered and shivered too, and felt very glad that the young gentlemen
+were with him, after all.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Lindsay pulled out his watch.</p>
+
+<p>"Well?" said his friend.</p>
+
+<p>"Ten minutes to nine."</p>
+
+<p>Then they walked on in silence, Master Arthur with one arm through his
+friend's, and the one-legged donkey under the other; and Mr. Lindsay
+with his hand on Bill's shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"I <i>should</i> like a pipe," said Master Arthur presently; "it's so
+abominably damp."</p>
+
+<p>"What a fellow you are!" said Mr. Lindsay. "Out of the question! With
+the wind setting down the lane too! you talk of my cough&mdash;which is
+better, by the bye."</p>
+
+<p>"What a fellow <i>you</i> are!" retorted the other. "Bartram, you are the
+oddest creature I know. Whatever you take up, you do drive at so. Now I
+have hardly got a lark afloat before I'm sick of it. I wish you'd tell
+me two things,&mdash;first, why are you so grave to-night? and secondly, what
+made you take up our young friend's cause so warmly?"</p>
+
+<p>"One answer will serve both questions," said Mr. Lindsay. "The truth is,
+old fellow, our young friend [and Bill felt certain that the "young
+friend" was himself] has a look of a little chap I was chum with at
+school&mdash;Regy Gordon. I don't talk about it often, for I can't very well;
+but he was killed&mdash;think of it, man!&mdash;<i>killed</i> by such a piece of
+bullying as this! When they found him, he was quite stiff and
+speechless; he lived a few hours, but he only said two words,&mdash;my name,
+and amen."</p>
+
+<p>"Amen?" said Master Arthur, inquiringly.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you see when the surgeon said it was no go, they telegraphed for
+his friends; but they were a long way off, and he was sinking rapidly;
+and the old Doctor was in the room, half heart-broken, and he saw Gordon
+move his hands together, and he said, 'If any boy knows what prayers
+Gordon minor has been used to say, let him come and say them by him;'
+and I did. So I knelt by his bed and said them, the old Doctor kneeling
+too and sobbing like a child; and when I had done, Regy moved his lips
+and said 'Amen;' and then he said 'Lindsay!' and smiled, and then&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Master Arthur squeezed his friend's arm tightly, but said nothing, and
+both the young men were silent; but Bill could not restrain his tears.
+It seemed the saddest story he had ever heard, and Mr. Lindsay's hand
+upon his shoulder shook so intolerably while he was speaking, that he
+had taken it away, which made Bill worse, and he fairly sobbed.</p>
+
+<p>"What are you blubbering about, young 'un?" said Mr. Lindsay. "He is
+better off than any of us, and if you are a good boy you will see him
+some day;" and the young gentleman put his hand back again, which was
+steady now.</p>
+
+<p>"What became of the other fellow?" said Master Arthur.</p>
+
+<p>"He was taken away, of course. Sent abroad, I believe. It was hushed
+up.&mdash;And now you know," added Mr. Lindsay, "why my native indolence has
+roused itself to get this cad taught a lesson, which many a time I
+wished to God, when wishes were too late, that that other bully had been
+taught <i>in time</i>. But no one could thrash him; and no one durst
+complain. However, let's change the subject, old fellow! I've got over
+it long since; though sometimes I think the wish to see Regy again helps
+to keep me a decent sort of fellow. But when I saw the likeness this
+morning, it startled me; and then to hear the story, it seemed like a
+dream&mdash;the Gordon affair over again. I suppose rustic nerves are
+tougher; however, your village blackguard shan't have the chance of
+committing murder if we can cure him!"</p>
+
+<p>"I believe you half wanted to undertake the cure yourself," said Master
+Arthur.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Lindsay laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"I did for a minute. Fancy your father's feelings if I had come home
+with a black eye from an encounter with a pot-house bully! You know I
+put my foot into a tender secret of your man's, by offering to be the
+performer!"</p>
+
+<p>"How?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Lindsay lowered his voice, but not so that Bill could not hear what
+he said, and recognize the imitation of John Gardener.</p>
+
+<p>"He said, 'I'd rather do it, if <i>you</i> please, sir. The fact is, I'm
+partial to the young woman myself!' After that, I could but leave John
+to defend his young woman's belongings."</p>
+
+<p>"Gently!" exclaimed Master Arthur. "There is the Yew Walk."</p>
+
+<p>From this moment the conversation was carried on in whispers, to Bill's
+further mystification. The young gentlemen recovered their spirits, and
+kept exploding in smothered chuckles of laughter.</p>
+
+<p>"Cold work for him, if he's been waiting long!" whispered one.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't know. His head's under cover remember!" said the other: and they
+laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"Bet you sixpence he's been smearing his hand with brimstone for the
+last half hour."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't smell him yet, though."</p>
+
+<p>"He'll be a patent aphis-destroyer in the rose-garden for months to
+come."</p>
+
+<p>"Sharp work for the eyelids if it gets under the sheet."</p>
+
+<p>They were now close by the Yews, out of which the wind came with a
+peculiar chill, as if it had been passing through a vault. Mr. Bartram
+Lindsay stooped down, and whispered in Bill's ear: "Listen, my lad. We
+can't go down the lane with you, for we want to see the ghost, but we
+don't want the ghost to see us. Don't be frightened, but go just as
+usual. And mind&mdash;when you see the white figure, point with your own arm
+<i>towards the Church</i> and scream as loud as you like. Can you do this?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir," whispered Bill.</p>
+
+<p>"Then off with you. We shall creep quietly on behind the trees; and you
+shan't be hurt, I promise you."</p>
+
+<p>Bill summoned his courage, and plunged into the shadows. What could be
+the meaning of Mr. Lindsay's strange orders? Should he ever have courage
+to lift his arm towards the church in the face of that awful apparition
+of the murdered man? And if he did, would the unquiet spirit take the
+hint, and go back into the grave, which Bill knew was at that very
+corner to which he must point? Left alone, his terrors began to return;
+and he listened eagerly to see if, amid the ceaseless soughing of the
+wind among the long yew branches, he could hear the rustle of the young
+men's footsteps as they crept behind. But he could distinguish nothing.
+The hish-wishing of the thin leaves was so incessant, the wind was so
+dexterous and tormenting in the tricks it played and the sounds it
+produced, that the whole place seemed alive with phantom rustlings and
+footsteps; and Bill felt as if Master Arthur was right, and that there
+was "no limit" to the number of ghosts!</p>
+
+<p>At last he could see the end of the avenue. There among the last few
+trees was the place where the ghost had appeared. There beyond lay the
+white road, the churchyard corner, and the tall gray tombstone
+glimmering in the moonlight. A few steps more, and slowly from among the
+yews came the ghost as before, and raised its long white arm. Bill
+determined that, if he died for it, he would do as he had been told; and
+lifting his own hand he pointed towards the tombstone, and gave a shout.
+As he pointed, the ghost turned round, and then&mdash;rising from behind the
+tombstone, and gliding slowly to the edge of the wall which separated
+the churchyard from the lower level of the road&mdash;there appeared a sight
+so awful that Bill's shout merged into a prolonged scream of terror.</p>
+
+<p>Truly Master Arthur's anticipations of a "scenic effect" were amply
+realized. The walls and buttresses of the old Church stood out dark
+against the sky; the white clouds sailed slowly by the moon, which
+reflected itself on the damp grass, and shone upon the flat wet
+tombstones till they looked like pieces of water. It was not less bright
+upon the upright ones, upon quaint crosses, short headstones, and upon
+the huge, ungainly memorial of the murdered Ephraim Garnett. But <i>the</i>
+sight on which it shone that night was the figure now standing by
+Ephraim Garnett's grave, and looking over the wall. An awful figure, of
+gigantic height, with ghostly white garments clinging round its headless
+body, and carrying under its left arm the head that should have been
+upon its shoulders. On this there was neither flesh nor hair. It seemed
+to be a bare skull, with fire gleaming through the hollow eye-sockets
+and the grinning teeth. The right hand of the figure was outstretched as
+if in warning; and from the palm to the tips of the fingers was a mass
+of lambent flame. When Bill saw this fearful apparition he screamed with
+hearty good-will; but the noise he made was nothing to the yell of
+terror that came from beneath the shroud of the Yew-lane Ghost, who, on
+catching sight of the rival spectre, flew wildly up the lane, kicking
+the white sheet off as it went, and finally displaying, to Bill's
+amazement, the form and features of Bully Tom. But this was not all. No
+sooner had the first ghost started, than the second (not to be
+behind-hand) jumped nimbly over the wall and gave chase. But fear had
+put wings on to Bully Tom's feet; and the second ghost, being somewhat
+encumbered by his costume, judged it wisdom to stop; and then taking the
+fiery skull in its flaming hands, shied it with such dexterity that it
+hit Bully Tom in the middle of his back, and falling on to the wet
+ground, went out with a hiss. This blow was an unexpected shock to the
+Bully, who thought the ghost must have come up to him with supernatural
+rapidity, and falling on his knees in the mud, began to roar most
+lustily:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Lord, have mercy upon me! I'll never do it no more!"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Lindsay was not likely to alter his opinion on the subject of
+bullies. This one, like others, was a mortal coward. Like other men, who
+have no fear of God before their eyes, he made up for it by having a
+very hearty fear of sickness, death, departed souls, and one or two
+other things, which the most self-willed sinner knows well enough to be
+in the hands of a Power which he cannot see, and does not wish to
+believe in. Bully Tom had spoken the truth when he said that if he
+thought there was a ghost in Yew-lane he wouldn't go near it. If he had
+believed the stories with which he had alarmed poor Bill, the lad's
+evening walk would never have been disturbed, as far as he was
+concerned. Nothing but his spite against Bessy would have made him take
+so much trouble to vex the peace, and stop the schooling, of her pet
+brother; and as it was, the standing alone by the churchyard at night
+was a position so little to his taste, that he had drunk pretty heavily
+in the public-house for half an hour before-hand, to keep up his
+spirits. And now he had been paid back in his own coin, and lay
+grovelling in the mud, and calling profanely on the Lord, whose mercy
+such men always cry for in their trouble, if they never ask it for their
+sins. He was so confused and blinded by drink and fright, that he did
+not see the second ghost divest himself of his encumbrances, or know
+that it was John Gardener, till that rosy-cheeked worthy, his clenched
+hands still flaming with brimstone, danced round him, and shouted
+scornfully, and with that vehemence of aspiration in which he was apt to
+indulge when excited;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Get hup, yer great cowardly booby, will yer? So you thought you was
+coming hout to frighten a little lad, did ye? And you met with one of
+your hown size, did ye? Now <i>will</i> ye get hup and take it like a man, or
+shall I give it you as ye lie there?"</p>
+
+<p>Bully Tom chose the least of two evils, and staggering to his feet with
+an oath, rushed upon John. But in his present condition he was no match
+for the active little gardener, inspired with just wrath and thoughts of
+Bessy; and he then and there received such a sound thrashing as he had
+not known since he first arrogated the character of village bully. He
+was roaring loudly for mercy, and John Gardener was giving him a
+harmless roll in the mud by way of conclusion, when he caught sight of
+the two young gentlemen in the lane,&mdash;Master Arthur in fits of laughter
+at the absurd position of the ex-Yew-lane Ghost, and Mr. Lindsay
+standing still and silent, with folded arms, set lips, and the gold
+eye-glass on his nose. As soon as he saw them, he began to shout,
+"Murder! help!" at the top of his voice.</p>
+
+<p>"I see myself," said Master Arthur, driving his hands contemptuously
+into his pockets,&mdash;"I see myself helping a great lout who came out to
+frighten a child, and can neither defend his own eyes and nose, nor take
+a licking with a good grace when he deserves it!"</p>
+
+<p>Bully Tom appealed to Mr. Lindsay:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Yah! yah!" he howled. "Will you see a man killed for want of help?"</p>
+
+<p>But the clever young gentleman seemed even less inclined to give his
+assistance.</p>
+
+<p>"Killed!" he said contemptuously; "I <i>have</i> seen a lad killed on such a
+night as this, by such a piece of bullying! Be thankful you have been
+stopped in time! I wouldn't raise my little finger to save you from
+twice such a thrashing. It has been fairly earned! Give the ghost his
+shroud, Gardener, and let him go; and recommend him not to haunt
+Yew-lane in future."</p>
+
+<p>John did so, with a few words of parting advice on his own account.</p>
+
+<p>"Be hoff with you," he said. "Master Lindsay, he speaks like a book.
+You're a disgrace to your hage and sect, you are! I'd as soon fight with
+an old char-woman.&mdash;Though bless you, young gentlemen," he added, as
+Bully Tom slunk off muttering, "he is the biggest blackguard in the
+place; and what the Rector'll say, when he comes to know as you've been
+mingled up with him, passes me."</p>
+
+<p>"He'll forgive us, I dare say," said Master Arthur. "I only wish he
+could have seen you emerge from behind that stone! It was a sight for a
+century! I wonder what the youngster thought of it!&mdash;Hi, Willie, here,
+sir! What did you think of the second ghost?"</p>
+
+<p>Bill had some doubts as to the light in which he ought to regard that
+apparition; but he decided on the simple truth.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought it looked very horrid, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"I should hope it did! The afternoon's work of three able-bodied men has
+been marvellously wasted if it didn't. However, I must say you halloed
+out loud enough!"</p>
+
+<p>Bill colored; the more so, as Mr. Lindsay was looking hard at him over
+the top of his spectacles.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you feel rather ashamed of all your fright, now you've seen the
+ghosts without their sheets?" inquired the clever young gentleman.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir," said Bill, hanging his head. "I shall never believe in
+ghosts again, sir, though."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Bartram Lindsay took off his glasses and twiddled them in his
+fingers.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well," he said in a low hurried voice; "I'm not the parson, and I
+don't pretend to say what you should believe and what you shouldn't. We
+know precious little as to how much the spirits of the dead see and know
+of what they have left behind. But I think you may venture to assure
+yourself that when a poor soul has passed the waves of this troublesome
+world, by whatever means, it doesn't come back kicking about under a
+white sheet in dark lanes, to frighten little boys from going to
+school."</p>
+
+<p>"And that's very true, sir," said John Gardener, admiringly.</p>
+
+<p>"So it is," said Master Arthur. "I couldn't have explained that myself,
+Willie; but those are my sentiments; and I beg you'll attend to what Mr.
+Lindsay has told you."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir," said Bill.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Lindsay laughed, though not quite merrily, and said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I could tell him something more, Arthur, though he's too young to
+understand it; namely, that if he lives, the day will come, when he
+would be only too happy if the dead might come back and hold out their
+hands to us, anywhere, and for however short a time."</p>
+
+<p>The young gentleman stopped abruptly; and the gardener heaved a
+sympathetic sigh.</p>
+
+<p>"I tell you what it is, Bartram," muttered Master Arthur, "I suppose I'm
+too young too, for I've had quite enough of the melancholies for one
+night. As to you, you're as old as the hills; but it's time you came
+home; and if I'd known before what you told me to-night, old fellow, you
+shouldn't have come out on this expedition.&mdash;Now, for you, Willie,"
+added the young gentleman, whirling sharply round, "if you're not a
+pattern Solomon henceforth, it won't be the fault of your friends. And
+if wisdom doesn't bring you to school after this, I shall try the
+argument of the one-legged donkey."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think I shall miss next time, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope you won't.&mdash;Now, John, as you've come so far, you may as well
+see the lad home; but don't shake hands with the family in the present
+state of your fists, or you might throw somebody into a fit.
+Good-night!"</p>
+
+<p>Yew-lane echoed a round of "Good-nights," and Bill and the gardener went
+off in high spirits. As they crossed the road, Bill looked round, and
+under the trees saw the young gentlemen strolling back to the Rectory,
+arm in arm. Mr. Bartram Lindsay with his chin high in the air, and
+Master Arthur vehemently exhorting him on some topic, of which he was
+pointing the moral with flourishes of the one-legged donkey.</p>
+
+<p>For those who like to know "what became of" everybody, these facts are
+added:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>The young gentlemen got safely home; and Master Arthur gave such a
+comical account of their adventure, that the Rector laughed too much to
+scold them, even if he had wished.</p>
+
+<p>Beauty Bill went up and down Yew-lane on many a moonlight night after
+this one, but he never saw another ghost, or felt any more fears in
+connection with Ephraim Garnett. To make matters more entirely
+comfortable, however, John kindly took to the custom of walking home
+with the lad after night-school was ended. In return for this attention,
+Bill's family were apt to ask him in for an hour; and by their fireside
+he told the story of the two ghosts so often&mdash;from the manufacture in
+the Rectory barn, to the final apparition at the cross-roads&mdash;that the
+whole family declare they feel just as if they had seen it.</p>
+
+<p>Bessy, under the hands of the cheerful doctor, got quite well, and
+eventually married. As her cottage boasts the finest window plants in
+the village, it is shrewdly surmised that her husband is a gardener.</p>
+
+<p>Bully Tom talked very loudly for some time of "having the law of" the
+rival ghost; but finding, perhaps, that the story did not redound to his
+credit, was unwilling to give it further publicity, and changed his
+mind.</p>
+
+<p>Winter and summer, day and night, sunshine and moonlight, have passed
+over the lane and the churchyard, and the wind has had many a ghostly
+howl among the yews, since poor Bill learnt the story of the murder; but
+he knows now that the true Ephraim Garnett has never been seen on the
+cross-roads since a hundred years ago, and will not be till the Great
+Day.</p>
+
+<p>In the ditch by the side of Yew-lane, shortly after the events I have
+been describing, a little lad found a large turnip, in which some one
+had cut eyes, nose and mouth, and put bits of stick for teeth. The
+turnip was hollow, and inside it was fixed a bit of wax candle. He
+lighted it up, and the effect was so splendid, that he made a show of it
+to his companions at the price of a marble each, who were well
+satisfied. And this was the last of the Yew-lane Ghosts.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Frances Kane's Fortune, by L. T. Meade
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Frances Kane's Fortune
+
+Author: L. T. Meade
+
+Release Date: April 22, 2009 [EBook #28589]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRANCES KANE'S FORTUNE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Juliet Sutherland, and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                        FRANCES KANE'S FORTUNE.
+
+
+
+                                   BY
+
+                              L. T. MEADE,
+
+        AUTHOR OF "HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND," "WATER GIPSIES," ETC.
+
+
+
+
+
+                                CHICAGO:
+
+                          M. A. DONOHUE & CO.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Contents
+
+FRANCES KANE'S FORTUNE.
+MONSIEUR THE VISCOUNT'S FRIEND.
+THE YEW-LANE GHOSTS.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+FRANCES KANE'S FORTUNE.
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+THE LETTER.
+
+
+It was a very sunny June day, and a girl was pacing up and down a
+sheltered path in an old-fashioned garden. She walked slowly along the
+narrow graveled walk, now and then glancing at the carefully trimmed
+flowers of an elaborate ribbon border at her right, and stopping for an
+instant to note the promise of fruit on some well-laden peach and
+pear-trees. The hot sun was pouring down almost vertical rays on her
+uncovered head, but she was either impervious to its power, or, like a
+salamander, she rejoiced in its fierce noonday heat.
+
+"We have a good promise of peaches and pears," she said to herself; "I
+will see that they are sold this year. We will just keep a few for my
+father to eat, but the rest shall go. It is a pity Watkins spends so
+much time over the ribbon border; it does not pay, and it uses up so
+many of our bedding plants."
+
+She frowned slightly as she said these last words, and put up her hand
+to shade her face from the sun, as though for the first time she noticed
+its dazzling light and heat.
+
+"Now I will go and look to the cabbages," she said, continuing her
+meditations aloud. "And those early pease ought to be fit for pulling
+now. Oh! is that you, Watkins? Were you calling me? I wanted to speak to
+you about this border. You must not use up so many geraniums and
+calceolarias here. I don't mind the foliage plants, but the others cost
+too much, and can not be made use of to any profit in a border of this
+kind."
+
+"You can't make a ribbon, what's worthy to be called a ribbon, with
+foliage plants," gruffly retorted the old gardener. "Master would be
+glad to see you in the house, Miss Frances, and yer's a letter what
+carrier has just brought."
+
+"Post at this hour?" responded Frances, a little eagerness and interest
+lighting up her face; "that is unusual, and a letter in the middle of
+the day is quite a treat. Well, Watkins, I will go to my father now, and
+see you at six o'clock in the kitchen garden about the cabbages and
+peas."
+
+"As you please, Miss Frances; the wegitables won't be much growed since
+you looked at them yester-night, but I'm your sarvint, miss. Carrier
+called at the post-office and brought two letters: one for you, and
+t'other for master. I'm glad you're pleased to get 'em, Miss Frances."
+
+Watkins's back was a good deal bent; he certainly felt the heat of the
+sun, and was glad to hobble off into the shade.
+
+"Fuss is no word for her," he said; "though she's a good gel, and means
+well--werry well."
+
+After the old gardener had left her, Frances stood quite still; the sun
+beat upon her slight figure, upon her rippling, abundant dark-brown
+hair, and lighted up a face which was a little hard, a tiny bit soured,
+and scarcely young enough to belong to so slender and lithe a figure.
+The eyes, however, now were full of interest, and the lips melted into
+very soft curves as Frances turned her letter round, examined the
+postmarks, looked with interest at the seal, and studied the
+handwriting. Her careful perusal of the outside of the letter revealed
+at a glance how few she got, and how such a comparatively uninteresting
+event in most lives was regarded by her.
+
+"This letter will keep," she said to herself, slipping it into her
+pocket. "I will hear what father has to tell me first. It is a great
+treat to have an unopened letter to look forward to. I wonder where this
+is from. Who can want to write to me from Australia? If Philip were
+alive--" Here she paused and sighed. "In the first place, I heard of his
+death three years ago; in the second, being alive, why should he write?
+It is ten years since we met."
+
+Her face, which was a very bright and practical one, notwithstanding
+those few hard lines, looked pensive for a moment. Then its habitual
+expression of cheerfulness returned to it, and when she entered the
+house Frances Kane looked as practical and business-like a woman as
+could be found anywhere in the whole of the large parish in the north
+of England where she and her father lived.
+
+Squire Kane, as he was called, came of an old family; and in the days
+before Frances was born he was supposed to be rich. Now, however, nearly
+all his lands were mortgaged, and it was with difficulty that the long,
+low, old-fashioned house, and lovely garden which surrounded it, could
+be kept together. No chance at all would the squire have had of spending
+his last days in the house where he was born, and where many generations
+of ancestors had lived and died, but for Frances. She managed the house
+and the gardens, and the few fields which were not let to surrounding
+farmers. She managed Watkins, too, and the under-gardener, and the two
+men-servants; and, most of all, she managed Squire Kane.
+
+He had been a hale and hearty man in his day, with a vigorous will of
+his own, and a marvelous and fatal facility for getting through money;
+but now he leaned on Frances, was guided by her in all things; never
+took an opinion or spent a shilling without her advice; and yet all the
+time he thought himself to be the ruler, and she the ruled. For Frances
+was very tactful, and if she governed with a rod of iron, she was clever
+enough to incase it well in silk.
+
+"I want you, Frances," called a rather querulous old voice.
+
+The squire was ensconced in the sunniest corner of the sunny old parlor;
+his feet were stretched out on a hassock; he wore a short circular cape
+over his shoulders, and a black velvet skull-cap was pushed a little
+crooked over his high bald forehead. He had aquiline features, an
+aristocratic mouth, and sunken but somewhat piercing eyes. As a rule his
+expression was sleepy, his whole attitude indolent; but now he was
+alert, his deep-set eyes were wide open and very bright, and when his
+daughter came in, he held out a somewhat trembling hand, and drew her to
+his side.
+
+"Sit down, Frances--there, in the sun, it's so chilly in the
+shade--don't get into that corner behind me, my dear; I want to look at
+you. What do you think? I have got a letter, and news--great news! It is
+not often that news comes to the Firs in these days. What do you think,
+Frances? But you will never guess. Ellen's child is coming to live with
+us!"
+
+"What?" said Frances. "What! Little Fluff we used to call her? I don't
+understand you, father; surely Ellen would never part with her child."
+
+"No, my dear, that is true. Ellen and her child were bound up in each
+other; but she is dead--died three months ago in India. I have just
+received a letter from that good-for-nothing husband of hers, and the
+child is to leave school and come here. Major Danvers can't have her in
+India, he says, and her mother's wish was--her mother's last wish--that
+she should make her home with us. She will be here within a week after
+the receipt of this letter, Frances. I call it great news; fancy a young
+thing about the house again!"
+
+Frances Kane had dark, straight brows; they were drawn together now with
+a slight expression of surprise and pain.
+
+"I am not so old, father," she said; "compared to you, I am quite young.
+I am only eight-and-twenty."
+
+"My dear," said the squire, "you were never young. You are a good woman,
+Frances, an excellent, well-meaning woman; but you were never either
+child or girl. Now, this little thing--how long is it since she and her
+mother were here, my love?"
+
+"It was just before Cousin Ellen went to India," responded Frances,
+again knitting her brows, and casting back her memory. "Yes, it was six
+years ago; I remember it, because we planted the new asparagus bed that
+year."
+
+"Ay, ay; and a very productive bed it turned out," responded the squire.
+"Fluff was like a ball then, wasn't she?--all curly locks, and dimples,
+and round cheeks, and big blue eyes like saucers! The merriest little
+kitten--she plagued me, but I confess I liked her. How old would she be
+now, Frances?"
+
+"About seventeen," replied Frances. "Almost a grown-up girl; dear, dear,
+how time does fly! Well, father, I am glad you are pleased. I will read
+the letter, if you will let me, by and by, and we must consult as to
+what room to give the child. I hope she won't find it very dull."
+
+"Not she, my dear, not she. She was the giddiest mortal--always
+laughing, and singing, and skipping about in the sunshine. Dear heart!
+it will do me good to see anything so lively again."
+
+"I am glad she is coming," repeated Frances, rising to her feet.
+"Although you must remember, father, that six years make a change. Ellen
+may not be quite so kittenish and frolicsome now."
+
+"Ellen!" repeated the squire; "I'm not going to call the child anything
+so formal. Fluff she always was and will be with me--a kittenish
+creature with a kittenish name; I used to tell her so, and I expect I
+shall again."
+
+"You forget that she has just lost her mother," said Frances. "They
+loved each other dearly, and you can not expect her not to be changed.
+There is also another thing, father; I am sorry to have to mention it,
+but it is necessary. Does Major Danvers propose to give us an allowance
+for keeping his daughter here? Otherwise it will be impossible for us to
+have her except on a brief visit."
+
+The squire pulled himself with an effort out of his deep arm-chair. His
+face flushed, and his eyes looked angry.
+
+"You are a good woman, Frances, but a bit hard," he said. "You don't
+suppose that a question of mere money would keep Ellen's child away from
+the Firs? While I am here she is sure of a welcome. No, there was
+nothing said about money in this letter, but I have no doubt the money
+part is right enough. Now I think I'll go out for a stroll. The sun is
+going off the south parlor, and whenever I get into the shade I feel
+chilly. If you'll give me your arm, my dear, I'll take a stroll before
+dinner. Dear, dear! it seems to me there isn't half the heat in the sun
+there used to be. Let's get up to the South Walk, Frances, and pace up
+and down by the ribbon border--it's fine and hot there--what I like. You
+don't wear a hat, my dear? quite right--let the sun warm you all it
+can."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+"THIS IS WONDERFUL."
+
+
+It was quite late on that same afternoon before Frances found a leisure
+moment to read her own letter. It was not forgotten as it lay in her
+pocket, but she was in no hurry to ascertain its contents.
+
+"Until it is read it is something to look forward to," she said to
+herself; "afterward--oh, of course there can be nothing of special
+interest in it."
+
+She sighed; strong and special interests had never come in her way.
+
+The afternoon which followed the receipt of the two letters was a
+specially busy one. The squire never grew tired of discussing the news
+which his own letter had brought him. He had a thousand conjectures
+which must be dwelt upon and entered into; how and when had Ellen
+Danvers died? what would the child Ellen be like? which bedroom would
+suit her best? would she like the South Walk as much as the old squire
+did himself? would she admire the ribbon border? would she appreciate
+the asparagus which she herself had seen planted?
+
+The old man was quite garrulous and excited, and Frances was pleased to
+see him so interested in anything. When she had walked with him for
+nearly an hour she was obliged to devote some time to Watkins in the
+vegetable garden; then came dinner; but after that meal there always was
+a lull in the day's occupation for Frances, for the squire went to sleep
+over his pipe, and never cared to be aroused or spoken to until his
+strong coffee was brought to him at nine o'clock.
+
+On this particular evening Frances felt her heart beat with a pleased
+and quickened movement. She had her unopened letter to read. She would
+go to the rose arbor, and have a quiet time there while her father
+slept. She was very fond of Keats, and she took a volume of his poems
+under her arm, for, of course, the letter would not occupy her many
+moments. The rose arbor commanded a full view of the whole garden, and
+Frances made a graceful picture in her soft light-gray dress, as she
+stepped into it. She sat down in one of the wicker chairs, laid her copy
+of Keats on the rustic table, spread the bright shawl on her lap, and
+took the foreign letter out of her pocket.
+
+"It is sure to be nothing in the least interesting," she said to
+herself. "Still, there is some excitement about it till it is opened."
+And as she spoke she moved to the door of the arbor.
+
+Once again she played with the envelope and examined the writing. Then
+she drew a closely written sheet out of its inclosure, spread it open on
+her lap, and began to read.
+
+As she did so, swiftly and silently there rose into her cheeks a
+beautiful bloom. Her eyelids quivered, her hand shook; the bloom was
+succeeded by a pallor. With feverish haste her quick eyes flew over the
+paper. She turned the page and gasped slightly for breath. She raised
+her head, and her big, dark eyes were full of tears, and a radiant,
+tender smile parted her lips.
+
+"Thank God!" she said; "oh, this is wonderful! Oh, thank God!"
+
+Once again she read the letter, twice, three times, four times. Then she
+folded it up, raised it to her lips, and kissed it. This time she did
+not return it to her pocket, but, opening her dress, slipped it inside,
+so that it lay against her heart.
+
+"Miss Frances!" old Watkins was seen hobbling down the path. "You hasn't
+said what's to be done with the bees. They are sure to swarm to-morrow,
+and--and--why, miss, I seem to have startled you like--"
+
+"Oh, not at all, Watkins; I will come with you now, and we will make
+some arrangement about the bees."
+
+Frances came out of the arbor. The radiant light was still in her eyes,
+a soft color mantled her cheeks, and she smiled like summer itself on
+the old man.
+
+He looked at her with puzzled, dull wonder and admiration.
+
+"What's come to Miss Frances?" he said to himself. "She looks rare and
+handsome, and she's none so old."
+
+The question of the bees was attended to, and then Frances paced about
+in the mellow June twilight until it was time for her father to have his
+coffee. She came in then, sat down rather in the shadow, and spoke
+abruptly. Her heart was beating with great bounds, and her voice sounded
+almost cold in her effort to steady it.
+
+"Father, I, too, have had a letter to-day."
+
+"Ay, ay, my love. I saw that the carrier brought two. Was it of any
+importance? If not, we might go on with our 'History of Greece.' I was
+interested in where we left off last night. You might read to me for an
+hour before I go to bed, Frances; unless, indeed, you have anything more
+to say about Fluff, dear little soul! Do you know, it occurred to me
+that we ought to get fresh curtains and knickknacks for her room? It
+ought to look nice for her, dear, bright little thing!"
+
+"So it shall, father." There was no shade of impatience in Frances's
+tone. "We will talk of Fluff presently. But it so happens that my
+letter was of importance. Father, you remember Philip Arnold?"
+
+"Arnold--Arnold? Dimly, my dear, dimly. He was here once, wasn't he? I
+rather fancy that I heard of his death. What about him, Frances?"
+
+Frances placed her hand to her fast-beating heart. Strange--her father
+remembered dimly the man she had thought of, and dreamed of, and
+secretly mourned for for ten long years.
+
+"Philip Arnold is not dead," she said, still trying to steady her voice.
+"It was a mistake, a false rumor. He has explained it--my letter was
+from him."
+
+"Really, my love? Don't you think there is a slight draught coming from
+behind that curtain? I am so sensitive to draughts, particularly after
+hot days. Oblige me, Frances, my dear, by drawing that curtain a little
+more to the right. Ah, that is better. So Arnold is alive. To tell the
+truth, I don't remember him very vividly, but of course I'm pleased to
+hear that he is not cut off in his youth. A tall, good-looking fellow,
+wasn't he? Well, well, this matter scarcely concerns us. How about the
+dimity in the room which will be Fluff's? My dear Frances, what is the
+matter? I must ask you not to fidget so."
+
+Frances sprung suddenly to her feet.
+
+"Father, you must listen to me. I am going to say something which will
+startle you. All these quiet years, all the time which has gone by and
+left only a dim memory of a certain man to you, have been spent by me
+smothering down regrets, stifling my youth, crushing what would have
+made me joyous and womanly--for Philip Arnold has not been remembered at
+all dimly by me, father, and when I heard of his death I lived through
+something which seemed to break the spring of energy and hope in me. I
+did not show it, and you never guessed, only you told me to-day that I
+had never been young, that I had never been either child or girl. Well,
+all that is over now, thank God! hope has come back to me, and I have
+got my lost youth again. You will have two young creatures about the
+house, father, and won't you like it?"
+
+"I don't know," said the squire. He looked up at his daughter in some
+alarm; her words puzzled him; he was suddenly impressed too by the
+brightness in her eyes, and the lovely coloring on her cheeks.
+
+"What is all this excitement, Frances?" he said. "Speak out; I never
+understand riddles."
+
+Frances sat down as abruptly as she had risen.
+
+"The little excitement was a prelude to my letter, dear father," she
+said. "Philip is alive, and is coming to England immediately. Ten years
+ago he saw something in me--I was only eighteen then--he saw something
+which gave him pleasure, and--and--more. He says he gave me his heart
+ten years ago, and now he is coming to England to know if I will accept
+him as my husband. That is the news which my letter contains, father.
+You see, after all, my letter is important--as important as yours."
+
+"Bless me!" said the squire. The expression of his face was not
+particularly gratified; his voice was not too cordial. "A proposal of
+marriage to you, Frances? Bless me!--why, I can scarcely remember the
+fellow. He was here for a month, wasn't he? It was the summer before
+your mother died. I think it is rather inconsiderate of you to tell me
+news of this sort just before I go to bed, my dear. I don't sleep
+over-well, and it is bad to lie down with a worry on your pillow. I
+suppose you want me to answer the letter for you, Frances, but I'll do
+nothing of the kind, I can tell you. If you encouraged the young man
+long ago, you must get out of it as best you can now."
+
+"Out of it, father? Oh, don't you understand?"
+
+"Then you mean to tell me you care for him? You want to marry a fellow
+whom you haven't seen for ten years! And pray what am I to do if you go
+away and leave me?"
+
+"Something must be managed," said Frances.
+
+She rose again. Her eyes no longer glowed happily; her lips, so sweet
+five minutes ago, had taken an almost bitter curve.
+
+"We will talk this over quietly in the morning, dear father," she said.
+"I will never neglect you, never cast you aside; but a joy like this can
+not be put out of a life. That is, it can not be lightly put away. I
+have always endeavored to do my duty--God will help me to do it still.
+Now shall I ring for prayers?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+AFTER TEN YEARS.
+
+
+When Frances got to her room she took out pen and ink, and without a
+moment's hesitation wrote an answer to her letter.
+
+     "MY DEAR PHILIP,--I have not forgotten you--I remember the
+     old times, and all the things to which you alluded in your
+     letter. I thought you were dead, and for the last three or
+     four years always remembered you as one who had quite done
+     with this world. Your letter startled me to-day, but your
+     hope about me has been abundantly fulfilled, for I have
+     never for a moment forgotten you. Philip, you have said very
+     good words to me in your letter, and whatever happens, and
+     however matters may be arranged between us in the future, I
+     shall always treasure the words, and bless you for
+     comforting my heart with them. But, Philip, ten years is a
+     long time--in ten years we none of us stay still, and in ten
+     years some of us grow older than others. I think I am one of
+     those who grow old fast, and nothing would induce me to
+     engage myself to you, or even to tell you that I care for
+     you, until after we have met again. When you reach
+     England--I will send this letter to the address you give me
+     in London--come down here. My dear and sweet mother is dead,
+     but I dare say my father will find you a room at the Firs,
+     and if not, there are good lodgings to be had at the White
+     Hart in the village. If you are of the same mind when you
+     reach England as you were when you wrote this letter, come
+     down to the old place, and let us renew our acquaintance.
+     If, after seeing me, you find I am not the Frances you had
+     in your heart all these years, you have only to go away
+     without speaking, and I shall understand. In any case, thank
+     you for the letter, and believe me, yours faithfully,
+
+                                                  "FRANCES KANE."
+
+This letter was quickly written, as speedily directed and stamped, and,
+wrapping her red shawl over her head, Frances herself went out in the
+silent night, walked half a mile to the nearest pillar-box, kissed the
+letter passionately before she dropped it through the slit, and then
+returned home, with the stars shining over her, and a wonderful new
+peace in her heart. Her father's unsympathetic words were forgotten, and
+she lived over and over again on what her hungry heart had craved for
+all these years.
+
+The next morning she was up early; for the post of housekeeper,
+head-gardener, general accountant, factotum, amanuensis, reader, etc.,
+to John Kane, Esq., of the Firs, was not a particularly light post, and
+required undivided attention, strong brains, and willing feet, from
+early morning to late night every day of the week. Frances was by no
+means a grumbling woman, and if she did not go through her allotted
+tasks with the greatest possible cheerfulness and spirit, she performed
+them ungrudgingly, and in a sensible, matter-of-fact style.
+
+On this particular morning, however, the joy of last night was still in
+her face; as she followed Watkins about, her merry laugh rang in the
+air; work was done in half the usual time, and never done better, and
+after breakfast she was at leisure to sit with her father and read to
+him as long as he desired it.
+
+"Well, Frances," he said, in conclusion, after the reader's quiet voice
+had gone on for over an hour and a half, "you have settled that little
+affair of last night, I presume, satisfactorily. I have thought the
+whole matter over carefully, my love, and I have really come to the
+conclusion that I can not spare you. You see you are, so to speak,
+necessary to me, dear. I thought I would mention this to you now,
+because in case you have not yet written to that young Arnold, it will
+simplify matters for you. I should recommend you not to enter on the
+question of your own feelings at all, but state the fact simply--'My
+father can not spare me.'"
+
+"I wrote to Philip last night," said Frances. "I have neither refused
+him nor accepted him. I have asked him on a visit here; can we put him
+up at the Firs?"
+
+"Certainly, my love; that is a good plan. It will amuse me to have a man
+about the house again, and travelers are generally entertaining. I can
+also intimate to him, perhaps with more propriety than you can, how
+impossible it would be for me to spare you. On the whole, my dear, I
+think you have acted with discernment. You don't age well, Frances, and
+doubtless Arnold will placidly acquiesce in my decision. By all means
+have him here."
+
+"Only I think it right to mention to you, father"--here Frances stood up
+and laid her long, slender white hand with a certain nervous yet
+imperative gesture on the table--"I think it right to mention that if,
+after seeing me, Philip still wishes to make me his wife, I shall accept
+him."
+
+"My dear!" Squire Kane started. Then a satisfied smile played over his
+face. "You say this as a sort of bravado, my dear. But we really need
+not discuss this theme; it positively wearies me. Have you yet made up
+your mind, Frances, what room Ellen's dear child is to occupy?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+FLUFF.
+
+
+The day on which Ellen Danvers arrived at the Firs was long remembered,
+all over the place, as the hottest which had been known in that part of
+the country for many a long year. It was the first week of July, and the
+sun blazed fiercely and relentlessly--not the faintest little zephyr of
+a breeze stirred the air--in the middle of the day, the birds altogether
+ceased singing, and the Firs, lying in its sheltered valley, was hushed
+into a hot, slumberous quiet, during which not a sound of any sort was
+audible.
+
+Even the squire preferred a chair in the south parlor, which was never a
+cool room, and into which the sun poured, to venturing abroad; even he
+shuddered at the thought of the South Walk to-day. He was not
+particularly hot--he was too old for that--but the great heat made him
+feel languid, and presently he closed his eyes and fell into a doze.
+
+Frances, who in the whole course of her busy life never found a moment
+for occasional dozes, peeped into the room, smiled with satisfaction
+when she saw him, tripped lightly across the floor to steal a pillow
+comfortably under his white head, arranged the window-curtains so as to
+shade his eyes, and then ran upstairs with that swift and wonderfully
+light movement which was habitual to her. She had a great deal to do,
+and she was not a person who was ever much affected by the rise or fall
+of the temperature. First of all, she paid a visit to a charming little
+room over the porch. It had lattice windows, which opened like doors,
+and all round the sill, and up the sides, and over the top of the
+window, monthly roses and jasmine, wistaria and magnolia, climbed. A
+thrush had built its nest in the honeysuckle over the porch window, and
+there was a faint sweet twittering sound heard there now, mingled with
+the perfume of the roses and jasmine. The room inside was all white, but
+daintily relieved here and there with touches of pale blue, in the shape
+of bows and drapery. The room was small, but the whole effect was light,
+cool, pure. The pretty bed looked like a nest, and the room, with its
+quaint and lovely window, somewhat resembled a bower.
+
+Frances looked round it with pride, gave one or two finishing touches to
+the flowers which stood in pale-blue vases on the dressing-table, then
+turned away with a smile on her lips. There was another room just
+beyond, known in the house as the guest-chamber proper. It was much more
+stately and cold, and was furnished with very old dark mahogany; but it,
+too, had a lovely view over the peaceful homestead, and Frances's eyes
+brightened as she reflected how she and Ellen would transform the room
+with heaps of flowers, and make it gay and lovely for a much-honored
+guest.
+
+She looked at her watch, uttered a hurried exclamation, fled to her own
+rather insignificant little apartment, and five minutes later ran
+down-stairs, looking very fresh, and girlish, and pretty, in a white
+summer dress. She took an umbrella from the stand in the hall, opened it
+to protect her head, and walked fast up the winding avenue toward the
+lodge gates.
+
+"I hear some wheels, Miss Frances," said Watkins's old wife, hobbling
+out of the house. "Eh, but it is a hot day; we'll have thunder afore
+night, I guess. Eh, Miss Frances, but you do look well, surely."
+
+"I feel it," said Frances, with a very bright smile. "Ah, there's my
+little cousin--poor child! how hot she must be. Well, Fluff, so here you
+are, back with your old Fanny again!"
+
+There was a cry--half of rapture, half of pain--from a very small person
+in the lumbering old trap. The horse was drawn up with a jerk, and a
+girl, with very little of the woman about her, for she was still all
+curls, and curves, and child-like roundness, sprung lightly out of the
+trap, and put her arms round Frances's neck.
+
+"Oh, Fan, I am glad to see you again! Here I am back just the same as
+ever; I haven't grown a bit, and I'm as much a child as ever. How is
+your father? I was always so fond of him. Is he as faddy as of old?
+That's right; my mission in life is to knock fads out of people. Frances
+dear, why do you look at me in that perplexed way? Oh, I suppose because
+I'm in white. But I couldn't wear black on a day like this, as it
+wouldn't make mother any happier to know that every breath I drew was a
+torture. There, we won't talk of it. I have a black sash in my pocket;
+it's all crumpled, but I'll tie it on, if you'll help me. Frances dear,
+you never did think, did you, that trouble would come to me? but it did.
+Fancy Fluff and trouble spoken of in the same breath; it's like putting
+a weight of care on a butterfly; it isn't fair--you don't think it fair,
+do you, Fan?"
+
+The blue eyes were full of tears; the rosy baby lips pouted sorrowfully.
+
+"We won't talk of it now, at any rate, darling," said Frances, stooping
+and kissing the little creature with much affection.
+
+Ellen brightened instantly.
+
+"Of course we won't. It's delicious coming here; how wise it was of
+mother to send me! I shall love being with you more than anything. Why,
+Frances, you don't look a day older than when I saw you last."
+
+"My father says," returned Frances, "that I age very quickly."
+
+"But you don't, and I'll tell him so. Oh, no, he's not going to say
+those rude, unpleasant things when I'm by. How old are you, Fan, really?
+I forget."
+
+"I am twenty-eight, dear."
+
+"Are you?"
+
+Fluff's blue eyes opened very wide.
+
+"You don't look old, at any rate," she said presently. "And I should
+judge from your face you didn't feel it."
+
+The ancient cab, which contained Ellen's boxes and numerous small
+possessions, trundled slowly down the avenue; the girls followed it arm
+in arm. They made a pretty picture--both faces were bright, both pairs
+of eyes sparkled, their white dresses touched, and the dark, earnest,
+and sweet eyes of the one were many times turned with unfeigned
+admiration to the bewitchingly round and baby face of the other.
+
+"She has the innocent eyes of a child of two," thought Frances. "Poor
+little Fluff! And yet sorrow has touched even her!"
+
+Then her pleasant thoughts vanished, and she uttered an annoyed
+exclamation.
+
+"What does Mr. Spens want? Why should he trouble my father to-day of all
+days?"
+
+"What is the matter, Frances?"
+
+"That man in the gig," said Frances. "Do you see him? Whenever he comes,
+there is worry; it is unlucky his appearing just when you come to us,
+Fluff. But never mind; why should I worry you? Let us come into the
+house."
+
+At dinner that day Frances incidentally asked her father what Mr. Spens
+wanted.
+
+"All the accounts are perfectly straight," she said. "What did he come
+about? and he stayed for some time."
+
+The slow blood rose into the old squire's face.
+
+"Business," he said; "a little private matter for my own ear. I like
+Spens; he is a capital fellow, a thorough man of business, with no
+humbug about him. By the way, Frances, he does not approve of our
+selling the fruit, and he thinks we ought to make more of the ribbon
+border. He says we have only got the common yellow calceolarias--he does
+not see a single one of the choicer kinds."
+
+"Indeed!" said Frances. She could not help a little icy tone coming into
+her voice. "Fluff, won't you have some cream with your strawberries?--I
+did not know, father, that Mr. Spens had anything to say of our garden."
+
+"Only an opinion, my dear, and kindly meant. Now, Fluff"--the squire
+turned indulgently to his little favorite--"do you think Frances ought
+to take unjust prejudices?"
+
+"But she doesn't," said Fluff. "She judges by instinct, and so do I.
+Instinct told her to dislike Mr. Spens' back as he sat in his gig, and
+so do I dislike it. I hate those round fat backs and short necks like
+his, and I hate of all things that little self-satisfied air."
+
+"Oh, you may hate in that kind of way if you like," said the squire.
+"Hatred from a little midget like you is very different from Frances's
+sober prejudice. Besides, she knows Mr. Spens; he has been our excellent
+man of business for years. But come, Fluff, I am not going to talk over
+weighty matters with you. Have you brought your guitar? If so, we'll go
+into the south parlor and have some music."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+"FRANCES, YOU ARE CHANGED!"
+
+
+"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight--good--nine, ten,
+eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen--excellent! Oh, how out of breath I
+am, and how hot it is! Is that you, Frances? See, I've been skipping
+just before the south parlor window to amuse the squire for the last
+hour. He has gone to sleep now, so I can stop. Where are you going? How
+nice you look! Gray suits you. Oh, Frances, what extravagance! You have
+retrimmed that pretty shady hat! But it does look well. Now where are
+you off to?"
+
+"I thought I would walk up the road a little way," said Frances. Her
+manner was not quite so calm and assured as usual. "Our old friend
+Philip Arnold is coming to-night, you know, and I thought I would like
+to meet him."
+
+"May I come with you? I know I'm in a mess, but what matter? He's the
+man about whom all the fuss is made, isn't he?"
+
+Frances blushed.
+
+"What do you mean, dear?" she asked.
+
+"Oh, don't I know? I heard you giving directions about his room, and
+didn't I see you walking round and round the garden for nearly two hours
+to-day choosing all the sweetest things--moss roses, and sweetbrier, and
+sprays of clematis? Of course there's a fuss made about him, though
+nothing is said. I know what I shall find him--There, I'm not going to
+say it--I would not vex you for worlds, Fan dear."
+
+Frances smiled.
+
+"I must start now, dear," she said, "or he will have reached the house
+before I leave it. Do you want to come with me, Fluff? You may if you
+like."
+
+"No, I won't. I'm ever so tired, and people who are fussed about are
+dreadfully uninteresting. Do start for your walk, Frances, or you won't
+be in time to welcome your hero."
+
+Frances started off at once. She was amused at Fluff's words.
+
+"It is impossible for the little creature to guess anything," she said
+to herself; "that would never do. Philip should be quite unbiased. It
+would be most unfair for him to come here as anything but a perfectly
+free man. Ten years ago he said he loved me; but am I the same Frances?
+I am older; father says I am old for twenty-eight--then I was eighteen.
+Eighteen is a beautiful age--a careless and yet a grave age. Girls are
+so full of desires then; life stretches before them like a brilliant
+line of light. Everything is possible; they are not really at the top of
+the hill, and they feel so fresh and buoyant that it is a pleasure to
+climb. There is a feeling of morning in the air. At eighteen it is a
+good thing to be alive. Now, at eight-and-twenty one has learned to take
+life hard; a girl is old then, and yet not old enough. She is apt to be
+overworried; I used to be, but not since his letter came, and to-night I
+think I am back at eighteen. I hope he won't find me much altered. I
+hope this dress suits me. It would be awful now, when the cup is almost
+at my lips, if anything dashed it away; but, no! God has been very good
+to me, and I will have faith in Him."
+
+All this time Frances was walking up-hill. She had now reached the
+summit of a long incline, and, looking ahead of her, saw a dusty
+traveler walking quickly with the free-and-easy stride of a man who is
+accustomed to all kinds of athletic exercises.
+
+"That is Philip," said Frances.
+
+Her heart beat almost to suffocation; she stood still for a moment, then
+walked on again more slowly, for her joy made her timid.
+
+The stranger came on. As he approached he took off his hat, revealing a
+very tanned face and light short hair; his well-opened eyes were blue;
+he had a rather drooping mustache, otherwise his face was clean shaven.
+If ten years make a difference in a woman, they often effect a greater
+change in a man. When Arnold last saw Frances he was twenty-two; he was
+very slight then, his mustache was little more than visible, and his
+complexion was too fair. Now he was bronzed and broadened. When he came
+up to Frances and took her hand, she knew that not only she herself,
+but all her little world, would acknowledge her lover to be a very
+handsome man.
+
+"Is that really you, Frances?" he began.
+
+His voice was thoroughly manly, and gave the girl who had longed for him
+for ten years an additional thrill of satisfaction.
+
+"Is that really you? Let me hold your hand for an instant; Frances you
+are changed!"
+
+"Older, you mean, Philip."
+
+She was blushing and trembling--she could not hide this first emotion.
+
+He looked very steadily into her face, then gently withdrew his hand.
+
+"Age has nothing to do with it," he said. "You are changed, and yet
+there is some of the old Frances left. In the old days you had a
+petulant tone when people said things which did not quite suit you; I
+hope--I trust--it has not gone. I am not perfect, and I don't like
+perfection. Yes, I see it is still there. Frances, it is good to come
+back to the old country, and to you."
+
+"You got my letter, Philip?"
+
+"Of course; I answered it. Were you not expecting me this evening?"
+
+"Yes: I came out here on purpose to meet you. What I should have said,
+Philip, was to ask you if you agreed to my proposal."
+
+"And what was that?"
+
+"That we should renew our acquaintance, but for the present both be
+free."
+
+Arnold stopped in his walk, and again looked earnestly at the slight
+girl by his side. Her whole face was eloquent--her eyes were bright with
+suppressed feeling, but her words were measured and cold. Arnold was not
+a bad reader of character. Inwardly he smiled.
+
+"Frances was a pretty girl," he said to himself; "but I never imagined
+she would grow into such a beautiful woman."
+
+Aloud he made a quiet reply.
+
+"We will discuss this matter to-morrow, Frances. Now tell me about your
+father. I was greatly distressed to see by your letter that your mother
+is dead."
+
+"She died eight years ago, Philip. I am accustomed to the world without
+her now; at first it was a terrible place to me. Here we are, in the
+old avenue again. Do you remember it? Let us get under the shade of the
+elms. Oh, Fluff, you quite startled me!"
+
+Fluff, all in white--she was never seen in any other dress, unless an
+occasional black ribbon was introduced for the sake of propriety--came
+panting up the avenue. Her face was flushed, her lips parted, her words
+came out fast and eagerly:
+
+"Quick, Frances, quick! The squire is ill; I tried to awake him, and I
+couldn't. Oh, he looks so dreadful!"
+
+"Take care of Philip, and I will go to him," said Frances. "Don't be
+frightened, Fluff; my father often sleeps heavily. Philip, let me
+introduce my little cousin, Ellen Danvers. Now, Nelly, be on your best
+behavior, for Philip is an old friend, and a person of importance."
+
+"But we had better come back to the house with you, Frances," said
+Arnold. "Your father may be really ill. Miss--Miss Danvers seems
+alarmed."
+
+"But I am not," said Frances, smiling first at Philip and then at her
+little cousin. "Fluff--we call this child Fluff as a pet name--does not
+know my father as I do. He often sleeps heavily, and when he does his
+face gets red, and he looks strange. I know what to do with him. Please
+don't come in, either of you, for half an hour. Supper will be ready
+then."
+
+She turned away, walking rapidly, and a bend in the avenue soon hid her
+from view.
+
+Little Ellen had not yet quite recovered her breath. She stood holding
+her hand to her side, and slightly panting.
+
+"You seem frightened," said Arnold, kindly.
+
+"It is not that," she replied. Her breath came quicker, almost in gasps.
+Suddenly she burst into tears. "It's all so dreadful," she said.
+
+"What do you mean?" said Arnold.
+
+To his knowledge he had never seen a girl cry in his life. He had come
+across very few girls while in Australia. One or two women he had met,
+but they were not particularly worthy specimens of their sex; he had not
+admired them, and had long ago come to the conclusion that the only
+perfect, sweet, and fair girl in existence was Frances Kane. When he saw
+Fluff's tears he discovered that he was mistaken--other women were sweet
+and gracious, other girls were lovable.
+
+"Do tell me what is the matter," he said, in a tone of deep sympathy;
+for these fast-flowing tears alarmed him.
+
+"I'm not fit for trouble," said Fluff. "I'm afraid of trouble, that's
+it. I'm really like the butterflies--I die if there's a cloud. It is not
+long since I lost my mother, and--now, now--I know the squire is much
+more ill than Frances thinks. Oh, I know it! What shall I do if the
+squire really gets very ill--if he--he dies? Oh, I'm so awfully afraid
+of death!"
+
+Her cheeks paled visibly, her large, wide-open blue eyes dilated; she
+was acting no part--her terror and distress were real. A kind of
+instinct told Arnold what to say to her.
+
+"You are standing under these great shady trees," he said. "Come out
+into the sunshine. You are young and apprehensive. Frances is much more
+likely to know the truth about Squire Kane than you are. She is not
+alarmed; you must not be, unless there is really cause. Now is not this
+better? What a lovely rose! Do you know, I have not seen this
+old-fashioned kind of cabbage rose for over ten years!"
+
+"Then I will pick one for you," said Fluff.
+
+She took out a scrap of cambric, dried her eyes like magic, and began to
+flit about the garden, humming a light air under her breath. Her dress
+was of an old-fashioned sort of book-muslin--it was made full and
+billowy; her figure was round and yet lithe, her hair was a mass of
+frizzy soft rings, and when the dimples played in her cheeks, and the
+laughter came back to her intensely blue eyes, Arnold could not help
+saying--and there was admiration in his voice and gaze:
+
+"What fairy godmother named you so appropriately?"
+
+"What do you mean? My name is Ellen."
+
+"Frances called you Fluff; Thistledown would be as admirably
+appropriate."
+
+While he spoke Fluff was handing him a rose. He took it, and placed it
+in his button-hole. He was not very skillful in arranging it, and she
+stood on tiptoe to help him. Just then Frances came out of the house.
+The sun was shining full on the pair; Fluff was laughing, Arnold was
+making a complimentary speech. Frances did not know why a shadow seemed
+to fall between her and the sunshine which surrounded them. She walked
+slowly across the grass to meet them. Her light dress was a little
+long, and it trailed after her. She had put a bunch of Scotch roses into
+her belt. Her step grew slower and heavier as she walked across the
+smoothly kept lawn, but her voice was just as calm and clear as usual as
+she said gently:
+
+"Supper is quite ready. You must be so tired and hungry, Philip."
+
+"Not at all," he said, leaving Fluff and coming up to her side. "This
+garden rests me. To be back here again is perfectly delightful. To
+appreciate an English garden and English life, and--and English
+ladies--here his eyes fell for a brief moment on Fluff--one most have
+lived for ten years in the backwoods of Australia. How is your father,
+Frances? I trust Miss Danvers had no real cause for alarm?"
+
+"Oh, no; Ellen is a fanciful little creature. He did sleep rather
+heavily. I think it was the heat; but he is all right now, and waiting
+to welcome you in the supper-room. Won't you let me show you the way to
+your room? You would like to wash your hands before eating."
+
+Frances and Arnold walked slowly in the direction of the house. Fluff
+had left them; she was engaged in an eager game of play with an
+overgrown and unwieldly pup and a Persian kitten. Arnold had observed
+with some surprise that she had forgotten even to inquire for Mr. Kane.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+"I WILL NOT SELL THE FIRS."
+
+
+On the morning after Arnold's arrival the squire called his daughter
+into the south parlor.
+
+"My love," he said, "I want a word with you."
+
+As a rule Frances was very willing to have words with her father. She
+was always patient and gentle and sweet with him; but she would have
+been more than human if she had not cast some wistful glances into the
+garden, where Philip was waiting for her. He and she also had something
+to talk about that morning, and why did Fluff go out, and play those
+bewitching airs softly to herself on the guitar? And why did she sing in
+that wild-bird voice of hers? and why did Philip pause now and then in
+his walk, as though he was listening--which indeed he was, for it would
+be difficult for any one to shut their ears to such light and
+harmonious sounds. Frances hated herself for feeling jealous. No--of
+course she was not jealous; she could not stoop to anything so mean.
+Poor darling little Fluff! and Philip, her true lover, who had remained
+constant to her for ten long years.
+
+With a smile on her lips, and the old look of patience in her steady
+eyes, she turned her back to the window and prepared to listen to what
+the squire had to say.
+
+"The fact is, Frances--" he began. "Sit down, my dear, sit down; I hate
+to have people standing, it fidgets me so. Oh! you want to be out with
+that young man; well, Fluff will amuse him--dear little thing,
+Fluff--most entertaining. Has a way of soothing a man's nerves, which
+few women possess. You, my dear, have often a most irritating way with
+you; not that I complain--we all have our faults. You inherit this
+intense overwrought sort of manner from your mother, Frances."
+
+Frances, who was standing absolutely quiet and still again, smiled
+slightly.
+
+"You had something to talk to me about," she said, in her gentlest of
+voice.
+
+"To be sure I had. I can tell you I have my worries--wonder I'm
+alive--and since your mother died never a bit of sympathy do I get from
+mortal. There, read that letter from Spens, and see what you make of it.
+Impudent? uncalled for? I should think so; but I really do wonder what
+these lawyers are coming to. Soon there'll be no distinctions between
+man and man anywhere, when a beggarly country lawyer dares to write to a
+gentleman like myself in that strain. But read the letter, Frances;
+you'll have to see Spens this afternoon. _I'm_ not equal to it."
+
+"Let me see what Mr. Spens says," answered Frances.
+
+She took the lawyer's letter from the squire's shaking old fingers, and
+opened it. Then her face became very pale, and as her eyes glanced
+rapidly over the contents, she could not help uttering a stifled
+exclamation.
+
+"Yes, no wonder you're in a rage," said the squire. "The impudence of
+that letter beats everything."
+
+"But what does Mr. Spens mean?" said Frances. "He says here--unless you
+can pay the six thousand pounds owing within three months, his client
+has given him instructions to sell the Firs. What does he mean, father?
+I never knew that we owed a penny. Oh, this is awful!"
+
+"And how do you suppose we have lived?" said the squire, who was feeling
+all that undue sense of irritation which guilty people know so well.
+"How have we had our bread and butter? How has the house been kept up?
+How have the wages been met? I suppose you thought that that garden of
+yours--those vegetables and fruit--have kept everything going? That's
+all a woman knows. Besides, I've been unlucky--two speculations have
+failed--every penny I put in lost in them. Now, what's the matter,
+Frances? You have a very unpleasant manner of staring."
+
+"There was my mother's money," said Frances, who was struggling hard to
+keep herself calm. "That was always supposed to bring in something over
+two hundred pounds a year. I thought--I imagined--that with the help I
+was able to give from the garden and the poultry yard that we--we lived
+within our means."
+
+Her lips trembled slightly as she spoke. Fluff was playing "Sweethearts"
+on her guitar, and Arnold was leaning with his arms folded against the
+trunk of a wide-spreading oak-tree. Was he listening to Fluff, or
+waiting for Frances? She felt like a person struggling through a
+horrible nightmare.
+
+"I thought we lived within our means," she said, faintly.
+
+"Just like you--women are always imagining things. We have no means to
+live on; your mother's money has long vanished--it was lost in that
+silver mine in Peru. And the greater part of the six thousand pounds
+lent by Spens has one way or another pretty nearly shared the same fate.
+I've been a very unlucky man, Frances, and if your mother were here,
+she'd pity me. I've had no one to sympathize with me since her death."
+
+"I do, father," said his daughter. She went up and put her arms round
+his old neck. "It was a shock, and I felt half stunned. But I fully
+sympathize."
+
+"Not that I am going to sell the Firs," said the squire, not returning
+Frances's embrace, but allowing her to take his limp hand within her
+own. "No, no; I've no idea of that. Spens and his client, whoever he is,
+must wait for their money, and that's what you have got to see him
+about, Frances. Come, now, you must make the best terms you can with
+Spens--a woman can do what she likes with a man when she knows how to
+manage."
+
+"But what am I to say, father?"
+
+"Say? Why, that's your lookout. Never heard of a woman yet who couldn't
+find words. Say? Anything in the world you please, provided you give him
+to clearly to understand that come what may I will not sell the Firs."
+
+Frances stood still for two whole minutes. During this time she was
+thinking deeply--so deeply that she forgot the man who was waiting
+outside--she forgot everything but the great and terrible fact that,
+notwithstanding all her care and all her toil, beggary was staring them
+in the face.
+
+"I will see Mr. Spens," she said at last, slowly: "it is not likely that
+I shall be able to do much. If you have mortgaged the Firs to this
+client of Mr. Spens, he will most probably require you to sell, in order
+to realize his money; but I will see him, and let you know the result."
+
+"You had better order the gig, then, and go now; he is sure to be in at
+this hour. Oh, you want to talk to the man that you fancy is in love
+with you; but lovers can wait, and business can't. Understand clearly,
+once for all, Frances, that if the Firs is sold, I die."
+
+"Dear father," said Frances--again she took his unwilling hand in
+hers--"do you suppose I want the Firs to be sold? Don't I love every
+stone of the old place, and every flower that grows here? If words can
+save it, they won't be wanting on my part. But you know better than I do
+that I am absolutely powerless in the matter."
+
+She went out of the room, and the squire sat with the sun shining full
+on him, and grumbled. What was a blow to Frances, a blow which half
+stunned her in its suddenness and unexpectedness, had come gradually to
+the squire. For years past he knew that while his daughter was doing her
+utmost to make two ends meet--was toiling early and late to bring in a
+little money to help the slender household purse--she was only
+postponing an evil day which could never be averted. From the first,
+Squire Kane in his own small way had been a speculator--never at any
+time had he been a lucky one, and now he reaped the results.
+
+After a time he pottered to his feet, and strolled out into the garden.
+Frances was nowhere visible, but Arnold and Ellen were standing under a
+shady tree, holding an animated conversation together.
+
+"Here comes the squire," said Fluff, in a tone of delight. She flew to
+his side, put her hand through his arm, and looked coaxingly and
+lovingly into his face.
+
+"I am so glad you are not asleep," she said. "I don't like you when you
+fall asleep and get so red in the face; you frightened me last night--I
+was terrified--I cried. Didn't I, Mr. Arnold?"
+
+"Yes," replied Arnold, "you seemed a good deal alarmed. Do you happen to
+know where your daughter is, Mr. Kane?"
+
+"Yes; she is going into Martinstown on business for me. Ah, yes, Fluff,
+you always were a sympathizing little woman." Here the squire patted the
+dimpled hand; he was not interested in Philip Arnold's inquiries.
+
+"If Frances is going to Martinstown, perhaps she will let me accompany
+her," said Arnold. "I will go and look for her."
+
+He did not wait for the squire's mumbling reply, but started off quickly
+on his quest.
+
+"Frances does want the gift of sympathy," said the squire, once more
+addressing himself with affection to Ellen. "Do you know, Fluff, that I
+am in considerable difficulty; in short, that I am going through just
+now a terrible trouble--oh, nothing that you can assist me in, dear.
+Still, one does want a little sympathy, and poor dear Frances, in that
+particular, is sadly, painfully deficient."
+
+"Are you really in great trouble?" said Fluff. She raised her eyes with
+a look of alarm.
+
+"Oh, I am dreadfully sorry! Shall I play for you, shall I sing
+something? Let me bring this arm-chair out here by this pear-tree; I'll
+get my guitar; I'll sing you anything you like--'Robin Adair,' or 'Auld
+Robin Gray,' or 'A Man's a Man;' you know how very fond you are of
+Burns."
+
+"You are a good little girl," said the squire. "Place the arm-chair just
+at that angle, my love. Ah, that's good! I get the full power of the sun
+here. Somehow it seems to me, Fluff, that the summers are not half as
+warm as they used to be. Now play 'Bonnie Dundee'--it will be a treat to
+hear you."
+
+Fluff fingered her guitar lovingly. Then she looked up into the wizened,
+discontented face of the old man opposite to her.
+
+"Play," said the squire. "Why don't you begin?"
+
+"Only that I'm thinking," said the spoiled child, tapping her foot
+petulantly. "Squire, I can't help saying it--I don't think you are quite
+fair to Frances."
+
+"Eh, what?" said Squire Kane, in a voice of astonishment.
+"Highty-tighty, what next! Go on with your playing, miss."
+
+"No, I won't! It isn't right of you to say she's not sympathetic."
+
+"Not right of me! What next, I wonder! Let me tell you, Fluff, that
+although you're a charming little chit, you are a very saucy one."
+
+"I don't care whether I'm saucy or not. You ought not to be unfair to
+Frances."
+
+These rebellious speeches absolutely made the squire sit upright in his
+chair.
+
+"What do you know about it?" he queried.
+
+"Because she is sympathetic; she has the dearest, tenderest, most
+unselfish heart in the world. Oh, she's a darling! I love her!"
+
+"Go on with your playing, Fluff," said the squire.
+
+Two bright spots of surprise and anger burned on his cheeks, but there
+was also a reflective look on his face.
+
+Fluff's eyes blazed. Her fair cheeks crimsoned, and she tried to thunder
+out a spirited battle march on her poor little guitar.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+NO OTHER WAY.
+
+
+Arnold went quickly round to the back of the house. Although he had been
+absent for ten years, he still remembered the ways of the old place, and
+knew where to find the almost empty stables, and the coach-houses which
+no longer held conveyances.
+
+"This place requires about four thousand pounds a year to keep it up
+properly," murmured Arnold to himself, "and from the looks of things I
+should say these dear good folks had not as many hundreds. I wonder if
+Frances will have me--I wonder if--" here he paused.
+
+His heart was full of Frances this morning, but it was also full of a
+strange kind of peace and thanksgiving. He was not greatly anxious; he
+had a curious sensation of being rested all over. The fact was, he had
+gone through the most hair-breadth escapes, the most thrilling
+adventures, during the last ten years. He had escaped alive, at the most
+fearful odds. He had known hunger and thirst; he had been many, many
+times face to face with death. For more than half the time of his exile
+things had gone against him, and hard indeed had been his lot; then the
+tide had slowly turned, and after five more years Philip Arnold had been
+able to return to his native land, and had felt that it was allowed to
+him to think with hope of the girl he had always loved.
+
+He was in the same house with Frances now. She had not yet promised to
+be his, but he did not feel anxious. The quiet of the English home, the
+sweet, old-fashioned peace of the garden, the shade under the trees, the
+songs of the old-fashioned home birds, the scent of the old-fashioned
+home flowers, and the bright eyes and gentle voice of the prettiest
+little English girl he had ever seen, had a mesmerizing effect upon him.
+He wanted Frances; Frances was his one and only love; but he felt no
+particular desire to hurry on matters, or to force an answer from her
+until she was ready to give it.
+
+He strolled into the stable-yard, where Pete, the under-gardener,
+message-boy and general factotum, a person whom Watkins, the chief
+manager, much bullied, was harnessing a shaggy little pony to a very
+shaky-looking market cart. The cart wanted painting, the pony grooming,
+and the harness undoubtedly much mending.
+
+"What are you doing, Pete?" said Arnold.
+
+"This yer is for Miss Frances," drawled the lad. "She's going into
+Martinstown, and I'm gwine with her to hold the pony."
+
+"No, you're not," said Arnold. "I can perform that office. Go and tell
+her that I'm ready when she is."
+
+Pete sauntered away, but before he reached the back entrance to the
+house Frances came out. She walked slowly, and when she saw Philip her
+face did not light up. He was startled, not at an obvious, but an
+indefinable change in her. He could not quite tell where it lay, only he
+suddenly knew that she was quite eight-and-twenty, that there were hard
+lines round the mouth which at eighteen had been very curved and
+beautiful. He wished she would wear the pretty hat she had on last
+night; he did not think that the one she had on was particularly
+becoming. Still, she was his Frances, the girl whose face had always
+risen before him during the five years of horror through which he had
+lived, and during the five years of hope which had succeeded them.
+
+He came forward and helped her to get into the little old-fashioned
+market cart. Then, as she gathered up the reins, and the pony was moving
+off, he prepared to vault into the vacant seat by her side. She laid her
+hand on it, however, and turned to him a very sad and entreating face.
+
+"I think you had better not, Philip," she said. "It will be very hot in
+Martinstown to-day. I am obliged to go on a piece of business for my
+father. I am going to see Mr. Spens, our lawyer, and I may be with him
+for some time. It would be stupid for you to wait outside with the pony.
+Pete had better come with me. Go back to the shade of the garden,
+Philip. I hear Fluff now playing her guitar."
+
+"I am going with you," said Arnold. "Forgive me, Frances, but you are
+talking nonsense. I came here to be with you, and do you suppose I mind
+a little extra sunshine?"
+
+"But I am a rather dull companion to-day," she said, still objecting. "I
+am very much obliged to you--you are very kind, but I really have
+nothing to talk about. I am worried about a bit of business of father's.
+It is very good of you, Philip, but I would really rather you did not
+come into Martinstown."
+
+"If that is so, of course it makes a difference," said Arnold. He looked
+hurt. "I won't bother you," he said. "Come back quickly. I suppose we
+can have a talk after dinner?"
+
+"Perhaps so; I can't say. I am very much worried about a piece of
+business of my father's."
+
+"Pete, take your place behind your mistress," said Arnold.
+
+He raised his hat, there was a flush on his face as Frances drove down
+the shady lane.
+
+"I have offended him," she said to herself; "I suppose I meant to. I
+don't see how I can have anything to say to him now; he can't marry a
+beggar; and, besides, I must somehow or other support my father. Yes,
+it's at an end--the brightest of dreams. The cup was almost at my lips,
+and I did not think God would allow it to be dashed away so quickly. I
+must manage somehow to make Philip cease to care for me, but I think I
+am the most miserable woman in the world."
+
+Frances never forgot that long, hot drive into Martinstown. She reached
+the lawyer's house at a little before noon, and the heat was then so
+great that when she found herself in his office she nearly fainted.
+
+"You look really ill, Miss Kane," said the man of business, inwardly
+commenting under his breath on how very rapidly Frances was ageing. "Oh,
+you have come from your father; yes, I was afraid that letter would be a
+blow to him; still, I see no way out of it--I really don't!"
+
+"I have never liked you much, Mr. Spens," said Frances Kane. "I have
+mistrusted you, and been afraid of you; but I will reverse all my former
+opinions--all--now, if you will only tell me the exact truth with regard
+to my father's affairs."
+
+The lawyer smiled and bowed.
+
+"Thank you for your candor," he remarked. "In such a case as yours the
+plain truth is best, although it is hardly palatable. Your father is an
+absolutely ruined man. He can not possibly repay the six thousand pounds
+which he has borrowed. He obtained the money from my client by
+mortgaging the Firs to him. Now my client's distinct instructions are to
+sell, and realize what we can. The property has gone much to seed. I
+doubt if we shall get back what was borrowed; at any rate, land, house,
+furniture, all must go."
+
+"Thank you--you have indeed spoken plainly," said Frances. "One question
+more: when must you sell?"
+
+"In three months from now. Let me see; this is July. The sale will take
+place early in October."
+
+Frances had been sitting. She now rose to her feet.
+
+"And there is really no way out of it?" she said, lingering for a
+moment.
+
+"None; unless your father can refund the six thousand pounds."
+
+"He told me, Mr. Spens, that if the Firs is sold he will certainly die.
+He is an old man, and feeble now. I am almost sure that he speaks the
+truth when he says such a blow will kill him."
+
+"Ah! painful, very," said the lawyer. "These untoward misfortunes
+generally accompany rash speculation. Still, I fear--I greatly
+fear--that this apprehension, if likely to be realized, will not affect
+my client's resolution."
+
+"Would it," said Frances, "would it be possible to induce your client to
+defer the sale till after my father's death? Indeed--indeed--indeed, I
+speak the truth when I say I do not think he will have long to wait for
+his money. Could he be induced to wait, Mr. Spens, if the matter were
+put to him very forcibly?"
+
+"I am sure he could not be induced, Miss Kane; unless, indeed, you could
+manage to pay the interest at five per cent. on his six thousand pounds.
+That is, three hundred a year."
+
+"And then?" Frances's dark eyes brightened.
+
+"I would ask him the question; but such a thing is surely impossible."
+
+"May I have a week to think it over? I will come to you with my decision
+this day week."
+
+"Well, well, I say nothing one way or another. You can't do
+impossibilities, Miss Kane. But a week's delay affects no one, and I
+need not go on drawing up the particulars of sale until I hear from you
+again."
+
+Frances bowed, and left the office without even shaking hands with Mr.
+Spens.
+
+"She's a proud woman," said the lawyer to himself, as he watched her
+driving away. "She looks well, too, when her eyes flash, and she puts on
+that haughty air. Odd that she should be so fond of that cantankerous
+old father. I wonder if the report is true which I heard of an
+Australian lover turning up for her. Well, there are worse-looking women
+than Frances Kane. I thought her very much aged when she first came into
+the office, but when she told me that she didn't much like me, she
+looked handsome and young enough."
+
+Instead of driving home, Frances turned the pony's head in the direction
+of a long shady road which led into a westerly direction away from
+Martinstown. She drove rapidly for about half an hour under the trees.
+Then she turned to the silent Pete.
+
+"Pete, you can go back now to the Firs, and please tell your master and
+Miss Danvers that I shall not be home until late this evening. See, I
+will send this note to the squire."
+
+She tore a piece of paper out of her pocket-book, and scribbled a few
+lines hastily.
+
+     "DEAR FATHER,--I have seen Mr. Spens. Don't despair. I am
+     doing my best for you.
+                         FRANCES."
+
+"I shall be back before nightfall," said Frances, giving the note to the
+lad. "Drive home quickly, Pete. See that Bob has a feed of oats, and a
+groom-down after his journey. I shall be home at latest by nightfall."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+FOR THE SAKE OF THREE HUNDRED A YEAR.
+
+
+For nearly another quarter of a mile Frances walked quickly under the
+friendly elm-trees. Then she came to some massive and beautifully
+wrought iron gates, and paused for an instant, pressing her hand to her
+brow.
+
+"Shall I go on?" said she to herself. "It means giving up Philip--it
+means deliberately crushing a very bright hope."
+
+She remained quite still for several seconds longer. Her lips, which
+were white and tired-looking, moved silently. She raised her eyes, and
+looked full into the blue deep of the sky; and then she turned in at one
+of the gates, and walked up an exquisitely kept carriage drive.
+
+Some ladies in a carriage bowled past her; the ladies bent forward,
+bowed, and smiled.
+
+"Why, that is Frances Kane," they said one to another. "How good of her
+to call--and this is one of Aunt Lucilla's bad days. If she will consent
+to see Frances it will do her good."
+
+Frances walked on. The avenue was considerably over a mile in length.
+Presently she came to smaller gates, which were flung open. She now
+found herself walking between velvety greenswards, interspersed with
+beds filled with all the bright flowers of the season. Not a leaf was
+out of place; not an untidy spray was to be seen anywhere; the garden
+was the perfection of what money and an able gardener could achieve.
+
+The avenue was a winding one, and a sudden bend brought Frances in full
+view of a large, square, massive-looking house--a house which contained
+many rooms, and was evidently of modern date. Frances mounted the steps
+which led to the wide front entrance, touched an electric bell, and
+waited until a footman in livery answered her summons.
+
+"Is Mrs. Passmore at home?"
+
+"I will inquire, madame. Will you step this way?"
+
+Frances was shown into a cool, beautifully furnished morning-room.
+
+"What name, madame?"
+
+"Miss Kane, from the Firs. Please tell Mrs. Passmore that I will not
+detain her long."
+
+The man bowed, and, closing the door softly after him, withdrew.
+
+Her long walk, and all the excitement she had gone through, made Frances
+feel faint. It was past the hour for lunch at the Firs, and she had not
+eaten much at the early breakfast. She was not conscious, however, of
+hunger, but the delicious coolness of the room caused her to close her
+eyes gratefully--gave her a queer sensation of sinking away into
+nothing, and an odd desire, hardly felt before it had vanished, that
+this might really be the case, and so that she might escape the hard
+role of duty.
+
+The rustling of a silk dress was heard in the passage--a quick, light
+step approached--and a little lady most daintily attired, with a
+charming frank face, stepped briskly into the room.
+
+"My dear Frances, this is delightful--how well--no, though, you are not
+looking exactly the thing, poor dear. So you have come to have lunch
+with me; how very, very nice of you! The others are all out, and I am
+quite alone."
+
+"But I have come to see you on business, Carrie."
+
+"After luncheon, then, dear. My head is swimming now, for I have been
+worrying over Aunt Lucilla's accounts. Ah, no, alas! this is not one of
+her good days. Come into the next room, Frances--if you have so little
+time to spare, you busy, busy creature, you can at least talk while we
+eat."
+
+Mrs. Passmore slipped her hand affectionately through Frances's arm, and
+led her across the wide hall to another cool and small apartment where
+covers were already placed for two.
+
+"I am very glad of some lunch, Carrie," said Frances. "I left home early
+this morning. I am not ashamed to say that I am both tired and hungry."
+
+"Eat then, my love, eat--these are lamb cutlets; these pease are not to
+be compared with what you can produce at the Firs, but still they are
+eatable. Have a glass of this cool lemonade. Oh, yes, we will help
+ourselves. You need not wait Smithson."
+
+The footman withdrew. Mrs. Passmore flitted about the table, waiting on
+her guest with a sort of loving tenderness. Then she seated herself
+close to Frances, pretended to eat a mouthful or two, and said suddenly:
+
+"I know you are in trouble. And yet I thought--I hoped--that you would
+be bringing me good news before long. Is it true, Frances, that Philip
+Arnold is really alive after all, and has returned to England?"
+
+"It is perfectly true, Carrie. At this moment Philip is at the Firs."
+
+Mrs. Passmore opened her lips--her bright eyes traveled all over
+Frances's face.
+
+"You don't look well," she said, after a long pause. "I am puzzled to
+account for your not looking well now."
+
+"What you think is not going to happen, Carrie. Philip is not likely to
+make a long visit. He came yesterday; he may go again to-morrow or next
+day. We won't talk of it. Oh, yes, of course it is nice to think he is
+alive and well. Carrie, does your aunt Lucilla still want a companion?"
+
+Mrs. Passmore jumped from her seat--her eyes lighted up; she laid her
+two dimpled, heavily ringed hands on Frances's shoulders.
+
+"My dear, you can't mean it! You can't surely mean that you would come?
+You know what you are to auntie; you can do anything with her. Why, you
+would save her, Frances; you would save us all."
+
+"I do think of accepting the post, if you will give it to me," said
+Frances.
+
+"Give it to you? you darling! As if we have not been praying and longing
+for this for the last two years!"
+
+"But, Carrie, I warn you that I only come because necessity presses
+me--and--and--I must make conditions--I must make extravagant demands."
+
+"Anything, dearest. Is it a salary? Name anything you fancy. You know
+Aunt Lucilla is rolling in money. Indeed, we all have more than we know
+what to do with. Money can't buy everything, Frances. Ah, yes, I have
+proved that over and over again; but if it can buy you, it will for once
+have done us a good turn. What do you want, dear? Don't be afraid to
+name your price--a hundred a year? You shall have it with pleasure."
+
+"Carrie, I know what you will think of me, but if I am never frank again
+I must be now. I don't come here to oblige you, or because I have a
+real, deep, anxious desire to help your aunt. I come--I come alone
+because of a pressing necessity; there is no other way out of it that I
+can see, therefore my demand must be extravagant. If I take the post of
+companion to your aunt Lucilla, I shall want three hundred pounds a
+year."
+
+Mrs. Passmore slightly started, and for the briefest instant a frown of
+disappointment and annoyance knit her pretty brows. Then she glanced
+again at the worn face of the girl who sat opposite to her; the
+steadfast eyes looked down, the long, thin, beautifully cut fingers
+trembled as Frances played idly with her fork and spoon.
+
+"No one could call Frances Kane mercenary," she said to herself. "Poor
+dear, she has some trouble upon her. Certainly her demand is exorbitant;
+never before since the world was known did a companion receive such a
+salary. Still, where would one find a second Frances?"
+
+"So be it, dear," she said, aloud. "I admit that your terms are high,
+but in some ways your services are beyond purchase. No one ever did or
+ever will suit Aunt Lucilla as you do. Now, when will you come?"
+
+"I am not quite sure yet, Carrie, that I can come at all. If I do it
+will probably be in a week from now. Yes, to-morrow week; if I come at
+all I will come then; and I will let you know certainly on this day
+week."
+
+"My dear, you are a great puzzle to me; why can't you make up your mind
+now?"
+
+"My own mind is made up, Carrie, absolutely and fully, but others have
+really to decide for me. I think the chances are that I shall have my
+way. Carrie dear, you are very good; I wish I could thank you more."
+
+"No, don't thank me. When you come you will give as much as you get.
+Your post won't be a sinecure."
+
+"Sinecures never fell in my way," said Frances. "May I see your aunt for
+a few minutes to-day?"
+
+"Certainly, love--you know her room. You will find her very poorly and
+fractious this afternoon. Will you tell her that you are coming to live
+with her, Frances?"
+
+"No; that would be cruel, for I may not be able to come, after all.
+Still, I think I shall spend some time in doing my utmost to help you
+and yours, Carrie."
+
+"God bless you, dear! Now run up to auntie. You will find me in the
+summer-house whenever you like to come down. I hope you will spend the
+afternoon with me, Frances, and have tea; I can send you home in the
+evening."
+
+"You are very kind, Carrie, but I must not stay. I will say good-bye to
+you now, for I must go back to Martinstown for a few minutes early this
+afternoon. Good-bye, thank you. You are evidently a very real friend in
+need."
+
+Frances kissed Mrs. Passmore, and then ran lightly up the broad and
+richly carpeted stairs. Her footsteps made no sound on the thick
+Axminster. She flitted past down a long gallery hung with portraits,
+presently stopped before a baize door, paused for a second, then opened
+it swiftly and went in.
+
+She found herself in an anteroom, darkened and rendered cool with soft
+green silk drapery. The anteroom led to a large room beyond. She tapped
+at the door of the inside room, and an austere-looking woman dressed as
+a nurse opened it immediately. Her face lighted up when she saw Frances.
+
+"Miss Kane, you're just the person of all others my mistress would like
+to see. Walk in, miss, please. Can you stay for half an hour? If so,
+I'll leave you."
+
+"Yes, Jennings. I am sorry Mrs. Carnegie is so ill to-day."
+
+Then she stepped across the carpeted floor, the door was closed behind
+her, and she found herself in the presence of a tall thin woman, who was
+lying full length on a sofa by the open window. Never was there a more
+peevish face than the invalid wore. Her brows were slightly drawn
+together, her lips had fretful curves; the pallor of great pain, of
+intense nervous suffering, dwelt on her brow. Frances went softly up to
+her.
+
+"How do you do, Mrs. Carnegie?" she said, in her gentle voice.
+
+The sound was so low and sweet that the invalid did not even start. A
+smile like magic chased the furrows from her face.
+
+"Sit down, Frances, there's a dear child," she said. "Now, I have been
+wishing for you more than for any one. I'm at my very worst to-day,
+dear. My poor back is so bad--oh, the nerves, dear child, the nerves! I
+really feel that I can not speak a civil word to any one, and Jennings
+is so awkward, painfully awkward--her very step jars me; and why will
+she wear those stiff-starched caps and aprons? But there, few understand
+those unfortunates who are martyrs to nerves."
+
+"You have too much light on your eyes," said Frances. She lowered the
+blind about an inch or two.
+
+"Now tell me, have you been down-stairs to-day?"
+
+"How can you ask me, my love, when I can't even crawl? Besides, I assure
+you, dear, dearest one"--here Mrs. Carnegie took Frances's hand and
+kissed it--"that they dislike having me. Freda and Alicia quite show
+their dislike in their manner. Carrie tries to smile and look friendly,
+but she is nothing better than a hypocrite. I can read through them all.
+They are only civil to me; they only put up with their poor old aunt
+because I am rich, and they enjoy my comfortable house. Ah! they none of
+them know what nerves are--the rack, the tear, to the poor system, that
+overstrained nerves can give. My darling, you understand, you pity me."
+
+"I am always very sorry for you, Mrs. Carnegie, but I think when you are
+better you ought to exert yourself a little more, and you must not
+encourage morbid thoughts. Now shall I tell you what I did with that
+last five-pound note you gave me?"
+
+"Ah, yes, love, that will be interesting. It is nice to feel that even
+such a useless thing as money can make some people happy. Is it really,
+seriously the case, Frances, that there are any creatures so destitute
+in the world as not to know where to find a five-pound note?"
+
+"There are thousands and thousands who don't even know where to find a
+shilling," replied Frances.
+
+Mrs. Carnegie's faded blue eyes lighted up.
+
+"How interesting!" she said. "Why, it must make existence quite keen.
+Fancy being anxious about a shilling! I wish something would make life
+keen for me; but my nerves are in such a state that really everything
+that does not thrill me with torture, palls."
+
+"I will tell you about the people who have to find their shillings,"
+responded Frances.
+
+She talked with animation for about a quarter of an hour, then kissed
+the nervous sufferer, and went away.
+
+Half an hour's brisk walking brought her back to Martinstown. She
+reached the lawyer's house, and was fortunate in finding him within.
+
+"Will you tell your client, Mr. Spens, that if he will hold over the
+sale of the Firs until after my father's death, I will engage to let him
+have five per cent. on his money? I have to-day accepted the post of
+companion to Mrs. Carnegie, of Arden. For this I am to have a salary of
+three hundred pounds a year."
+
+"Bless me!" said the lawyer. "Such a sacrifice! Why! that woman can't
+keep even a servant about her. A heartless, selfish hypochondriac! even
+her nieces will scarcely stay in the house with her. I think she would
+get you cheap at a thousand a year, Miss Kane; but you must be joking."
+
+"I am in earnest," responded Frances. "Please don't make it harder for
+me, Mr. Spens. I know what I am undertaking. Will you please tell your
+client that I can pay him his interest? If he refuses to accept it, I am
+as I was before; if he consents, I go to Arden. You will do me a great
+favor by letting me know his decision as soon as possible."
+
+The lawyer bowed.
+
+"I will do so," he said. Then he added, "I hope you will forgive me,
+Miss Kane, for saying that I think you are a very brave and unselfish
+woman, but I don't believe even you will stand Mrs. Carnegie for long."
+
+"I think you are mistaken," responded Frances, gently. "I do it for the
+sake of three hundred pounds a year, to save the Firs for my father
+during his lifetime."
+
+The lawyer thought he had seldom seen anything sadder than Frances'
+smile. It quite haunted him as he wrote to his client, urging him to
+accept her terms.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+UNDER THE ELMS.
+
+
+Squire Kane had spent by no means an unhappy day. The misfortune, which
+came like a sudden crash upon Frances, he had been long prepared for.
+Only last week Mr. Spens had told him that he might expect some such
+letter as had been put into his hands that morning. He had been a little
+nervous while breaking his news to Frances--a little nervous and a
+little cross. But when once she was told, he was conscious of a feeling
+of relief; for all his hard words to her, he had unbounded faith in this
+clever managing daughter of his; she had got him out of other scrapes,
+and somehow, by hook or by crook, she would get him out of this.
+
+Except for Fluff's rather hard words to him when he spoke to her about
+Frances, he had rather an agreeable day. He was obliged to exert himself
+a little, and the exertion did him good and made him less sleepy than
+usual. Both Fluff and Philip did their best to make matters pass
+agreeably for him, and when Frances at last reached home, in the cool of
+the evening, she found herself in the midst of a very cheerful domestic
+scene.
+
+At this hour the squire was usually asleep in the south parlor; on this
+night he was out-of-doors. His circular cape, it is true, was over his
+shoulders, and Fluff had tucked a white shawl round his knees, but still
+he was sitting out-of-doors, cheering, laughing, and applauding while
+Arnold and Miss Danvers sung to him. Fluff had never looked more lovely.
+Her light gossamery white dress was even more cloudy than usual; a
+softer, richer pink mantled her rounded cheeks; her big blue eyes were
+lustrous, and out of her parted lips poured a melody as sweet as a
+nightingale's. Arnold was standing near her--he also was singing--and as
+Frances approached he did not see her, for his glance, full of
+admiration, was fixed upon Miss Danvers.
+
+"Halloo! here we are, Frances!" called out the squire, "and a right
+jolly time we've all had. I'm out-of-doors, as you see; broken away from
+my leading-strings when you're absent; ah, ah! How late you are, child!
+but we didn't wait dinner. It doesn't agree with me, as you know, to be
+kept waiting for dinner."
+
+"You look dreadfully tired, Frances," said Philip.
+
+He dropped the sheet of music he was holding, and ran to fetch a chair
+for her. He no longer looked at Ellen, for Frances's pallor and the
+strained look in her eyes filled him with apprehension.
+
+"You don't look at all well," he repeated.
+
+And he stood in front of her, shading her from the gaze of the others.
+
+Frances closed her eyes for a second.
+
+"It was a hot, long walk," she said then, somewhat faintly. And she
+looked up and smiled at him. It was the sweetest of smiles, but Arnold,
+too, felt, as well as the lawyer, that there was something unnatural and
+sad in it.
+
+"I don't understand it," he said to himself. "There's some trouble on
+her; what can it be? I'm afraid it's a private matter, for the squire's
+right enough. Never saw the old boy looking jollier." Aloud he said,
+turning to Fluff, "Would it not be a good thing to get a cup of tea for
+Frances? No?--now I insist. I mean you must let us wait on you, Frances;
+Miss Danvers and I will bring the tea out here. We absolutely forbid you
+to stir a step until you have taken it."
+
+His "we" meant "I."
+
+Frances was only too glad to lie back in the comfortable chair, and
+feel, if only for a few minutes, she might acknowledge him her master.
+
+The squire, finding all this fuss about Frances wonderfully uncongenial,
+had retired into the house, and Arnold and Fluff served her
+daintily--Arnold very solicitous for comfort, and Fluff very merry, and
+much enjoying her present office of waiting-maid.
+
+"I wish this tea might last forever," suddenly exclaimed Frances.
+
+Her words were spoken with energy, and her dark eyes, as they glanced at
+Arnold, were full of fire.
+
+It was not her way to speak in this fierce and spasmodic style, and the
+moment the little sentence dropped from her lips she blushed.
+
+Arnold looked at her inquiringly.
+
+"Are you too tired to have a walk with me?" he said. "Not far--down
+there under the shade of the elm-trees. You need not be cruel, Frances.
+You can come with me as far as that."
+
+Frances blushed still more vividly.
+
+"I am really very tired," she answered. There was unwillingness in her
+tone.
+
+Arnold gazed at her in surprise and perplexity.
+
+"Perhaps," he said, suddenly, looking at Fluff, "perhaps, if you are
+quite too tired even to stir a few steps, Frances, Miss Danvers would
+not greatly mind leaving us alone here for a little."
+
+Before she could reply, he went up to the young girl's side and took her
+hand apologetically.
+
+"You don't mind?" he said. "I mean, you won't think me rude when I tell
+you that I have come all the way from Australia to see Frances?"
+
+"Rude? I am filled with delight," said Fluff.
+
+Her eyes danced; she hummed the air of "Sweethearts" quite in an
+obtrusive manner as she ran into the house.
+
+"Oh, squire," she said, running up to the old man, who had seated
+himself in his favorite chair in the parlor. "I have discovered such a
+lovely secret."
+
+"Ah, what may that be, missy? By the way, Fluff, you will oblige me very
+much if you will call Frances here. This paraffine lamp has never been
+trimmed--if I light it, it will smell abominably; it is really careless
+of Frances to neglect my comforts in this way. Oblige me by calling her,
+Fluff; she must have finished her tea by this time."
+
+"I'm not going to oblige you in that way," said Fluff. "Frances is
+particularly engaged--she can't come. Do you know he came all the way
+from Australia on purpose? What can a lamp matter?"
+
+"What a lot of rubbish you're talking, child! Who came from Australia?
+Oh, that tiresome Arnold! A lamp does matter, for I want to read."
+
+"Well, then, I'll attend to it," said Fluff. "What is the matter with
+it?"
+
+"The wick isn't straight--the thing will smell, I tell you."
+
+"I suppose I can put it right. I never touched a lamp before in my life.
+Where does the wick come?"
+
+"Do be careful, Ellen, you will smash that lamp--it cost three and
+sixpence. There, I knew you would; you've done it now."
+
+The glass globe lay in fragments on the floor. Fluff gazed at the broken
+pieces comically.
+
+"Frances would have managed it all right," she said. "What a useless
+little thing I am! I can do nothing but dance and sing and talk. Shall I
+talk to you, squire? We don't want light to talk, and I'm dying to tell
+you what I've discovered."
+
+"Well, child, well--I hate a mess on the floor like that. Well, what is
+it you've got to say to me, Fluff? It's really unreasonable of Frances
+not to come. She must have finished her tea long ago."
+
+"Of course she has finished her tea; she is talking to Mr. Arnold. He
+came all the way from Australia to have this talk with her. I'm so glad.
+You'll find out what a useful, dear girl Frances is by and by, when you
+never have her to trim your lamps."
+
+"What do you mean, you saucy little thing? When I don't have Frances;
+what do you mean?"
+
+"Why, you can't have her when she's--she's married. It must be
+wonderfully interesting to be married; I suppose I shall be some day.
+Weren't you greatly excited long, long ago, when you married?"
+
+"One would think I lived in the last century, miss. As to Frances,
+well--well, she knows my wishes. Where did you say she was? Really, I'm
+very much disturbed to-day; I had a shock, too, this morning--oh!
+nothing that you need know about; only Frances might be reasonable.
+Listen to me, Fluff; your father is in India, and, it so happens, can
+not have you with him at present, and your mother, poor soul, poor, dear
+soul! she's dead; it was the will of Heaven to remove her, but if there
+is a solemn duty devolving upon a girl, it is to see to her parents,
+provided they are with her. Frances has her faults, but I will say, as a
+rule, she knows her duty in this particular."
+
+The squire got up restlessly as he spoke, and, try as she would, Fluff
+found she could no longer keep him quiet in the dark south parlor. He
+went to the open window and called his daughter in a high and peevish
+voice. Frances, however, was nowhere within hearing.
+
+The fact was, when they were quite alone, Philip took her hand and said,
+almost peremptorily:
+
+"There is a seat under the elm-trees; we can talk there without being
+disturbed."
+
+"It has come," thought Frances. "I thought I might have been spared
+to-night. I have no answer ready--I don't know what is before me. The
+chances are that I must have nothing to say to Philip; every chance is
+against our marrying, and yet I can not--I know I can not refuse him
+to-night."
+
+They walked slowly together through the gathering dusk. When they
+reached the seat under the elm-tree Arnold turned swiftly, took
+Frances's hand in his, and spoke.
+
+"Now, Frances, now; and at last!" he said. "I have waited ten years for
+this moment. I have loved you with all my heart and strength for ten
+years."
+
+"It was very--very good of you, Philip."
+
+"Good of me! Why do you speak in that cold, guarded voice? Goodness had
+nothing to say to the matter. I could not help myself. What's the
+matter, Frances? A great change has come over you since the morning. Are
+you in trouble? Tell me what is troubling you, my darling?"
+
+Frances began to cry silently.
+
+"You must not use loving words to me," she said; "they--they wring my
+heart. I can not tell you what is the matter, Philip, at least for a
+week. And--oh! if you would let me answer you in a week--and oh! poor
+Philip, I am afraid there is very little hope."
+
+"Why so, Frances; don't you love me?"
+
+"I--I--ought not to say it. Let me go back to the house now."
+
+"I shall do nothing of the kind. Do you love me?"
+
+"Philip, I said I would give you an answer in a week."
+
+"This has nothing to say to your answer. You surely know now whether you
+love me or not."
+
+"I--Philip, can't you see? Need I speak?"
+
+"I see that you have kept me at a distance, Frances; that you have left
+me alone all day; that you seem very tired and unhappy. What I see--yes,
+what I see--does not, I confess, strike me in a favorable light."
+
+Frances, who had been standing all this time, now laid her hand on
+Arnold's shoulder. Her voice had grown quiet, and her agitation had
+disappeared.
+
+"A week will not be long in passing," she said. "A heavy burden has been
+laid upon me, and the worst part is the suspense. If you have waited
+ten years, you can wait another week, Philip. I can give you no other
+answer to-night."
+
+The hand which unconsciously had been almost caressing in its light
+touch was removed, and Frances returned quickly to the house. She came
+in by a back entrance, and, going straight to her own room, locked the
+door. Thus she could not hear her father when he called her.
+
+But Philip remained for a long time in the elm-walk, hurt, angry, and
+puzzled.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+"FLUFF WILL SUIT HIM BEST."
+
+
+Frances spent a very unhappy night. She could not doubt Philip's
+affection for her, but she knew very little about men, and was just then
+incapable of grasping its depth. Like many another woman, she overlooked
+the fact that in absolutely sacrificing herself she also sacrificed the
+faithful heart of the man who had clung to her memory for ten long
+years.
+
+Frances was too humble to suppose it possible that any man could be in
+serious trouble because he could not win her.
+
+"I know what will happen," she said to herself, as she turned from side
+to side of her hot, unrestful pillow. "I know exactly how things will
+be. The man to whom my father owes the money will accept the interest
+from me. Yes, of course, that is as it should be. That is what I ought
+to wish for and pray for. In about a week from now I shall go to live at
+Arden, and the next few years of my life will be taken up soothing Mrs.
+Carnegie's nerves. It is not a brilliant prospect, but I ought to be
+thankful if in that way I can add to my poor father's life. Of course,
+as soon as I hear from Mr. Spens, I must tell Philip I can have nothing
+to say to him. I must give Philip up. I must pretend that I don't love
+him. Perhaps he will be disappointed for awhile; but of course he will
+get over it. He'll get another wife by and by; perhaps he'll choose
+Fluff. Fluff is just the girl to soothe a man and make him happy. She is
+so bright, and round, and sweet, she has no hard angles anywhere, and
+she is so very pretty. I saw Philip looking at her with great admiration
+to-night. Then she is young, too. In every way she is more suited to
+him than I am. Oh, it won't be at all difficult for Philip to transfer
+his affections to Fluff! Dear little girl, she will make him happy. They
+will both be happy, and I must hide the pain in my heart somehow. I do
+believe, I do honestly believe, that Fluff is more suited to Philip than
+I am; for now and then, even if I had the happiest lot, I must have my
+sad days. I am naturally grave, and sometimes I have a sense of
+oppression. Philip would not have liked me when I was not gay. Some days
+I must feel grave and old, and no man would like that. No doubt
+everything would be for the best; at least, for Philip, and yet how
+much--how much I love him!"
+
+Frances buried her head in the bed-clothes, and sobbed, long and sadly.
+After this fit of crying she fell asleep.
+
+It was early morning, and the summer light was filling the room when she
+woke. She felt calmer now, and she resolutely determined to turn her
+thoughts in practical directions. There was every probability that the
+proposal she had made to Mr. Spens would be accepted, and if that were
+so she had much to do during the coming week.
+
+She rose at her usual early hour, and, going down-stairs, occupied
+herself first in the house, and then with Watkins in the garden. She
+rather dreaded Philip's appearance, but if he were up early he did not
+come out, and when Frances met him at breakfast his face wore a tired,
+rather bored expression. He took little or no notice of her, but he
+devoted himself to Fluff, laughing at her gay witty sallies, and trying
+to draw her out.
+
+After breakfast Frances had a long conversation with her father. She
+then told him what she meant to do in order that he might continue to
+live at the Firs. She told her story in a very simple, ungarnished
+manner, but she said a few words in a tone which rather puzzled the
+squire at the end.
+
+"I will now tell you," she said, "that when Philip wrote to me asking me
+to be his wife I was very, very glad. For all the long years of his
+absence I had loved him, and when I thought he was dead I was
+heart-broken. I meant to marry him after he wrote me that letter, but I
+would not say so at once, for I knew that I had grown much older, and I
+thought it quite possible that when he saw me he might cease to love me.
+That is not the case; last night he let me see into his heart, and he
+loves me very, very deeply. Still, if your creditor consents to the
+arrangement I have proposed, I can not marry Philip--I shall then
+absolutely and forever refuse him. But I do this for you, father, for my
+heart is Philip's. I wish you to understand, therefore, that I could not
+give up more for you than I am doing. It would be a comfort for me if,
+in return, you would give me a little affection."
+
+Frances stood tall and straight and pale by her father's side. She now
+looked full into his face. There were no tears in her eyes, but there
+was the passion of a great cry in the voice which she tried to render
+calm.
+
+The squire was agitated in spite of himself; he was glad Fluff was not
+present. He had an uneasy consciousness of certain words Fluff had said
+to him yesterday.
+
+"You are a good girl, Frances," he said, rising to his feet and laying
+his trembling old hand on her arm. "I love you after my fashion,
+child--I am not a man of many words. By and by, when you are old
+yourself, Frances, you won't regret having done something to keep your
+old father for a short time longer out of his grave. After all, even
+with your utmost endeavor, I am not likely to trouble any one long. When
+I am dead and gone, you can marry Philip Arnold, Frances."
+
+"No father."
+
+Frances's tone was quiet and commonplace now.
+
+"Sit down, please; don't excite yourself. I am not a woman to keep any
+man waiting for me. I trust, long before you are dead, father, Philip
+will be happy with another wife."
+
+"What! Fluff, eh?" said the old man. "What a capital idea! You will
+forgive my saying that she will suit him really much better than you,
+Frances. Ah, there they go down the elm-walk together. She certainly is
+a fascinating little thing. It will comfort you, Frances, to know that
+you do Philip no injury by rejecting him; for he really gets a much more
+suitable wife in that pretty young girl--you are decidedly _passee_, my
+love."
+
+Frances bit her lips hard.
+
+"On the whole, then, you are pleased with what I have done," she said,
+in a constrained voice.
+
+"Very much pleased, my dear. You have acted well, and really with
+uncommon sense for a woman. There is only one drawback that I can see
+to your scheme. While you are enjoying the luxuries and comforts of
+Arden, who is to take care of me at the Firs?"
+
+"I have thought of that," said Frances. "I acknowledge there is a slight
+difficulty; but I think matters can be arranged. First of all, father,
+please disabuse yourself of the idea that I shall be in a state of
+comfort and luxury. I shall be more or less a close prisoner; I shall be
+in servitude. Make of that what you please."
+
+"Yes, yes, my love--a luxurious house, carriages, and horses--an
+affectionate and most devoted friend in Lucilla Carnegie--the daintiest
+living, the most exquisitely furnished rooms. Yes, yes, I'm not
+complaining. I'm only glad your lot has fallen in such pleasant places,
+Frances. Still, I repeat, what is to become of me?"
+
+"I thought Mrs. Cooper, our old housekeeper, would come back and manage
+matters for you, father. She is very skillful and nice, and she knows
+your ways. Watkins quite understands the garden, and I myself, I am
+sure, will be allowed to come over once a fortnight or so. There is one
+thing--you must be very, very careful of your money, and Watkins must
+try to sell all the fruit and vegetables he can. Fluff, of course, can
+not stay here. My next thought is to arrange a home for her, but even if
+I have to leave next week, she need not hurry away at once. Now, father,
+if you will excuse me, I will go out to Watkins, for I have a great deal
+to say to him."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+EDGE TOOLS.
+
+
+"I have something to say to you, Fluff," said Frances.
+
+The young girl was standing in her white dress, with her guitar hung in
+its usual attitude by her side. She scarcely ever went anywhere without
+this instrument, and she was fond of striking up the sweetest, wildest
+songs to its accompaniment at any moment.
+
+Fluff, for all her extreme fairness and babyishness, had not a doll's
+face. The charming eyes could show many emotions, and the curved lips
+reveal many shades either of love or dislike. She had not a passionate
+face; there were neither heights nor depths about little Fluff; but she
+had a very warm heart, and was both truthful and fearless.
+
+She had been waiting in a sheltered part of the garden for over an hour
+for Arnold. He had promised to go down with her to the river--he was to
+sketch, and she was to play. It was intensely hot, even in the shadiest
+part of the squire's garden, but by the river there would be coolness
+and a breeze. Fluff was sweet-tempered, but she did not like to wait an
+hour for any man, and she could not help thinking it aggravating of
+Arnold to go on pacing up and down in the hot sun by the squire's side.
+What could the squire and Arnold have to say to each other? And why did
+the taller and younger man rather stoop as he walked? And why was his
+step so depressed, so lacking in energy that even Fluff, under her shady
+tree in the distance, noticed it?
+
+She was standing so when Frances came up to her; now and then her
+fingers idly touched her guitar, her rosy lips pouted, and her glowing
+dark-blue eyes were fixed reproachfully on Arnold's distant figure.
+
+Frances looked pale and fagged; she was not in the becoming white dress
+which she had worn during the first few days of Arnold's visit; she was
+in gray, and the gray was not particularly fresh nor cool in texture.
+
+"Fluff, I want to speak to you," she said.
+
+And she laid her hand on the girl's shoulder--then her eyes followed
+Fluff's; she saw Arnold, and her cheeks grew a little whiter than
+before.
+
+"Fluff misses him already," she whispered to her heart. "And he likes
+her. They are always together. Yes, I see plainly that I sha'n't do
+Philip any serious injury when I refuse him."
+
+"What is it, Frances?" said Fluff, turning her rather aggrieved little
+face full on the new-comer. "Do you want to say anything to me very
+badly? I do call it a shame of Mr. Arnold; he and the squire have
+chatted together in the South Walk for over an hour. It's just too bad,
+I might have been cooling myself by the river now; I'm frightfully hot."
+
+"No, you're not really very hot," said Frances, in the peculiarly
+caressing tone she always employed when speaking to her little cousin.
+"But I own it is very annoying to have to wait for any one--more
+particularly when you are doing nothing. Just lay your guitar on the
+grass, Fluff, and let us walk up and down under the shade here. I have
+something to say to you, and it will help to pass the time."
+
+Fluff obeyed at once.
+
+"You don't look well, Frances," she said, in her affectionate way, linking
+her hand through her cousin's arm. "I have noticed that you haven't looked
+yourself ever since the day you went to Martinstown--nearly a week ago now.
+Now I wonder at that, for the weather has been so perfect, and everything
+so sweet and nice; and I must say it is a comfort to have a pleasant man
+like Mr. Arnold in the house. I have enjoyed myself during the past week,
+and I greatly wonder you haven't, Frances."
+
+"I am glad you have been happy, dear," said Frances, ignoring the parts
+of Fluff's speech which related to herself. "But it is on that very
+subject I want now to speak to you. You like living at the Firs, don't
+you, Fluff?"
+
+"Why, of course, Frances. It was poor mamma's"--here the blue eyes
+brimmed with tears--"it was darling mother's wish that I should come
+here to live with you and the squire. I never could be so happy anywhere
+as at the Firs; I never, never want to leave it."
+
+"But of course you will leave it some day, little Fluff, for in the
+ordinary course of things you will fall in love and you will marry, and
+when this happens you will love your new home even better than this.
+However, Fluff, we need not discuss the future now, for the present is
+enough for us. I wanted to tell you, dear, that it is very probable,
+almost certain, that I shall have to go away from home. What is the
+matter, Fluff?"
+
+"You go away? Then I suppose that is why you look ill. Oh, how you have
+startled me!"
+
+"I am sorry to have to go, Fluff, and I can not tell you the reason. You
+must not ask me, for it is a secret. But the part that concerns you,
+dear, is that, if I go, I do not see how you can stay on very well at
+the Firs."
+
+"Of course I should not dream of staying, Francie. With you away, and
+Mr. Arnold gone"--here she looked hard into Frances's face--"it would be
+dull. Of course, I am fond of the squire, but I could not do without
+another companion. Where are you going, Frances? Could not I go with
+you?"
+
+"I wish you could, darling. I will tell you where I am going to-morrow
+or next day. It is possible that I may not go, but it is almost certain
+that I shall."
+
+"Oh, I trust, I hope, I pray that you will not go."
+
+"Don't do that, Fluff, for that, too, means a great trouble. Oh, yes, a
+great trouble and desolation. Now, dear, I really must talk to you about
+your own affairs. Leave me out of the question for a few moments, pet. I
+must find out what you would like to do, and where you would like to go.
+If I go away I shall have little or no time to make arrangements for
+you, so I must speak to you now. Have you any friends who would take you
+in until you would hear from your father, Fluff?"
+
+"I have no special friends. There are the Harewoods, but they are silly
+and flirty, and I don't care for them. They talk about dress--you should
+hear how they go on--and they always repeat the silly things the men
+they meet say to them. No, I won't go to the Harewoods. I think if I
+must leave you, Frances, I had better go to my old school-mistress, Mrs.
+Hopkins. She would be always glad to have me."
+
+"That is a good thought, dear. I will write to her to-day just as a
+precautionary measure. Ah, and here comes Philip. Philip, you have tried
+the patience of this little girl very sadly."
+
+In reply to Frances' speech Arnold slightly raised his hat; his face
+looked drawn and worried; his eyes avoided Frances's, but turned with a
+sense of refreshment to where Fluff stood looking cool and sweet, and
+with a world of tender emotion on her sensitive little face.
+
+"A thousand apologies," he said. "The squire kept me. Shall I carry your
+guitar? No, I won't sketch, thanks; but if you will let me lie on my
+back in the long grass by the river, and if you will sing me a song or
+two, I shall be grateful ever after."
+
+"Then I will write to Mrs. Hopkins, Fluff," said Frances. And as the two
+got over a stile which led down a sloping meadow to the river, she
+turned away. Arnold had neither looked at her nor addressed her again.
+
+"My father has been saying something to him," thought Frances. And she
+was right.
+
+The squire was not a man to take up an idea lightly and then drop it. He
+distinctly desired, come what might, that his daughter should not marry
+Arnold; he came to the sage conclusion that the best way to prevent
+such a catastrophe was to see Arnold safely married to some one else.
+The squire had no particular delicacy of feeling to prevent his alluding
+to topics which might be avoided by more sensitive men. He contrived to
+see Arnold alone, and then, rudely, for he did not care to mince his
+words, used expressions the reverse of truthful, which led Arnold, whose
+faith was already wavering in the balance, to feel almost certain that
+Frances never had cared for him, and never would do so. He then spoke of
+Fluff, praising her enthusiastically, and without stint, saying how
+lucky he considered the man who won not only a beautiful, but a wealthy
+bride, and directly suggested to Arnold that he should go in for her.
+
+"She likes you now," said the squire; "bless her little heart, she'd
+like any one who was kind to her. She's just the pleasantest companion
+any man could have--a perfect dear all round. To tell the truth, Arnold,
+even though she is my daughter, I think you are well rid of Frances."
+
+"I'm ashamed to hear you say so, sir. If what you tell me is true, your
+daughter has scarcely behaved kindly to me; but, notwithstanding that, I
+consider Frances quite the noblest woman I know."
+
+"Pshaw!" said the squire. "You agree with Fluff--she's always praising
+her, too. Of course, I have nothing to say against my daughter--she's my
+own uprearing, so it would ill beseem me to run her down. But for a
+wife, give me a fresh little soft roundabout, like Fluff yonder."
+
+Arnold bit his lip.
+
+"You have spoken frankly to me, and I thank you," he said. "If I am so
+unfortunate as not to win Miss Kane's regard, there is little use in my
+prolonging my visit here; but I have yet to hear her decision from her
+own lips. If you will allow me, I will leave you now, squire, for I
+promised Miss Danvers to spend some of this afternoon with her by the
+river."
+
+"With Fluff? Little puss--very good--very good--Ah!
+
+     'The time I've spent in wooing'
+
+never wasted, my boy--never wasted. I wish you all success from the
+bottom of my heart."
+
+"Insufferable old idiot!" growled Arnold, under his breath.
+
+But he was thoroughly hurt and annoyed, and when he saw Frances, could
+not bring himself even to say a word to her.
+
+The squire went back to the house to enjoy his afternoon nap, and to
+reflect comfortably on the delicious fact that he had done himself a
+good turn.
+
+"There is no use playing with edge tools," he murmured. "Frances means
+well, but she confessed to me she loved him. What more likely, then,
+that she would accept him, and, notwithstanding her good resolutions,
+leave her poor old father in the lurch? If Frances accepts Arnold, it
+will be ruin to me, and it simply must be prevented at all hazards."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+THE CUNNING LITTLE MOUSE.
+
+
+Fluff found her companion strangely dull. They reached the river, where
+Arnold, true to his promise, did stretch himself at full length in the
+long fragrant grass; and Fluff, true to her promise, touched her guitar
+gently, and gently, softly, and sympathetically sung a song or two. She
+sung about the "Auld acquaintance" who should never be forgot; she sung
+of "Robin Adair;" and, lastly, her clear little notes warbled out the
+exquisite Irish melody, "She is far from the land." Never had Fluff sung
+better. She threw feeling and sympathy into her notes--in short, she
+excelled herself in her desire to please. But when at the end of the
+third song Arnold still made no response, when not the flicker of an
+eyelid or the faintest dawn of a smile showed either approbation or
+pleasure, the spoiled child threw her guitar aside, and spoke pettishly.
+
+"I won't amuse you any more," she said. "I don't like sulky people; I am
+going home to my darling Frances. She is often troubled--oh, yes, she
+knows what trouble is--but she never sulks, never!"
+
+"Look here, Fluff," said Arnold. "I may call you Fluff, may I not?"
+
+"I don't mind."
+
+Fluff's big eyes began to dilate. She stretched out her hand to draw
+her guitar once more to her side. She was evidently willing to be
+reasonable.
+
+"Look here," repeated Arnold. He rose hastily, and leaning on a low wall
+which stood near, looked down at the bright little girl at his feet.
+"Fluff," he said, "should you greatly mind if I threw conventionality to
+the winds, and spoke frankly to you?"
+
+"I should not mind at all," said Fluff. "I don't know what you have got
+to say, but I hate conventionalities."
+
+"The fact is, I am very much bothered."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"And I haven't a soul to consult."
+
+Another "Oh!" and an upward glance of two lovely long-fringed eyes.
+
+"And I think you have a kind, affectionate heart, Fluff."
+
+"I have."
+
+"And you won't misunderstand a man who is half distracted?"
+
+"I am sorry you are half distracted. No, I won't misunderstand you."
+
+"That is right, and what I expected. I was thinking of all this, and
+wondering if I might speak frankly to you when you were singing those
+songs. That is the reason I did not applaud you, or say thank you, or
+anything else commonplace."
+
+"I understand now," said Fluff. "I'm very glad. I was puzzled at first,
+and I thought you rude. Now I quite understand."
+
+"Thank you, Fluff; if I may sit by your side I will tell you the whole
+story. The fact is, I want you to help me, but you can only do so by
+knowing everything. Why, what is the matter? Are you suddenly offended?"
+
+"No," answered little Ellen; "but I'm surprised. I'm so astonished that
+I'm almost troubled, and yet I never was so glad in my life. You are the
+very first person who has ever asked me to help them. I have amused
+people--oh, yes, often; but helped--you are the very first who has asked
+me that."
+
+"I believe you are a dear little girl," said Arnold, looking at her
+affectionately; "and if any one can set things right now, you are the
+person. Will you listen to my story? May I begin?"
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"Remember, I am not going to be conventional."
+
+"You said that before."
+
+"I want to impress it upon you. I am going to say the sort of things
+that girls seldom listen to."
+
+"You make me feel dreadfully curious," said Fluff. "Please begin."
+
+"The beginning is this: Ten years ago I came here. I stayed here for a
+month. I fell in love with Frances."
+
+"Oh--oh! darling Frances. And you fell in love with her ten years ago?"
+
+"I did. I went to Australia. For five years I had an awful time there;
+my friends at home supposed me to be dead. The fact is, I was taken
+captive by some of the bushmen. That has nothing to say to my story,
+only all the time I thought of Frances. I remained in Australia five
+more years. During that five years I was making my fortune. As I added
+pound to pound, I thought still of Frances. I am rich now, and I have
+come home to marry her."
+
+"Oh," said little Fluff, with a deep-drawn sigh, "what a lovely story!
+But why, then, is not Frances happy?"
+
+"Ah, that is where the mystery comes in; that is what I want you to find
+out. I see plainly that Frances is very unhappy. She won't say either
+yes or no to my suit. Her father gives me to understand that she does
+not love me; that she never loved me. He proposes that instead of
+marrying Frances I should try to make you my wife. He was urging me to
+do so just now when I kept you waiting. All the time he was telling me
+that Frances never could or would love me, and that you were the wife of
+all others for me."
+
+"Why do you tell me all this?" said Fluff. Her cheeks had crimsoned, and
+tears trembled on her eyelashes. "Why do you spoil a beautiful story by
+telling me this at the end?"
+
+"Because the squire will hint it to you, Fluff; because even Frances
+herself will begin to think that I am turning my affections in your
+direction; because if you help me as I want you to help me, we must be
+much together; because I must talk very freely to you; in short, because
+it is absolutely necessary that we should quite understand each other."
+
+"Yes," said Fluff. "I see now what you mean; it is all right; thank you
+very much." She rose to her feet. "I will be a sort of sister to you,"
+she said, laying her little hand in his; "for I love Frances better than
+any sister, and when you are her husband you will be my brother."
+
+"No brother will ever be truer to you, Fluff; but, alas, and alas! is it
+ever likely that Frances can be my wife?"
+
+"Of course she will," said Fluff. "Frances is so unhappy because she
+loves you."
+
+"Nonsense."
+
+"Well, I think so, but I'll soon find out."
+
+"You will? If you were my real sister, I would call you a darling."
+
+"You may call me anything you please. I am your sister to all intents
+and purposes, until you are married to my darling, darling Frances. Oh,
+won't I give it to the squire! I think he's a perfectly horrid old man,
+and I used to be fond of him."
+
+"But you will be careful, Fluff--a rash word might do lots of mischief."
+
+"Of course I'll be careful. I have lots of tact."
+
+"You are the dearest girl in the world, except Frances."
+
+"Of course I am. That was a very pretty speech, and I am going to reward
+you. I am going to tell you something."
+
+"What is that?"
+
+"Frances is going away."
+
+Arnold gave a slight start.
+
+"I did not know that," he said. "When?"
+
+"She told me when you were talking to the squire. She is going away very
+soon, and she wants me to go too. I am to go back to my old
+school-mistress, Mrs. Hopkins. Frances is very sorry to go, and yet when
+I told her that I hoped she would not have to, she said I must not wish
+that, for that would mean a great calamity. I don't understand Frances
+at present, but I shall soon get to the bottom of everything."
+
+"I fear it is all too plain," said Arnold, lugubriously. "Frances goes
+away because she does not love me, and she is unhappy because she does
+not wish to give me pain."
+
+"You are quite wrong, sir. Frances is unhappy on her own account, not on
+yours. Well, I'll find out lots of things to-night, and let you know.
+I'm going to be the cunningest little mouse in the world; but oh, won't
+the squire have a bad time of it!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+"LITTLE GIRLS IMAGINE THINGS."
+
+
+The morning's post brought one letter. It was addressed to Miss Kane,
+and was written in a business hand. The squire looked anxiously at his
+daughter as she laid it unopened by her plate. Fluff, who was dressed
+more becomingly than usual, whose eyes were bright, and who altogether
+seemed in excellent spirits, could not help telegraphing a quick glance
+at Arnold; the little party were seated round the breakfast-table, and
+the squire, who intercepted Fluff's glance, chuckled inwardly. He was
+very anxious with regard to the letter which Frances so provokingly left
+unopened, but he also felt a pleasing thrill of satisfaction.
+
+"Ha! ha!" he said to himself, "my good young man, you are following my
+advice, for all you looked so sulky yesterday. Fluff, little dear, I do
+you a good turn when I provide you with an excellent husband, and I
+declare, poor as I am, I won't see you married without giving you a
+wedding present."
+
+After breakfast the squire rose, pushed aside his chair, and was about
+to summon his daughter to accompany him to the south parlor, when Fluff
+ran up to his side.
+
+"I want to speak to you most particularly," she said. "I have a secret
+to tell you," and she raised her charming, rounded, fresh face to his.
+He patted her on the cheek.
+
+"Is it very important?" he said, a little uneasily, for he noticed that
+Philip and Frances were standing silently, side by side in the
+bay-window, and that Frances had removed her letter from its envelope,
+and was beginning to read it.
+
+"She'll absolutely tell that fellow the contents of the most important
+letter she ever received," inwardly grumbled the squire. "He'll know
+before her father knows." Aloud he said, "I have a little business to
+talk over with Frances just now, Ellen. I am afraid your secret must
+wait, little puss."
+
+"But that's what it can't do," answered Fluff. "Don't call Frances;
+she's reading a letter. What a rude old man you are, to think of
+disturbing her! I'm quite ashamed of you. Now come with me, for I must
+tell you my important secret."
+
+The squire found himself wheedled and dragged into the south parlor.
+There he was seated in his most comfortable chair, just as much sunlight
+as he liked best was allowed to warm him, a footstool was placed under
+his feet, and Fluff, drawing a second forward, seated herself on it,
+laid her hand on his knee, and looked at him with an expression of
+pleased affection.
+
+"Aren't you dreadfully curious?" she said.
+
+"Oh, yes, Fluff--quite devoured with curiosity. I wonder now what
+Frances is doing; the fact is, she has received an important letter.
+It's about my affairs. I am naturally anxious to know its contents. Tell
+your secret as quickly as possible, little woman, and let me get to more
+important matters."
+
+"More important matters? I'm ashamed of you," said Fluff, shaking her
+finger at him. "The fact is, squire, you mustn't be in a hurry about
+seeing Frances--you must curb your impatience; it's very good for you to
+curb it--it's a little discipline, and discipline properly administered
+always turns people out delightful. You'll be a very noble old man when
+you have had a little of the proper sort of training. Now, now--why, you
+look quite cross; I declare you're not a bit handsome when you're cross.
+Frances can't come to you at present--she's engaged about her own
+affairs."
+
+"And what may they be, pray, miss?"
+
+"Ah, that's my secret!"
+
+Fluff looked down; a becoming blush deepened the color in her cheeks;
+she toyed idly with a rosebud which she held in her hand. Something in
+her attitude, and the significant smile on her face, made the squire
+both angry and uneasy.
+
+"Speak out, child," he said. "You know I hate mysteries."
+
+"But I can't speak out," said Fluff. "The time to speak out hasn't
+come--I can only guess. Squire, I'm so glad--I really do think that
+Frances is in love with Philip."
+
+"You really do?" said the squire. He mimicked her tone sarcastically,
+red, angry spots grew on his old cheeks. "Frances in love with Philip,
+indeed! You have got pretty intimate with that young Australian, Fluff,
+when you call him by his Christian name."
+
+"Oh, yes; we arranged that yesterday. He's like a brother to me. I told
+you some time ago that he was in love with Frances. Now, I'm so
+delighted to be able to say that I think Frances is in love with him."
+
+"Tut--tut!" said the squire. "Little girls imagine things. Little girls
+are very fanciful."
+
+"Tut--tut!" responded Fluff, taking off his voice to the life. "Little
+girls see far below the surface; old men are very obtuse."
+
+"Fluff, if that's your secret, I don't think much of it. Run away now,
+and send my daughter to me."
+
+"I'll do nothing of the kind, for if she's not reading her letter she's
+talking to her true love. Oh, you must have a heart of stone to wish to
+disturb them!"
+
+The squire, with some difficulty, pushed aside his footstool, hobbled to
+his feet, and walked to the window where the southern sun was pouring
+in. In the distance he saw the gray of Frances's dress through the
+trees, and Philip's square, manly, upright figure walking slowly by her
+side.
+
+He pushed open the window, and hoarsely and angrily called his
+daughter's name.
+
+"She doesn't hear you," said Fluff. "I expect he's proposing for her
+now; isn't it lovely? Aren't you delighted? Oh, where's my guitar? I'm
+going to play 'Sweethearts.' I do hope, squire, you'll give Frances a
+very jolly wedding."
+
+But the squire had hobbled out of the room.
+
+He was really very lame with rheumatic gout; but the sight of that gray,
+slender figure, pacing slowly under the friendly sheltering trees, was
+too much for him; he was overcome with passion, anxiety, rage.
+
+"She's giving herself away," he murmured. "That little vixen, Fluff, is
+right--she's in love with the fellow, and she's throwing herself at his
+head; it's perfectly awful to think of it. She has forgotten all about
+her old father. I'll be a beggar in my old age; the Firs will have to
+go; I'll be ruined, undone. Oh, was there ever such an undutiful
+daughter? I must go to her. I must hobble up to that distant spot as
+quickly as possible; perhaps when she sees me she may pause before she
+irrevocably commits so wicked an act. Oh, how lame I am! what agonies
+I'm enduring! Shall I ever be in time? He's close to her--he's almost
+touching her--good gracious, he'll kiss her if I'm not quick! that
+little wretch Fluff could have reached them in a twinkling, but she
+won't do anything to oblige me this morning. Hear her now, twanging away
+at that abominable air, 'Sweethearts'--oh--oh--puff--puff--I'm quite
+blown! This walk will kill me! Frances--I say, Frances, Frances."
+
+The feeble, cracked old voice was borne on the breeze, and the last high
+agonized note reached its goal.
+
+"I am coming, father," responded his daughter. She turned to Arnold and
+held out her hand.
+
+"God bless you!" she said.
+
+"Is your answer final, Frances?"
+
+"Yes--yes. I wish I had not kept you a week in suspense; it was cruel to
+you, but I thought--oh, I must not keep my father."
+
+"Your father has you always, and this is my last moment. Then you'll
+never, never love me?"
+
+"I can not marry you, Philip."
+
+"That is no answer. You never loved me."
+
+"I can not marry you."
+
+"I won't take 'no' unless you say with it, 'I never loved you; I never
+can love you.'"
+
+"Look at my father, Philip; he is almost falling. His face is crimson. I
+must go to him. God bless you!"
+
+She took his hand, and absolutely, before the squire's horrified eyes,
+raised it to her lips, then flew lightly down the path, and joined the
+old man.
+
+"Is anything wrong, father? How dreadful you look!"
+
+"You--you have accepted the fellow! You have deserted me; I saw you kiss
+his hand. Fah! it makes me sick. You've accepted him, and I am ruined!"
+
+"On the contrary, I have refused Philip. That kiss was like one we give
+to the dead. Don't excite yourself; come into the house. I am yours
+absolutely from this time out."
+
+"Hum--haw--you gave me an awful fright, I can tell you." The squire
+breathed more freely. "You set that little Fluff on to begin it, and you
+ended it. I won't be the better of this for some time. Yes, let me lean
+on you, Frances; it's a comfort to feel I'm not without a daughter. Oh,
+it would have been a monstrous thing had you deserted me! Did I not rear
+you, and bring you up? But in cases of the affections--I mean in cases
+of those paltry passions, women are so weak."
+
+"But not your daughter, Frances Kane. I, for your sake, have been
+strong. Now, if you please, we will drop the subject; I will not discuss
+it further. You had better come into the house, father, until you get
+cool."
+
+"You had a letter this morning, Frances--from Spens, was it not?"
+
+"Oh, yes; I had forgotten; your creditors will accept my terms for the
+present. I must drive over to Arden this afternoon, and arrange what day
+I go there."
+
+"I shall miss you considerably, Frances. It's a great pity you couldn't
+arrange to come home to sleep; you might see to my comforts then by
+rising a little earlier in the morning. I wish, my dear, you would
+propose it to Mrs. Carnegie; if she is a woman of any consideration she
+will see how impossible it is that I should be left altogether."
+
+"I can not do that, father. Even you must pay a certain price for a
+certain good thing. You do not wish to leave the Firs, but you can not
+keep both the Firs and me. I will come and see you constantly, but my
+time from this out belongs absolutely to Mrs. Carnegie. She gives me an
+unusually large salary, and, being her servant, I must endeavor in all
+particulars to please her, and must devote my time to her to a certain
+extent day and night."
+
+"Good gracious, Frances, I do hope that though adversity has come to the
+house of Kane, you are not going so far to forget yourself as to stoop
+to menial work at Arden. Why, rather than that--rather than that, it
+would be better for us to give up the home of our fathers."
+
+"No work need be menial, done in the right spirit," responded Frances.
+
+Her eyes wandered away, far up among the trees, where Arnold still
+slowly paced up and down. In the cause of pride her father might even be
+induced to give up the Firs. Was love, then, to weigh nothing in the
+scale?
+
+She turned suddenly to the father.
+
+"You must rest now," she said. "You need not be the least anxious on
+your own account any more. You must rest and take things quietly, and
+do your best not to get ill. It would be very bad for you to be ill now,
+for there would be no one to nurse you. Remember that, and be careful.
+Now go and sit in the parlor and keep out of draughts. I can not read to
+you this morning, for I shall be very busy, and you must not call me nor
+send for me unless it is absolutely necessary. Now, good-bye for the
+present."
+
+Frances did not, as her usual custom was, establish her father in his
+easy-chair; she did not cut his morning paper for him, nor attend to the
+one or two little comforts which he considered essential; she left him
+without kissing him, only her full, grave, sorrowful eyes rested for one
+moment with a look of great pathos on his wrinkled, discontented old
+face, then she went away.
+
+The squire was alone; even the irritating strain of "Sweethearts" no
+longer annoyed him. Fluff had ceased to play--Fluff's gay little figure
+was no longer visible; the man who had paced up and down under the
+distant trees had disappeared; Frances's gray dress was nowhere to be
+seen.
+
+The whole place was still, oppressively still--not a bee hummed, not a
+bird sung. The atmosphere was hot and dry, but there was no sunshine;
+the trees were motionless, there was a feeling of coming thunder in the
+air.
+
+The squire felt calmed and triumphant, at the same time he felt
+irritated and depressed. His anxiety was over; his daughter had done
+what he wished her to do--the Firs was saved, at least for his
+lifetime--the marriage he so dreaded was never to be. At the same time,
+he felt dull and deserted; he knew what it was to have his desire, and
+leanness in his soul. It would be very dull at the Firs without Frances;
+he should miss her much when she went away. He was a feeble old man, and
+he was rapidly growing blind. Who would read for him, and chat with him,
+and help to while away the long and tedious hours? He could not spend
+all his time eating and sleeping. What should he do now with all the
+other hours of the long day and night? He felt pleased with Frances--he
+owned she was a good girl; but at the same time he was cross with her;
+she ought to have thought of some other way of delivering him. She was a
+clever woman--he owned she was a clever woman; but she ought not to
+have effected his salvation by deserting him.
+
+The squire mumbled and muttered to himself. He rose from his arm-chair
+and walked to the window; he went out and paced up and down the terrace;
+he came in again. Was there ever such a long and tiresome morning? He
+yawned; he did not know what to do with himself.
+
+A little after noon the door of the south parlor was quickly opened and
+Arnold came in.
+
+"I have just come to say good-bye, sir."
+
+The squire started in genuine amazement. He did not love Arnold, but
+after two hours of solitude he was glad to hear any human voice. It
+never occurred to him, too, that any one should feel Frances such a
+necessity as to alter plans on her account.
+
+"You are going away?" he repeated. "You told me yesterday you would stay
+here for at least another week or ten days."
+
+"Exactly, but I have changed my mind," said Arnold. "I came here for an
+object--my object has failed. Good-bye."
+
+"But now, really--" the squire strove to retain the young man's hand in
+his clasp. "You don't seriously mean to tell me that you are leaving a
+nice place like the Firs in this fine summer weather because Frances has
+refused you."
+
+"I am going away on that account," replied Arnold, stiffly. "Good-bye."
+
+"You astonish me--you quite take my breath away. Frances couldn't accept
+you, you know. She had me to see after. I spoke to you yesterday about
+her, and I suggested that you should take Fluff instead. A dear little
+thing, Fluff. Young, and with money; who would compare the two?"
+
+"Who would compare the two?" echoed Arnold. "I repeat, squire, that I
+must now wish you good-bye, and I distinctly refuse to discuss the
+subject of my marriage any further."
+
+Arnold's hand scarcely touched Squire Kane's. He left the south parlor,
+and his footsteps died away in the distance.
+
+Once more there was silence and solitude. The sky grew darker, the
+atmosphere hotter and denser--a growl of thunder was heard in the
+distance--a flash of lightning lighted up the squire's room. Squire Kane
+was very nervous in a storm--at all times he hated to be long alone--now
+he felt terrified, nervous, aggrieved. He rang his bell pretty sharply.
+
+"Jane," he said to the servant who answered his summons, "send Miss Kane
+to me at once."
+
+"Miss Kane has gone to Martinstown, sir. She drove in in the pony-cart
+an hour go."
+
+"Oh--h'm--I suppose Mr. Arnold went with her?"
+
+"No, sir. Mr. Arnold took a short cut across the fields; he says the
+carrier is to call for his portmanteau, and he's not a-coming back."
+
+"H'm--most inconsiderate--I hate parties broken up in a hurry like this.
+What a vivid flash that was! Jane, I'm afraid we are going to have an
+awful storm."
+
+"It looks like it, sir, and the clouds is coming direct this way.
+Watkins says as the strength of the storm will break right over the
+Firs, sir."
+
+"My good Jane, I'll thank you to shut the windows, and ask Miss Danvers
+to have the goodness to step this way."
+
+"Miss Danvers have a headache, sir, and is lying down. She said as no
+one is to disturb her."
+
+The squire murmured something inarticulate. Jane lingered for a moment
+at the door, but finding nothing more was required of her, softly
+withdrew.
+
+Then in the solitude of his south parlor the squire saw the storm come
+up--the black clouds gathered silently from east and west, a slight
+shiver shook the trees, a sudden wind agitated the slowly moving
+clouds--it came between the two banks of dark vapor, and then the
+thunder rolled and the lightning played. It was an awful storm, and the
+squire, who was timid at such times, covered his face with his trembling
+hands, and even feebly tried to pray. It is possible that if Frances had
+come to him then he would, in the terror fit which had seized him, have
+given her her heart's desire. Even the Firs became of small account to
+Squire Kane, while the lightning flashed in his eyes and the thunder
+rattled over his head. He was afraid--he would have done anything to
+propitiate the Maker of the storm--he would have even sacrificed himself
+if necessary.
+
+But the clouds rolled away, the sunshine came out. Fear vanished from
+the squire's breast, and when dinner was announced he went to partake of
+it with an excellent appetite. Fluff and he alone had seats at the
+board; Arnold and Frances were both away.
+
+Fluff's eyes were very red. She was untidy, too, and her whole
+appearance might best be described by the word "disheveled." She
+scarcely touched her dinner, and her chattering, merry tongue was
+silent.
+
+The squire was a man who never could abide melancholy in others. He had
+had a fright; his fright was over. He was therefore exactly in the mood
+to be petted and humored, to have his little jokes listened to and
+applauded, to have his thrice-told tales appreciated. He was just in the
+mood, also, to listen to pretty nothings from a pretty girl's lips, to
+hear her sing, perhaps to walk slowly with her by and by in the
+sunshine.
+
+Fluff's red eyes, however, Fluff's disordered, untidy appearance, her
+downcast looks, her want of appetite, presented to him, just then, a
+most unpleasing picture. As his way was, he resented it, and began to
+grumble.
+
+"I have had a very dull morning," he began.
+
+"Indeed, sir? I won't take any pease, thank you, Jane; I'm not hungry."
+
+"I hate little girls to come to table who are not hungry," growled the
+squire. "Bring the pease here, Jane."
+
+"Shall I go up to my room again?" asked Fluff, laying down her knife and
+fork.
+
+"Oh, no, my love; no, not by any means."
+
+The squire was dreadfully afraid of having to spend as solitary an
+afternoon as morning.
+
+"I am sorry you are not quite well, Fluff," he said, hoping to pacify the
+angry little maid; "but I suppose it was the storm. Most girls are very
+much afraid of lightning. It is silly of them; for really in a room with
+the windows shut--glass, you know, my dear, is a non-conductor--there is
+not much danger. But there is no combating the terrors of the weaker sex. I
+can fancy you, Fluff, burying that pretty little head of yours under the
+bed-clothes. That doubtless accounts for its present rough condition. You
+should have come to me, my love; I'd have done my best to soothe your
+nervous fears."
+
+Fluff's blue eyes were opened wide.
+
+"I don't know what you are talking about," she said. "I afraid of the
+storm, and burying my head under the bed-clothes, as if I were a baby or
+a silly old man! Yes, of course I knew there was a storm, but I didn't
+notice it much, I was too busy packing."
+
+This last remark effectually distracted the squire's attention.
+
+"Packing! good gracious, child, you are not going away too?"
+
+"Of course I am; you don't suppose I am going to stay here without my
+darling Francie?"
+
+"But what am I to do, Fluff?"
+
+"I don't know, squire. I suppose you'll stay on at the Firs."
+
+"Alone! Do you mean I'm to stay here alone?"
+
+"I suppose so, now that you have sent Frances away."
+
+"I have not sent her away. What do you mean, miss?"
+
+"I'm not going to say what I mean," said Fluff. "Dear Frances is very
+unhappy, and I'm very unhappy too, and Philip, I think, is the most
+miserable of all. As far as I can tell, all this unhappiness has been
+caused by you, squire, so I suppose you are happy; but if you think I am
+going to stay at the Firs without Frances you are very much mistaken. I
+would not stay with you now on any account, for you are a selfish old
+man, and I don't love you any longer."
+
+This angry little speech was uttered after Jane had withdrawn, and even
+while Fluff spoke she pushed some fruit toward the squire.
+
+"You are a selfish old man," she continued, her cheeks burning and her
+eyes flashing; "you want your comforts, you want to be amused, and to
+get the best of everything; and if that is so you don't care for others.
+Well, here is the nicest fruit in the garden--eat it; and by and by I'll
+sing for you, if my singing gives you pleasure. I'll do all this while I
+stay, but I'm going away the day after to-morrow. But I don't love you
+any more, for you are unkind to Frances."
+
+The squire was really too much astonished to reply. Nobody in all his
+life had ever spoken to him in this way before; he felt like one who was
+assaulted and beaten all over. He was stunned, and yet he still clung in
+a sort of mechanical way to the comforts which were dearer to him than
+life. He picked out the finest strawberries which Fluff had piled on his
+plate, and conveyed them to his lips. Fluff flew out of the room for her
+guitar, and when she returned she began to sing a gay Italian air in a
+very sprightly and effective manner. In the midst of her song the squire
+broke in with a sudden question.
+
+"What do you mean by saying I am unkind to Frances?"
+
+Fluff's guitar dropped with a sudden clatter to the floor.
+
+"You won't let her marry Philip--she loves him with all her heart, and
+he loves her. They have cared for each other for ten long years, and now
+you are parting them. You are a dreadfully, dreadfully selfish old man,
+and I hate you!"
+
+Here the impulsive little girl burst into tears and ran out of the room.
+The squire sat long over his strawberries.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+"I HATE THE SQUIRE."
+
+
+It was arranged that Frances should take up her abode at Arden on the
+following Friday, and on Thursday Fluff was to go to London, to
+stay--for a time, at least--under the sheltering wings of her late
+school-mistress, Mrs. Hopkins. With regard to her departure, Fluff made
+an extraordinary request--she earnestly begged that Frances should not
+accompany her to Martinstown. She gave no reason for this desire; but
+she enforced it by sundry pettings, by numerous embraces, by both tears
+and smiles--in short, by the thousand and one fascinations which the
+little creature possessed. A certain Mrs. Mansfield was to escort Fluff
+to London; and Frances arranged that the two should meet at the railway
+station, and catch the twelve-o'clock train for town.
+
+"I don't want you to introduce her to me, darling," said Fluff. "I can't
+possibly mistake her, for she is tall, and has a hooked nose, and always
+wears black, you say. And you know what I am, just exactly like my name;
+so it will be impossible for us not to recognize each other."
+
+Thus Fluff got her way, and Frances saw her off, not from the railway
+platform, but standing under the elm-trees where Fluff had first seen
+her and Arnold together.
+
+When a turn in the road quite hid Frances Kane from the little girl's
+view she clasped her hands with a mixture of ecstasy and alarm.
+
+"Now I can have my way," she said to herself, "and dear Frances will
+never, never suspect."
+
+A cab had been sent for to Martinstown to fetch away Fluff and her
+belongings. The driver was a stranger, and Fluff thought it extremely
+unlikely that, even if he wished to do so he would be able to tell
+tales. She arrived in good time at the railway station, instantly
+assumed a business-like air, looked out for no tall lady with a hooked
+nose in black, but calmly booked her luggage for a later train, and
+calling the same cabman, asked him to drive her to the house of the
+lawyer, Mr. Spens.
+
+The lawyer was at home, and the pretty, excitable little girl was
+quickly admitted into his presence. Mr. Spens thought he had seldom seen
+a more radiant little vision than this white-robed, eager, childish
+creature--childish and yet womanly just then, with both purpose and
+desire in her face.
+
+"You had my letter, hadn't you?" said Fluff. "I am Ellen Danvers; Miss
+Kane is my cousin, and my dearest, and most dear friend."
+
+"I have had your letter, Miss Danvers, and I remained at home in
+consequence. Won't you sit down? What a beautiful day this is!"
+
+"Oh, please, don't waste time over the weather. I am come to talk to you
+about Frances. You have got to prevent it, you know."
+
+"My dear young lady, to prevent what?"
+
+"Well, she's not to go to Arden. She's not to spend the rest of her days
+with a dreadful, fanciful old woman! She's to do something else quite
+different. You've got to prevent Frances making herself and--and--others
+miserable all her life. Do you hear, Mr. Spens?"
+
+"Yes, I certainly hear, Miss Danvers. But how am I to alter or affect
+Miss Kane's destiny is more than I can at present say. You must explain
+yourself. I have a very great regard for Miss Kane; I like her
+extremely. I will do anything in my power to benefit her; but as she
+chose entirely of her own free will--without any one, as far as I am
+aware, suggesting it to her--to become companion to Mrs. Carnegie, I do
+not really see how I am to interfere."
+
+"Yes, you are," said Fluff, whose eyes were now full of tears. "You are
+to interfere because you are at the bottom of the mystery. You know why
+Frances is going to Mrs. Carnegie, and why she is refusing to marry
+Philip Arnold, who has loved her for ten years, and whom she loves with
+all her heart. Oh, I can't help telling you this! It is a secret, a kind
+of secret, but you have got to give me another confidence in return."
+
+"I did not know about Arnold, certainly," responded Spens. "That alters
+things. I am truly sorry; I am really extremely sorry. Still I don't see
+how Miss Kane can act differently. She has promised her father now: it
+is the only way to save him. Poor girl! I am sorry for her, but it is
+the only way to save the squire."
+
+"Oh, the squire!" exclaimed Fluff, jumping up in her seat, and clasping
+her hands with vexation. "Who cares for the squire? Is he to have
+everything. Is nobody to be thought of but him? Why should Frances make
+all her days wretched on his account? Why should Frances give up the man
+she is so fond of, just to give him a little more comfort and luxuries
+that he doesn't want? Look here, Mr. Spens, it is wrong--it must not be!
+I won't have it!"
+
+Mr. Spens could not help smiling.
+
+"You are very eager and emphatic," he said. "I should like to know how
+you are going to prevent Miss Kane taking her own way."
+
+"It is not her own way; it is the squire's way."
+
+"Well, it comes to the same thing. How are you to prevent her taking the
+squire's way?"
+
+"Oh, you leave that to me! I have an idea. I think I can work it
+through. Only I want you, Mr. Spens, to tell me the real reason why
+Frances is going away from the Firs, and why she has to live at Arden.
+She will explain nothing; she only says it is necessary. She won't give
+any reason either to Philip or me."
+
+"Don't you think, Miss Danvers, I ought to respect her confidence? If
+she wished you to know, she would tell you herself."
+
+"Oh, please--please tell me! Do tell me! I won't do any mischief, I
+promise you. Oh, if only you knew how important it is that I should find
+out!"
+
+The lawyer considered for a moment. Fluff's pretty words and beseeching
+gestures were having an effect upon him. After all, if there was any
+chance of benefiting Miss Kane, why should the squire's miserable
+secret be concealed? After a time he said:
+
+"You look like a child, but I believe you have sense. I suppose whatever
+I tell you, you intend to repeat straight-way to Mr. Arnold?"
+
+"Well, yes; I certainly mean to tell him."
+
+"Will you promise to tell no one but Arnold?"
+
+"Yes, I can promise that."
+
+"Then the facts are simple enough. The squire owes six thousand pounds
+to a client of mine in London. My client wants to sell the Firs in order
+to recover his money. The squire says if he leaves the Firs he must die.
+Miss Kane comes forward and offers to go as companion to Mrs. Carnegie,
+Mrs. Carnegie paying her three hundred pounds a year, which sum she
+hands over to my client as interest at five per cent. on the six
+thousand pounds. These are the facts of the case in a nutshell, Miss
+Danvers. Do you understand them?"
+
+"I think I do. I am very much obliged to you. What is the name of your
+client?"
+
+"You must excuse me, young lady--I can not divulge my client's name."
+
+"But if Philip wanted to know very badly, you would tell him?"
+
+"That depends on the reason he gave for requiring the information."
+
+"I think it is all right, then," said Fluff, rising to her feet.
+"Good-bye, I am greatly obliged to you. Oh, that dear Frances. Mr.
+Spens, I think I hate the squire."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+"MR. LOVER."
+
+
+If there was a girl that was a prime favorite with her school-fellows,
+that girl was Ellen Danvers. She had all the qualifications which insure
+success in school life. She was extremely pretty, but she was
+unconscious of it; she never prided herself on her looks, she never
+tried to heighten her loveliness by a thousand little arts which
+school-girls always find out and despise. She had always plenty of
+money, which at school, if not elsewhere, is much appreciated. She was
+generous, she was bright, she was loving; she was not sufficiently
+clever to make any one envious of her, but at the same time she was so
+very smart and quick that not the cleverest girl in the school could
+despise her.
+
+When Fluff went away from Merton House the tribulation experienced on
+all sides was really severe. The girls put their heads together, and
+clubbed to present her with a gold bangle, and she in return left them
+her blessing, a kiss all round, and a pound's worth of chocolate creams.
+
+The school was dull when Fluff went away; she took a place which no one
+else quite held. She was not at all weak or namby-pamby, but she was a
+universal peace-maker. Fluff made peace simply by throwing oil on
+troubled waters, for she certainly was not one to preach; and as to
+pointing a moral, she did not know the meaning of the word.
+
+It was with great rejoicing, therefore, that the young ladies of Mrs.
+Hopkins' select seminary were informed on a certain Thursday morning
+that their idol was about to return to them. She was no longer to take
+her place in any of the classes; she was to be a parlor boarder, and go
+in and out pretty much as she pleased; but she was to be in the house
+again, and they were to see her bright face, and hear her gay laugh, and
+doubtless she would once more be every one's confidante and friend.
+
+In due course Fluff arrived. It was late when she made her appearance,
+for she had missed the train by which Frances had intended her to
+travel. But late as the hour was--past nine o'clock--Fluff found time to
+pay a visit to the school-room, where the elder girls were finishing
+preparations for to-morrow, to rush through the dormitories, and kiss
+each expectant little one.
+
+"It's just delicious!" whispered Sibyl Lake, the youngest scholar in the
+school. "We have you for the last fortnight before we break up. Just
+fancy, you will be there to see me if I get a prize!"
+
+"Yes, Sibyl, and if you do I'll give you sixpennyworth of chocolate
+creams."
+
+Sibyl shouted with joy.
+
+The other children echoed her glee. One of the teachers was obliged to
+interfere. Fluff vanished to the very select bedroom that she was now to
+occupy, and order was once more restored.
+
+Fluff's name was now in every one's mouth. Didn't she look prettier than
+ever? Wasn't she nicer than ever? Hadn't she a wonderfully grown-up air?
+
+One day it was whispered through the school that Fluff had got a lover.
+This news ran like wildfire from the highest class to the lowest. Little
+Sibyl asked what a lover meant, and Marion Jones, a lanky girl of
+twelve, blushed while she answered her.
+
+"It isn't proper to speak about lovers," said Katie Philips. "Mother
+said we weren't to know anything about them. I asked her once, and that
+was what she said. She said it wasn't proper for little girls to know
+about lovers."
+
+"But grown girls have them," responded Marion, "I think it must be
+captivating. I wish I was grown up."
+
+"You're much too ugly, Marion, to have a lover," responded Mary Mills.
+"Oh, for goodness' sake, don't get so red and angry! She's going to
+strike me! Save me, girls!"
+
+"Hush!" exclaimed Katie, "hush! come this way. Look through the lattice.
+Look through the wire fence just here. Can you see? There's Fluff, and
+there's her lover. He's rather old, isn't he? But hasn't he _l'air
+distingue_? Isn't Fluff pretty when she blushes? The lover is rather
+tall. Oh, do look, Mary, can you see--can you see?"
+
+"Yes, he has fair hair," responded Mary. "It curls. I'm sorry it is fair
+and curly, for Fluff's is the same. He should be dark, like a Spaniard.
+Oh, girls, girls, he has got such lovely blue eyes, and such white
+teeth! He smiled just now, and I saw them."
+
+"Let me peep," said Marion. "I haven't got one peep yet."
+
+But here the voices became a little loud, and the lovers, if they were
+lovers, passed out of sight behind the yew hedge.
+
+"That's it," said Fluff when she had finished her story; "it's all
+explained now. I hope you're obliged to me."
+
+"No brother could love you better, nor appreciate you more than I do,
+Fluff."
+
+"Thank you; I'll tell you how much I care for those words when you let
+me know what you are going to do."
+
+Arnold put his hand to his forehead; his face grew grave, he looked
+with an earnest, half-puzzled glance at the childish creature by his
+side.
+
+"I really think you are the best girl in the world, and one of the
+cleverest," he said. "I have a feeling that you have an idea in your
+head, but I am sorry to say nothing very hopeful up to the present time
+has occurred to me. It does seem possible, after your explanation, that
+Frances may love me, and yet refuse me; yes, certainly, that does now
+seem possible."
+
+"How foolish you are to speak in that doubting tone," half snapped Fluff
+(certainly, if the girls had seen her now they would have thought she
+was quarreling with her lover). "How can you say perhaps Frances loves
+you? Loves you! She is breaking her heart for you. Oh! I could cry when
+I think of Frances's pain!"
+
+"Dear little friend!" said Arnold. "Then if that is so--God grant it,
+oh, God grant it--Frances and I must turn to you to help us."
+
+Fluff's face brightened.
+
+"I will tell you my plan," she said. "But first of all you must answer
+me a question."
+
+"What is it? I will answer anything."
+
+"Mr. Arnold--"
+
+"You said you would call me Philip."
+
+"Oh, well, Philip--I rather like the name of Philip--Philip, are you a
+rich man?"
+
+"That depends on what you call riches, Fluff. I have brought fifteen
+thousand pounds with me from the other side of the world. I took five
+years earning it, for all those five years I lived as a very poor man, I
+was adding penny to penny, and pound to pound, to Frances's fortune."
+
+"That is right," exclaimed Fluff, clapping her hands. "Frances's
+fortune--then, of course, then you will spend it in saving her."
+
+"I would spend every penny to save her, if I only knew how."
+
+"How stupid you are," said Fluff. "Oh, if only I were a man!"
+
+"What would you do, if you were?"
+
+"What would I not do? You have fifteen thousand pounds, and Frances is
+in all this trouble because of six thousand pounds. Shall I tell you,
+must I tell you what you ought to do?"
+
+"Please--pray tell me."
+
+"Oh, it is so easy. You must get the name of the old horror in London to
+whom the squire owes six thousand pounds, and you must give him six out
+of your fifteen, and so pay off the squire's debt. You must do this
+and--and--"
+
+"Yes, Fluff; I really do think you are the cleverest little girl I ever
+came across."
+
+"The best part is to come now," said Fluff. "Then you go to the squire;
+tell him that you will sell the Firs over his head, unless he allows you
+to marry Frances. Oh, it is so easy, so, so delightful!"
+
+"Give me your hand, Fluff. Yes, I see light--yes. God bless you, Fluff!"
+
+"There is no doubt she has accepted him," reported Mary Mills to her
+fellows. "They have both appeared again around the yew hedge, and he has
+taken her hand, and he is smiling. Oh, he is lovely when he smiles!"
+
+"I wish I was grown up," sighed Marion, from behind. "I'd give anything
+in all the world to have a lover."
+
+"It will be interesting to watch Fluff at supper to-night," exclaimed
+Katie Philips. "Of course she'll look intensely happy. I wonder if
+she'll wear an engagement-ring."
+
+The supper hour came. Fluff took her seat among the smaller girls; her
+face was radiant enough to satisfy the most exacting, but her small
+dimpled fingers were bare.
+
+"Why do you all stare at my hands so?" she exclaimed once.
+
+"It's on account of the ring," whispered little Sibyl. "Hasn't he given
+you the ring yet?"
+
+"Who is 'he,' dear?"
+
+"Oh, I wasn't to say. His name is Mr. Lover."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+SWEETLY ROMANTIC.
+
+
+Mrs. Carnegie could scarcely be considered the most cheerful companion
+in the world. There was a general sense of rejoicing when Frances took
+up her abode at Arden, but the victim who was to spend the greater part
+of her life in Mrs. Carnegie's heated chambers could scarcely be
+expected to participate in it. This good lady having turned her thoughts
+inward for so long, could only see the world from this extremely narrow
+standpoint. She was hypochondriacal, she was fretful, and although
+Frances managed her, and, in consequence, the rest of the household
+experienced a good deal of ease, Frances herself, whose heart just now
+was not of the lightest, could not help suffering. Her cheeks grew
+paler, her figure slighter and thinner. She could only cry at night, but
+then she certainly cried a good deal.
+
+On a certain sunny afternoon, Mrs. Carnegie, who thought it her bounden
+duty on all occasions to look out for grievances, suddenly took it upon
+herself to complain of Frances's looks.
+
+"It is not that you are dull, my dear," she remarked. "You are fairly
+cheerful, and your laugh is absolutely soothing; but you are pale,
+dreadfully pale, and pallor jars on my nerves, dear. Yes, I assure you,
+in the sensitive state of my poor nerves a pale face like yours is
+absolutely excruciating to them, darling."
+
+"I am very sorry," replied Frances. She had been a month with Mrs.
+Carnegie now, and the changed life had certainly not improved her. "I am
+very sorry." Then she thought a moment. "Would you like to know why I am
+pale?"
+
+"How interesting you are, my love--so different from every other
+individual that comes to see me. It is good for my poor nerves to have
+my attention distracted to any other trivial matter? Tell me, dearest,
+why you are so pallid. I do trust the story is exciting--I need
+excitement, my darling. Is it an affair of the heart, precious?"
+
+Frances's face grew very red. Even Mrs. Carnegie ought to have been
+satisfied for one brief moment with her bloom.
+
+"I fear I can only give you a very prosaic reason," she said, in her
+gentle, sad voice. "I have little or no color because I am always shut
+up in hot rooms, and because I miss the open-air life to which I was
+accustomed."
+
+Mrs. Carnegie tried to smile, but a frown came between her brows.
+
+"That means," she said, "that you would like to go out. You would leave
+your poor friend in solitude."
+
+"I would take my friend with me," responded Frances. "And she should
+have the pleasure of seeing the color coming back into my cheeks."
+
+"And a most interesting sight it would be, darling. But oh, my poor,
+poor nerves! The neuralgia in my back is positively excruciating at this
+moment, dearest. I am positively on the rack; even a zephyr would slay
+me."
+
+"On the contrary," replied Frances in a firm voice, "you would be
+strengthened and refreshed by the soft, sweet air outside. Come, Mrs.
+Carnegie, I am your doctor and nurse, as well as your friend, and I
+prescribe a drive in the open air for you this morning. After dinner,
+too, your sofa, shall be placed in the arbor; in short, I intend you to
+live out-of-doors while this fine weather lasts."
+
+"Ah, dear imperious one! And yet you will kill me with this so-called
+kindness."
+
+"On the contrary, I will make you a strong woman if I can. Now I am
+going to ring to order the carriage."
+
+She bustled about, had her way, and to the amazement of every one Mrs.
+Carnegie submitted to a drive for an hour in an open carriage.
+
+All the time they were out Frances regaled her with the stories of the
+poor and suffering people. She told her stories with great skill,
+knowing just where to leave off, and just the points that would be most
+likely to interest her companion. So interesting did she make herself
+that never once during the drive was Mrs. Carnegie heard to mention the
+word "nerves," and so practical and to the point were her words that the
+rich woman's purse was opened, and two five-pound notes were given to
+Frances to relieve those who stood most in need of them.
+
+"Positively I am better," explained Mrs. Carnegie, as she ate her dainty
+dinner with appetite.
+
+An hour later she was seated cosily in the arbor which faced down the
+celebrated Rose Walk, a place well known to all the visitors at Arden.
+
+"You are a witch," she said to Frances; "for positively I do declare the
+racking, torturing pain in my back is easier. The jolting of the
+carriage ought to have made it ten times worse, but it didn't. I
+positively can't understand it, my love."
+
+"You forget," said Frances, "that although the jolting of the carriage
+might have tried your nerves a very little, the soft, sweet air and
+change of scene did them good."
+
+"And your conversation, dearest--the limpid notes of that sweetest
+voice. Ah, Frances, your tales were harrowing!"
+
+"Yes; but they were more harrowing to be lived through. You, dear Mrs.
+Carnegie, to-day have relieved a certain amount of this misery."
+
+"Ah, my sweet, how good your words sound! They are like balm to this
+tempest-tossed heart and nerve-racked form. Frances dear, we have an
+affinity one for the other. I trust it may be our fate to live and die
+together."
+
+Frances could scarcely suppress a slight shudder. Mrs. Carnegie suddenly
+caught her arm.
+
+"Who is that radiant-looking young creature coming down the Rose Walk?"
+she exclaimed. "See--ah, my dear Frances, what a little beauty! What
+style! what exquisite bloom!"
+
+"Why, it is Fluff!" exclaimed Frances.
+
+She rushed from Mrs. Carnegie's side, and the next moment Miss Danvers's
+arms were round her neck.
+
+"Yes, I've come, Frances," she exclaimed. "I have really come back. And
+who do you think I am staying with?"
+
+"Oh, Fluff--at the Firs! It would be kind of you to cheer my poor old
+father up with a visit."
+
+"But I'm not cheering him up with any visit--I'm not particularly fond
+of him. I'm staying with Mr. and Mrs. Spens."
+
+Frances opened her eyes very wide; she felt a kind of shock, and a
+feeling almost of disgust crept over her.
+
+"Mr. Spens? Surely you don't mean my father's lawyer, Mr. Spens, who
+lives in Martinstown, Fluff?"
+
+"Yes, I don't mean anybody else."
+
+"But I did not think you knew him."
+
+"I did not when last I saw you, but I do now--very well, oh, very well
+indeed. He's a darling."
+
+"Fluff! How can you speak of dull old Mr. Spens in that way? Well, you
+puzzle me. I don't know why you are staying with him."
+
+"You are not going to know just at present, dearest Francie. There's a
+little bit of a secret afloat. Quite a harmless, innocent secret, which
+I promise you will break nobody's heart. I like so much being with Mr.
+Spens, and so does Philip--Philip is there, too."
+
+"Philip? Then they are engaged," thought Frances. "It was very soon. It
+is all right, of course, but it is rather a shock. Poor little
+Fluff--dear Philip--may they be happy!"
+
+She turned her head away for a moment, then, with a white face, but
+steady, quiet eyes, said in her gentlest tones:
+
+"Am I to congratulate you, then, Fluff?"
+
+"Yes, you are--yes, you are. Oh, I am so happy, and everything is
+delicious! It's going on beautifully. I mean the--the affair--the
+secret. Frances, I left Philip at the gate. He would like to see you so
+much. Won't you go down and have a chat with him?"
+
+"I can not; you forget that I am Mrs. Carnegie's companion. I am not my
+own mistress."
+
+"That thin, cross-looking woman staring at us out of the bower yonder?
+Oh, I'll take care of her. I promise you I'll make myself just as
+agreeable as you can. There, run down, run down--I see Philip coming to
+meet you. Oh, what a cold wretch you are, Frances! You don't deserve a
+lover like Philip Arnold--no, you don't."
+
+"He is not my lover, he is yours."
+
+"Mine? No, thank you--there, he is walking down the Rose-path. He is
+sick of waiting, poor fellow! I am off to Mrs. Carnegie. Oh, for
+goodness' sake, Francie, don't look so foolish!"
+
+Fluff turned on her heel, put wings to her feet, and in a moment,
+panting and laughing, stood by Mrs. Carnegie's side.
+
+"Oh, I beg your pardon," she exclaimed when she could speak. "I know who
+you are, and I am dear Frances's cousin, Fluff. I know you would not
+mind giving the poor thing a chance, and allowing me to stay and try to
+entertain you for a little."
+
+"Sit down, my dear, sit down. You really are a radiant little vision. It
+is really most entertaining to me to see anything so fresh and pretty. I
+must congratulate you on the damask roses you wear in your cheeks, my
+pretty one."
+
+"Thank you very much; I know I have plenty of color. Do you mind sitting
+a little bit, just so--ah, that is right. Now we'll have our backs to
+the poor things, and they'll feel more comfortable."
+
+"My dear, extraordinary, entertaining little friend, what poor things do
+you mean?"
+
+"Why, Frances and--"
+
+"Frances--my companion--Frances Kane?"
+
+"Yes, your companion. Only she oughtn't to be your companion, and she
+won't be long. Your companion, and my darling cousin, Frances Kane, and
+her lover."
+
+"Her lover! I knew there was a love affair. That accounts for the
+pallor! Oh, naughty Frances; oh, cruel maiden, to deceive your Lucilla!
+I felt it, I guessed it, it throbbed in the air. Frances and her lover!
+My child, I adore lovers--let me get a peep at him. Dear Frances, dear
+girl! And is the course of true love going smoothly, miss--miss--I
+really don't know your name, my little charmer."
+
+"My name is Fluff--please don't look round. It's a very melancholy love
+affair just at present, but I'm making it right."
+
+"My little bewitching one, I would embrace you, but my poor miserable
+nerves won't permit of the least exertion. And so Frances, my Frances,
+has a lover! It was wrong of her, darling, not to tell of this."
+
+"She gave him up to come to you."
+
+"Oh, the noble girl! But do you think, my child, I would permit such a
+sacrifice? No, no; far rather would Lucilla Carnegie bury her sorrows in
+the lonely tomb. Lend me your handkerchief, sweet one--I can't find my
+own, and my tears overflow. Ah, my Frances, my Frances, I always knew
+you loved me, but to this extent--oh, it is too much!"
+
+"But she didn't do it for you," said Fluff. "She wanted the money to
+help her father--he's such a cross, selfish old man. He wouldn't let her
+marry Philip, although Philip loved her for ten years, and saved all his
+pence in Australia to try and get enough money to marry her, and was
+nearly eaten himself by the blacks, but never forgot her day or
+night--and she loved him beyond anything. Don't you think, Mrs.
+Carnegie, that they ought to be married? Don't you think so?"
+
+"My child, my little fair one, you excite me much. Oh, I shall suffer
+presently! But now your enthusiasm carries that of Lucilla Carnegie
+along with you. Yes, they ought to be married."
+
+"Mrs. Carnegie, they must be married. I'm determined, and so is Philip,
+and so is Mr. Spens. Won't you be determined too?"
+
+"Yes, my child. But, oh, what shall I not lose in my Frances? Forgive
+one tear for myself--my little rose in June."
+
+"You needn't fret for yourself at all. You'll be ever so happy when
+you've done a noble thing. Now listen. This is our little plot--only
+first of all promise, promise most faithfully, that you won't say a word
+to Frances."
+
+"I promise, my child. How intensely you arouse my curiosity! Really I
+begin to live."
+
+"You won't give Frances a hint?"
+
+"No, no, you may trust me, little bright one."
+
+"Well, I do trust you. I know you won't spoil all our plans. You'll
+share them and help us. Oh, what a happy woman you'll be by and by! Now
+listen."
+
+Then Fluff seated herself close to Mrs. Carnegie, and began to whisper
+an elaborately got-up scheme into that lady's ear, to all of which she
+listened with glowing eyes, her hands clasping Fluff's, her attention
+riveted on the sweet and eager face.
+
+"It's my plot," concluded the narrator. "Philip doesn't much like
+it--not some of it--but I say that I will only help him in my own way."
+
+"My dear love, I don't think I ever heard anything more clever and
+original, and absolutely to the point."
+
+"Now did you? I can't sleep at night, thinking of it--you'll be sure to
+help me?"
+
+"Help you? With my heart, my life, my purse!"
+
+"Oh, we don't want your purse. You see there's plenty of money; there's
+the fortune Philip made for Frances. It would be a great pity anything
+else should rescue her from this dilemma."
+
+"Oh, it is so sweetly romantic!" said Mrs. Carnegie, clasping her hands.
+
+"Yes, that's what I think. You'll be quite ready when the time comes?"
+
+"Oh, quite. More than ready, my brightest fairy!"
+
+"Well, here comes Frances--remember, you're not to let out a word, a
+hint. I think I've amused Mrs. Carnegie quite nicely, Francie."
+
+Frances's cheeks had that delicate bloom on them which comes now and
+then as a special and finishing touch, as the last crown of beauty to
+very pale faces. Her eyes were soft, and her dark eyelashes were still a
+little wet with some tears which were not unhappy ones.
+
+"Philip wrung a confession out of me," she whispered to her little
+cousin. "No, Fluff--no, dear Fluff, it does no good--no good whatever.
+Still, I am almost glad I told him."
+
+"You told him what?"
+
+"I won't say. It can never come to anything."
+
+"I know what you said--you have made Philip very happy, Frances. Now I
+must run away."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+THE FIRS OR FRANCES?
+
+
+It is necessary for some people to go away to be missed. There are
+certain very quiet people in the world, who make no fuss, who think
+humbly of themselves, who never on any occasion blow their own trumpets,
+who under all possible circumstances keep in the background, but who yet
+have a knack of filling odd corners, of smoothing down sharp angles, of
+shedding the sunshine of kindness and unselfishness over things
+generally. There are such people, and they are seldom very much missed
+until they go away.
+
+Then there is a hue and cry. Who did this? Whose duty was the other?
+Where is such a thing to be found? Will nobody attend to this small but
+necessary want? The person who never made any talk, but did all the
+small things, and made all the other people comfortable, is suddenly
+missed, and in an instant his or her virtues are discovered.
+
+This was the case at the Firs when Frances on a certain morning drove
+away.
+
+Watkins missed her--the stable-boy, the house-servant--the cat, the
+dog--many other domestic pets--and most of all, Squire Kane.
+
+He was not neglected, but he had a sense of loneliness which began at
+the moment he awoke, and never left him till he went to sleep again.
+
+He had his meals regularly; he was called in good time in the morning;
+the new housekeeper lighted his candle and brought it to him at night;
+his favorite fruit and his favorite flowers were still set before him,
+and the newspaper he liked best always lay by his plate at
+breakfast-time. Watkins was really an excellent gardener, and the ribbon
+border still bloomed and flourished, the birds sung in the trees as of
+yore, the lawn was smoothly kept. It was early September now, but the
+old place never looked gayer, sweeter, brighter. Still, somehow or other
+the squire was dull. His newspaper was there, but there was no one to
+cut it, no one to read it aloud to him. The flowers were making a
+wonderful bloom, but there was no special person to talk them over with.
+He had no one to tell his thoughts to, no one to criticise, no one to
+praise, and--saddest want of all to a nature like his--not a soul in the
+world to blame.
+
+Really, Frances was very much missed; he could not quite have believed
+it before she went, for she was such a quiet, grave woman, but there
+wasn't the least doubt on the subject. She had a way of making a place
+pleasant and home-like. Although she was so quiet herself, wherever she
+went the sun shone. It was quite remarkable how she was missed--even the
+Firs, even the home of his ancestors, was quite dull without her.
+
+Frances had been away for five weeks, and the squire was beginning to
+wonder if he could endure much more of his present monotonous life, when
+one day, as he was passing up and down in the sunny South Walk, he was
+startled, and his attention pleasingly diverted by the jangling sweet
+sound of silver bells. A smart little carriage, drawn by a pair of Arab
+ponies, and driven by a lady, drew up somewhere in the elm avenue; a
+girl in white jumped lightly out, and ran toward him.
+
+"Good gracious!" he said to himself, "why, it's that dear little Fluff.
+Well, I am glad to see her."
+
+He hobbled down the path as fast as he could, and as Fluff drew near,
+sung out cheerily:
+
+"Now this is a pleasing surprise! But welcome to the Firs, my
+love--welcome most heartily to the Firs."
+
+"Thank you, squire," replied Fluff. "I've come to see you on a most
+important matter. Shall we go into the house, or may I talk to you
+here?"
+
+"I hope, my dear, that you have come to say that you are going to pay me
+another visit--I do hope that is your important business. Your little
+room can be got ready in no time, and your guitar--I hope you've brought
+your guitar, my dear. It really is a fact, but I haven't had one scrap
+of entertainment since Frances went away--preposterous, is it not?"
+
+"Well, of course I knew you'd miss her," said Fluff in a tranquil voice.
+"I always told you there was no one in the world like Frances."
+
+"Yes, my dear, yes--I will own, yes, undoubtedly, Frances, for all she
+is so quiet, and not what you would call a young person, is a good deal
+missed in the place. But you have not answered my query yet, Fluff. Have
+you come to stay?"
+
+"No, I've not come to stay; at least, I think not. Squire, I am glad you
+appreciate dear Frances at last."
+
+"Of course, my love, of course. A good creature--not young, but a good,
+worthy creature. It is a great affliction to me, being obliged, owing to
+sad circumstances, to live apart from my daughter. I am vexed that you
+can not pay me a little visit, Fluff. Whose carriage was that you came
+in? and what part of the world are you staying in at present?"
+
+"That dear little pony-trap belongs to Mrs. Carnegie, of Arden; and her
+niece, Mrs. Passmore, drove me over. I am staying with Mr. and Mrs.
+Spens, at Martinstown."
+
+"Spens the lawyer?"
+
+"Yes, Spens the lawyer. I may stay with him if I like, may I not? I am a
+great friend of his. He sent me over here to-day to see you on most
+important business."
+
+"My dear Fluff! Really, if Spens has business with me, he might have the
+goodness to come here himself."
+
+"He couldn't--he has a very bad influenza cold; he's in bed with it.
+That was why I offered to come. Because the business is so very
+important."
+
+"How came he to talk over my affairs with a child like you?"
+
+"Well, as you'll learn presently, they happen to be my affairs too. He
+thought, as he couldn't stir out of his bed, and I knew all the
+particulars, that I had better come over and explain everything to you,
+as the matter is of such great importance, and as a decision must be
+arrived at to-day."
+
+Fluff spoke with great eagerness. Her eyes were glowing, her cheeks
+burning, and there wasn't a scrap of her usual fun about her.
+
+In spite of himself the squire was impressed.
+
+"I can not imagine what you have to say to me," he said; "but perhaps we
+had better go into the house."
+
+"I think we had," said Fluff; "for as what I have got to say will
+startle you a good deal, you had better sit in your favorite arm-chair,
+and have some water near you in case you feel faint."
+
+As she spoke she took his hand, led him through the French windows into
+his little parlor, and seated him comfortably in his favorite chair.
+
+"Now I'll begin," said Fluff. "You must not interrupt me, although I'm
+afraid you will be a little startled. You have mortgaged the Firs for
+six thousand pounds."
+
+"My dear Ellen!"--an angry flush rose in the squire's cheeks. "Who has
+informed you with regard to my private affairs? Frances has done very--"
+
+"Frances has had nothing to say to it; I won't go on if you interrupt
+me. You have mortgaged the Firs for six thousand pounds, to some people
+of the name of Dawson & Blake, in London. Frances lives at Arden, in
+order to pay them three hundred pounds a year interest on the mortgage."
+
+"Yes, yes; really, Frances--really, Spens--"
+
+"Now do stop talking; how can I tell my story if you interrupt every
+minute? Messrs. Dawson & Blake were very anxious to get back their
+money, and they wanted to sell the Firs in order to realize it. Mr.
+Spens had the greatest work in the world to get them to accept Frances's
+noble offer. He put tremendous pressure to bear, and at last, very
+unwillingly, they yielded."
+
+"Well, well, my dear"--the squire wiped the moisture from his
+brow--"they have yielded, that is the great thing--that is the end of
+the story; at least, for the present."
+
+"No, it is not the end of the story," said Fluff, looking up angrily
+into the old man's face. "You were quite satisfied, for it seemed all
+right to you; you were to stay on quietly here, and have your comforts,
+and the life you thought so pleasant; and Frances was to give up Philip
+Arnold, whom she loves, and go away to toil and slave and be miserable.
+Oh, it was all right for you, but it was bitterly all wrong for
+Frances!"
+
+"My dear little Fluff, my dear Ellen, pray try and compose yourself; I
+assure you my side of the bargain is dull, very dull. I am alone; I
+have no companionship. Not a living soul who cares for me is now to be
+found at the Firs. My side is not all sunshine, Fluff; and I own
+it--yes, I will own it, Fluff; I miss Frances very much."
+
+"I am glad of that; I am very glad. Now I am coming to the second part
+of my story. A week ago Mr. Spens had a letter from Messrs. Dawson &
+Blake to say that they had sold their mortgage on the Firs to a
+stranger--a man who had plenty of money, but who had taken a fancy to
+the Firs, and who wished to get it cheap."
+
+The squire sat upright on his chair.
+
+"Mr. Spens wrote at once to the new owner of the mortgage, and asked him
+if he would take five per cent. interest on his money, and not disturb
+you while you lived. Mr. Spens received a reply yesterday, and it is
+because of that I am here now."
+
+The squire's face had grown very white; his lips trembled a little.
+
+"What was the reply?" he asked. "Really--really, a most extraordinary
+statement; most queer of Spens not to come to me himself about it. What
+was the reply, Fluff?"
+
+"I told you Mr. Spens was ill and in bed. The stranger's reply was not
+favorable to your wishes. He wishes for the Firs; he has seen the place,
+and would like to live there. He says you must sell; or, there is
+another condition."
+
+"What is that? This news is most alarming and disquieting. What is the
+other condition--the alternative?"
+
+Fluff rose, yawned slightly, and half turned her back to the squire.
+
+"It is scarcely worth naming," she said, in a light and indifferent
+voice; "for as Frances loves Philip, of course she would not think of
+marrying any one else. But it seems that this stranger, when he was
+poking about the place, had caught sight of Frances, and he thought her
+very beautiful and very charming. In short, he fell in love with her,
+and he says if you will let him marry her, that he and she can live
+here, and you need never stir from the Firs. I mention this," said
+Fluff; "but of course there's no use in thinking of it, as Frances loves
+Philip."
+
+"But there is a great deal of use in thinking of it, my dear; I don't
+know what you mean by talking in that silly fashion. A rich man falls in
+love with my daughter. Really, Frances must be much better-looking than
+I gave her credit for. This man, who practically now owns the Firs,
+wishes to release me from all difficulties if I give him Frances. Of
+course I shall give him Frances. It is an admirable arrangement. Frances
+would be most handsomely provided for, and I shall no longer be lonely
+with my daughter and son-in-law residing at the Firs."
+
+"But Frances loves Philip!"
+
+"Pooh! a boy-and-girl affair. My dear, I never did, and never will,
+believe in anything between Frances and Arnold. I always said Arnold
+should be your husband."
+
+"I don't want him, thank you."
+
+"Frances was always a good girl," continued the squire; "an excellent,
+good, obedient girl. She refused Philip because I told her to, and now
+she'll marry this stranger because I wish her to. Really, my dear, on
+the whole, your news is pleasant; only, by the way, you have not told me
+the name of the man who now holds my mortgage."
+
+"He particularly wishes his name to be kept a secret for the present,
+but he is a nice fellow; I have seen him. I think, if Frances could be
+got to consent to marry him, he would make her an excellent husband."
+
+"My dear, she must consent. Leave my daughter to me; I'll manage her."
+
+"Well, the stranger wants an answer to-day."
+
+"How am I to manage that? I must write to Frances, or see her. Here she
+is at this moment, driving down the avenue with Mrs. Carnegie. Well,
+that is fortunate. Now, Fluff, you will take my part; but, of course,
+Frances will do what I wish."
+
+"You can ask her, squire. I'm going to walk about outside with Mrs.
+Carnegie."
+
+"And you won't take my part?"
+
+"I won't take anybody's part. I suppose Frances can make up her own
+mind."
+
+When Miss Kane came into her father's presence her eyes were brighter,
+and her lips wore a happier expression than the squire had seen on them
+for many a long day. She stepped lightly, and looked young and fresh.
+
+Fluff and Mrs. Carnegie paced up and down in the South Walk. Mrs.
+Carnegie could walk now, and she was certainly wonderfully improved in
+appearance.
+
+"Beloved little fairy," she whispered to her companion, "this excitement
+almost overpowers me. It was with the utmost difficulty I could control
+myself as we drove over. Our sweet Frances looks happy, but I do not
+think she suspects anything. Dear little one, are you certain, quite
+certain, that the hero of the hour has really arrived?"
+
+"Philip? I have locked him up in the dining-room," said Fluff, "and he
+is pacing up and down there now like a caged lion. I do hope the squire
+will be quick, or he'll certainly burst the lock of the door."
+
+The two ladies paced the South Walk side by side.
+
+"We'll give them half an hour," said Fluff.
+
+When this time had expired, she took Mrs. Carnegie's hand, and they both
+approached the open windows of the squire's parlor. When the squire saw
+them he rose and confronted them. Angry red spots were on his cheeks;
+his hands trembled. Frances was seated at the table; she looked very
+pale, and as the two ladies approached she was wiping some tears
+silently from her eyes.
+
+"Yes, look at her," said the squire, who was almost choking with anger.
+"She refuses him--she absolutely refuses him! She is satisfied that her
+poor old father shall end his days in the work-house, rather than unite
+herself to an amiable and worthy man, who can amply provide for her. Oh,
+it is preposterous! I have no patience with her; she won't even listen
+to me. Not a word I say has the smallest effect."
+
+"Because, father--"
+
+"No, Frances, I won't listen to any of your 'becauses.' But never, never
+again even profess to care for your father. Don't waste words, my child;
+for words are empty when they are not followed by deeds."
+
+"I must take an answer to Mr. Spens to-day," said Fluff. "Perhaps, if
+Frances thought a little, she would change her mind."
+
+These words seemed to sting Frances, who rose quickly to her feet.
+
+"You know why I can not help my father in this particular," she said.
+"Oh, I think, between you all, you will drive me mad."
+
+"Perhaps," said Fluff, suddenly--"perhaps if you saw the gentleman,
+Frances, you might be able to give a different answer. He really is very
+nice, and--and--the fact is, he's very impatient. He has arrived--he is
+in the dining room."
+
+"The gentleman who has purchased the mortgage is in the dining-room!"
+said the squire.
+
+He rubbed his hands gleefully.
+
+"Excellent! Frances will never be so rude as to refuse a rich man to his
+face. I look upon him already as our deliverer. I, for my part, shall
+give him a hearty welcome, and will assure him, if he will only give me
+time, that I will not leave a stone unturned to overcome my daughter's
+absurd infatuation. Frances, do you hear me? I desire you to behave
+politely to the stranger when he comes."
+
+"Perhaps I had better go away," said Frances.
+
+"No, no, dear Frances; do stay," pleaded Fluff. "I'll go and fetch the
+gentleman; I know him; he is really very nice."
+
+She darted away.
+
+Frances turned her back to the window.
+
+"You know, father, all I have done for you," she said, her beautiful
+eyes shining and her slim figure very erect. "I have loved Philip--oh,
+so deeply, so faithfully!--for ten years. For five of these years I
+thought he was in his grave; and my heart went there, too, with him.
+Then he came back, and I was very happy; for I found that he had loved
+me, and thought of me alone, also, all that long, long time. I was happy
+then, beyond words, and no woman ever more fervently thanked God.
+Then--then--you know what happened. I gave Philip up. I consented to let
+my light, my hope, and my joy die out. I did that for you; but I did not
+consent to let my love die; and I tell you now, once and for all, that
+my love will never die; and that, as I so love Philip, I can never, even
+for your sake, marry any one but Philip!"
+
+"Oh, Francie! Francie!" suddenly exclaimed a joyful little voice. "No
+one in all the world wants you to marry any one else! The stranger isn't
+a stranger. Say 'Yes' to your father and to Philip at the same time."
+
+Frances turned; Arnold stepped in through the open window and put his
+arm round her.
+
+"Now, sir," he said, holding Frances's hand, and turning to the squire,
+"which am I to have--the Firs or Frances?"
+
+Of course everybody present knew the answer, so there is no need to
+record it here.
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+MONSIEUR THE VISCOUNT'S FRIEND.
+
+A TALE IN THREE CHAPTERS
+
+    "Sweet are the vses of aduersitie
+    Which like the toad, ougly and venemous,
+    Weares yet a precious Iewell in his head."
+
+                              AS YOU LIKE IT: A.D. 1623.
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+
+It was the year of grace 1779. In one of the most beautiful corners of
+beautiful France stood a grand old chateau. It was a fine old building,
+with countless windows large and small, with high pitched roofs and
+pointed towers, which, in good taste or bad, did its best to be
+everywhere ornamental, from the gorgon heads which frowned from its
+turrets to the long row of stables and the fantastic dovecotes. It stood
+(as became such a castle) upon an eminence, and looked down. Very
+beautiful indeed was what it looked upon. Terrace below terrace glowed
+with the most brilliant flowers, and broad flights of steps led from one
+garden to the other. On the last terrace of all, fountains and jets of
+water poured into one large basin, in which were gold and silver fish.
+Beyond this were shady walks, which led to a lake on which floated
+waterlilies and swans. From the top of the topmost flight of steps you
+could see the blazing gardens one below the other, the fountains and the
+basin, the walks and the lake, and beyond these the trees, and the
+smiling country, and the blue sky of France.
+
+Within the castle, as without, beauty reigned supreme. The sunlight,
+subdued by blinds and curtains, stole into rooms furnished with every
+grace and luxury that could be procured in a country that then accounted
+itself the most highly-civilized in the world. It fell upon beautiful
+flowers and beautiful china, upon beautiful tapestry and pictures; and
+it fell upon Madame the Viscountess, sitting at her embroidery. Madame
+the Viscountess was not young, but she was not the least beautiful
+object in those stately rooms. She had married into a race of nobles who
+(themselves famed for personal beauty) had been scrupulous in the choice
+of lovely wives. The late Viscount (for Madame was a widow) had been one
+of the handsomest of the gay courtiers of his day; and Madame had not
+been unworthy of him. Even now, though the roses on her cheeks were more
+entirely artificial than they had been in the days of her youth, she was
+like some exquisite piece of porcelain. Standing by the embroidery frame
+was Madame's only child, a boy who, in spite of his youth, was already
+Monsieur the Viscount. He also was beautiful. His exquisitely-cut mouth
+had a curl which was the inheritance of scornful generations, but which
+was redeemed by his soft violet eyes and by natural amiability reflected
+on his face. His hair was cut square across the forehead, and fell in
+natural curls behind. His childish figure had already been trained in
+the fencing school, and had gathered dignity from perpetually treading
+upon shallow steps and in lofty rooms. From the rosettes on his little
+shoes to his _chapeau a plumes_, he also was like some porcelain figure.
+Surely, such beings could not exist except in such a chateau as this,
+where the very air (unlike that breathed by common mortals) had in the
+ante-rooms a faint aristocratic odor, and was for yards round Madame the
+Viscountess dimly suggestive of frangipani! Monsieur the Viscount did
+not stay long by the embroidery frame; he was entertaining to-day a
+party of children from the estate, and had come for the key of an old
+cabinet of which he wished to display the treasures. When tired of this,
+they went out on to the terrace, and one of the children who had not
+been there before exclaimed at the beauty of the view.
+
+"It is true," said the little Viscount, carelessly, "and all, as far as
+you can see, is the estate."
+
+"I will throw a stone to the end of your property, Monsieur," said one
+of the boys, laughing; and he picked one off the walk, and stepping
+back, flung it with all his little strength. The stone fell before it
+had passed the fountains, and the failure was received with shouts of
+laughter.
+
+"Let us see who can beat that," they cried; and there was a general
+search for pebbles, which were flung at random among the flower-beds.
+
+"One may easily throw such as those," said the Viscount, who was poking
+under the wall of the first terrace; "but here is a stone that one may
+call a stone. Who will send this into the fish-pond? It will make a
+fountain of itself."
+
+The children drew round him as, with ruffles turned back, he tugged and
+pulled at a large dirty-looking stone, which was half-buried in the
+earth by the wall. "Up it comes!" said the Viscount, at length; and sure
+enough, up it came; but underneath it, his bright eyes shining out of
+his dirty wrinkled body--horror of horrors!--there lay a toad. Now, even
+in England, toads are not looked upon with much favor, and a party of
+English children would have been startled by such a discovery. But with
+French people, the dread of toads is ludicrous in its intensity. In
+France toads are believed to have teeth, to bite, and to spit poison; so
+my hero and his young guests must be excused for taking flight at once
+with a cry of dismay. On the next terrace, however, they paused, and
+seeing no signs of the enemy, crept slowly back again. The little
+Viscount (be it said) began to feel ashamed of himself and led the way,
+with his hand upon the miniature sword which hung at his side. All eyes
+were fixed upon the fatal stone, when from behind it was seen slowly to
+push forth, first a dirty wrinkled leg, and then half a dirty wrinkled
+head, with one gleaming eye. It was too much; with cries of, "It is he!
+he comes! he spits! he pursues us!" the young guests of the chateau fled
+in good earnest, and never stopped until they reached the fountain and
+the fish-pond.
+
+But Monsieur the Viscount stood his ground. At the sudden apparition the
+blood rushed to his heart, and made him very white, then it flooded
+back again and made him very red, and then he fairly drew his sword, and
+shouting, "_Vive la France!_" rushed upon the enemy. The sword if small
+was sharp, and stabbed the poor toad would most undoubtedly have been,
+but for a sudden check received by the valiant little nobleman. It came
+in the shape of a large heavy hand that seized Monsieur the Viscount
+with the grasp of a giant, while a voice which could only have belonged
+to the owner of such a hand said in slow deep tones,
+
+"_Que faites-vous?_" ("What are you doing?")
+
+It was the tutor, who had been pacing up and down the terrace with a
+book, and who now stood holding the book in his right hand, and our hero
+in his left.
+
+Monsieur the Viscount's tutor was a remarkable man. If he had not been
+so, he would hardly have been tolerated at the chateau, since he was not
+particularly beautiful, and not especially refined. He was in holy
+orders, as his tonsured head and clerical costume bore witness--a
+costume which, from its tightness and simplicity, only served to
+exaggerate the unusual proportions of his person. Monsieur the
+Preceptor, had English blood in his veins, and his northern origin
+betrayed itself in his towering height and corresponding breadth, as
+well as by his fair hair and light blue eyes. But the most remarkable
+parts of his outward man were his hands, which were of immense size,
+especially about the thumbs. Monsieur the Preceptor was not exactly in
+keeping with his present abode. It was not only that he was wanting in
+the grace and beauty that reigned around him, but that his presence made
+those very graces and beauties to look small. He seemed to have a gift
+the reverse of that bestowed upon King Midas--the gold on which his
+heavy hand was laid seemed to become rubbish. In the presence of the
+late Viscount, and in that of Madame his widow, you would have felt
+fully the deep importance of your dress being _a la mode_, and your
+complexion _a la_ strawberries and cream (such influences still exist);
+but let the burly tutor appear upon the scene, and all the magic died at
+once out of brocaded silks and pearl-colored stockings, and dress and
+complexion became subjects almost of insignificance. Monsieur the
+Preceptor was certainly a singular man to have been chosen as an inmate
+of such a household; but, though young, he had unusual talents, and
+added to them the not more usual accompaniments of modesty and
+trustworthiness. To crown all, he was rigidly pious in times when piety
+was not fashionable, and an obedient son of the church of which he was a
+minister. Moreover, a family that fashion does not permit to be
+demonstratively religious, may gain a reflected credit from an austere
+chaplain; and so Monsieur the Preceptor remained in the chateau and went
+his own way. It was this man who now laid hands on the Viscount, and, in
+a voice that sounded like amiable thunder, made the inquiry, "_Que
+faites-vous?_"
+
+"I am going to kill this animal--this hideous horrible animal," said
+Monsieur the Viscount, struggling vainly under the grasp of the tutor's
+finger and thumb.
+
+"It is only a toad," said Monsieur the Preceptor, in his laconic tones.
+
+"_Only_ a toad, do you say, Monsieur?" said the Viscount. "That is
+enough, I think. It will bite--it will spit--it will poison; it is like
+that dragon you tell me of, that devastated Rhodes--I am the good knight
+that shall kill it."
+
+Monsieur the Preceptor laughed heartily "You are misled by a vulgar
+error. Toads do not bite--they have no teeth; neither do they spit
+poison."
+
+"You are wrong, Monsieur," said the Viscount; "I have seen their teeth
+myself. Claude Mignon, at the lodge, has two terrible ones, which he
+keeps in his pocket as a charm."
+
+"I have seen them," said the tutor, "in Monsieur Claude's pocket. When
+he can show me similar ones in a toad's head I will believe. Meanwhile,
+I must beg of you, Monsieur, to put up your sword. You must not kill
+this poor animal, which is quite harmless, and very useful in a
+garden--it feeds upon many insects and reptiles which injure the
+plants."
+
+"It shall not be useful in this garden," said the little Viscount,
+fretfully. "There are plenty of gardeners to destroy the insects, and
+if needful, we can have more. But the toad shall not remain. My mother
+would faint if she saw so hideous a beast among her beautiful flowers."
+
+"Jacques!" roared the tutor to a gardener who was at some distance.
+Jacques started as if a clap of thunder had sounded in his ear, and
+approached with low bows. "Take that toad, Jacques, and carry it to the
+_potager_. It will keep the slugs from your cabbages."
+
+Jacques bowed low and lower, and scratched his head, and then did
+reverence again with Asiatic humility, but at the same time moved
+gradually backwards, and never even looked at the toad.
+
+"You also have seen the contents of Monsieur Claude's pocket?" said the
+tutor, significantly, and quitting his hold of the Viscount, he stooped
+down, seized the toad in his huge finger and thumb, and strode off in
+the direction of the _potager_, followed at a respectful distance by
+Jacques, who vented his awe and astonishment in alternate bows and
+exclamations at the astounding conduct of the incomprehensible
+Preceptor.
+
+"What is the use of such ugly beasts?" said the Viscount to his tutor,
+on his return from the _potager_. "Birds and butterflies are pretty, but
+what can such villains as these toads have been made for?"
+
+"You should study natural history, Monsieur--" began the priest, who was
+himself a naturalist.
+
+"That is what you always say," interrupted the Viscount, with the
+perverse folly of ignorance; "but if I knew as much as you do, it would
+not make me understand why such ugly creatures need have been made."
+
+"Nor," said the priest, firmly, "is it necessary that you should
+understand it, particularly if you do not care to inquire. It is enough
+for you and me if we remember Who made them, some six thousand years
+before either of us was born."
+
+With which Monsieur the Preceptor (who had all this time kept his place
+in the little book with his big thumb) returned to the terrace, and
+resumed his devotions at the point where they had been interrupted;
+which exercise he continued till he was joined by the Cure of the
+village, and the two priests relaxed in the political and religious
+gossip of the day.
+
+Monsieur the Viscount rejoined his young guests, and they fed the gold
+fish and the swans, and played _Colin Millard_ in the shady walks, and
+made a beautiful bouquet for Madame, and then fled indoors at the first
+approach of evening chill, and found that the Viscountess had prepared a
+feast of fruit and flowers for them in the great hall. Here, at the head
+of the table, with the Madame at his right hand, his guests around, and
+the liveried lackeys waiting his commands, Monsieur the Viscount forgot
+that anything had ever been made which could mar beauty and enjoyment;
+while the two priests outside stalked up and down under the falling
+twilight, and talked ugly talk of crime and poverty that were
+_somewhere_ now, and of troubles to come hereafter.
+
+And so night fell over the beautiful sky, the beautiful chateau, and the
+beautiful gardens; and upon the secure slumbers of beautiful Madame and
+her beautiful son, and beautiful, beautiful France.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+
+It was the year of grace 1792, thirteen years after the events related
+in the last chapter. It was the 2d of September, and Sunday, a day of
+rest and peace in all Christian countries, and even more in gay,
+beautiful France--a day of festivity and merriment. This Sunday,
+however, seemed rather an exception to the general rule. There were no
+gay groups of bannered processions; the typical incense and the public
+devotion of which it is the symbol were alike wanting; the streets in
+some places seemed deserted, and in others there was an ominous crowd,
+and the dreary silence was now and then broken by a distant sound of
+yells and cries, that struck terror into the hearts of the Parisians.
+
+It was a deserted by-street overlooked by some shut-up warehouses, and
+from the cellar of one of these a young man crept up on to the pathway.
+His dress had once been beautiful, but it was torn and soiled; his face
+was beautiful still, but it was marred by the hideous eagerness of a
+face on which famine has laid her hand--he was starving. As this man
+came out from the warehouse, another man came down the street. His dress
+was not beautiful, neither was he. There was a red look about him--he
+wore a red flannel cap, tricolor ribbons, and had something red upon his
+hands, which was neither ribbon nor flannel. He also looked hungry; but
+it was not for food. The other stopped when he saw him, and pulled
+something from his pocket. It was a watch, a repeater, in a gold
+filigree case of exquisite workmanship, with raised figures depicting
+the loves of an Arcadian shepherd and shepherdess; and, as it lay on the
+white hand of its owner, it bore an evanescent fragrance that seemed to
+recall scenes as beautiful and as completely past as the days of
+pastoral perfection, when--
+
+    "All the world and love were young,
+    And truth in every shepherd's tongue."
+
+The young man held it up to the other and spoke.
+
+"It is my mother's," he said, with an appealing glance of violet eyes;
+"I would not part with it, but that I am starving. Will you get me
+food?"
+
+"You are hiding?" said he of the red cap.
+
+"Is that a crime in these days?" said the other, with a smile that would
+in other days have been irresistible.
+
+The man took the watch, shaded the donor's beautiful face with a rough
+red cap and tricolor ribbon, and bade him follow him. He, who had but
+lately come to Paris, dragged his exhausted body after his conductor,
+hardly noticed the crowds in the streets, the signs by which the man got
+free passage for them both, or their entrance by a little side-door into
+a large dark building, and never knew till he was delivered to one of
+the gaolers that he had been led into the prison of the Abbaye. Then
+the wretch tore the cap of liberty from his victim's head, and pointed
+to him with a fierce laugh.
+
+"He wants food, this aristocrat. He shall not wait long--there is a
+feast in the court below, which he shall join presently. See to it,
+Antoine! and you _Monsieur_, _Mons-ieur_! listen to the banqueters."
+
+He ceased, and in the silence yells and cries from a court below came up
+like some horrid answer to imprecation.
+
+The man continued---
+
+"He has paid for his admission, this Monsieur. It belonged to Madame his
+mother. Behold!"
+
+He held the watch above his head, and dashed it with insane fury on the
+ground, and bidding the gaoler see to his prisoner, rushed away to the
+court below.
+
+The prisoner needed some attention. Weakness and fasting and horror had
+overpowered a delicate body and a sensitive mind, and he lay senseless
+by the shattered relic of happier times. Antoine the gaoler (a
+weak-minded man, whom circumstances had made cruel), looked at him with
+indifference while the Jacobin remained in the place, and with
+half-suppressed pity when he had gone. The place where he lay was a hall
+or passage in the prison, into which several cells opened, and a number
+of the prisoners were gathered together at one end of it. One of them
+had watched the proceedings of the Jacobin and his victim with profound
+interest, and now advanced to where the poor youth lay. He was a priest,
+and though thirteen years had passed over his head since we saw him in
+the chateau, and though toil and suffering and anxiety had added the
+traces of as many more: yet it would not have been difficult to
+recognize the towering height, the candid face, and finally the large
+thumb in the little book of ----, Monsieur the Preceptor, who had years
+ago exchanged his old position for a parochial cure. He strode up to the
+gaoler (whose head came a little above the priest's elbow), and drawing
+him aside, asked with his old abruptness, "Who is this?"
+
+"It is the Vicomte de B----. I know his face. He has escaped the
+commissaires for some days."
+
+"I thought so. Is his name on the registers?"
+
+"No. He escaped arrest, and has just been brought in as you saw."
+
+"Antoine," said the Priest, in a low voice, and with a gaze that seemed
+to pierce the soul of the weak little gaoler; "Antoine, when you were a
+shoemaker in the Rue de la Croix, in two or three hard winters I think
+you found me a friend."
+
+"Oh! Monsieur le Cure," said Antoine, writhing; "if Monsieur le Cure
+would believe that if I could save his life! but--"
+
+"Pshaw!" said the Priest, "it is not for myself, but for this boy. You
+must save him, Antoine. Hear me, you _must_. Take him now to one of the
+lower cells and hide him. You risk nothing. His name is not on the
+prison register. He will not be called, he will not be missed; that
+fanatic will think that he has perished with the rest of us;" (Antoine
+shuddered, though the priest did not move a muscle;) "and when this mad
+fever has subsided and order is restored, he will reward you. And
+Antoine--"
+
+Here the Priest pocketed his book and somewhat awkwardly with his huge
+hands unfastened the left side of his cassock, and tore the silk from
+the lining. Monsieur the Cure's cassock seemed a cabinet of oddities.
+First he pulled from this ingenious hiding-place a crucifix, which he
+replaced; then a knot of white ribbon which he also restored; and
+finally a tiny pocket or bag of what had been cream-colored satin
+embroidered with small bunches of heartsease, and which was aromatic
+with otto of roses. Awkwardly, and somewhat slowly he drew out of this a
+small locket, in the center of which was some unreadable legend in
+cabalistic looking character, and which blazed with the finest diamonds.
+Heaven alone knows the secret of that gem, or the struggle with which
+the Priest yielded it. He put it into Antoine's hand, talking as he did
+so, partly to himself and partly to the gaoler.
+
+"We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry
+nothing out. The diamonds are of the finest, Antoine, and will sell for
+much. The blessing of a dying priest upon you if you do kindly, and his
+curse if you do ill to his poor child, whose home was my home in better
+days. And for the locket,--it is but a remembrance, and to remember is
+not difficult!"
+
+As the last observation was not addressed to Antoine, so also he did not
+hear it. He was discontentedly watching the body of the Viscount, whom
+he consented to help, but with genuine weak-mindedness consented
+ungraciously.
+
+"How am I to get him there? Monsieur le Cure sees that he cannot stand
+upon his feet!"
+
+Monsieur le Cure smiled, and stooping, picked his old pupil up in his
+arms as if he had been a baby, and bore him to one of the doors.
+
+"You must come no further," said Antoine hastily.
+
+"Ingrate!" muttered the priest in momentary anger, and than ashamed, he
+crossed himself and pressing the young nobleman to his bosom with the
+last gush of earthly affection that he was to feel, he kissed his
+senseless face, spoke a benediction to ears that could not hear it, and
+laid his burden down.
+
+"God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, be with thee now and in
+the dread hour of death. Adieu! we shall meet hereafter."
+
+The look of pity, the yearning of rekindled love, the struggle of
+silenced memories passed from his face and left a shining
+calm--foretaste of the perpetual Light and the eternal Rest.
+
+Before he reached the other prisoners, the large thumb had found its old
+place in the little book, the lips formed the old old words; but it
+might almost have been said of him already, that "his spirit was with
+the God who gave it."
+
+As for Monsieur the Viscount, it was perhaps well that he was not too
+sensible of his position, for Antoine got him down the flight of stone
+steps that led to the cell by the simple process of dragging him by the
+heels. After a similar fashion he crossed the floor, and was deposited
+on a pallet; the gaoler then emptied a broken pitcher of water over his
+face, and locking the door securely, hurried back to his charge.
+
+When Monsieur the Viscount came to his senses he raised himself and
+looked round his new abode. It was a small stone cell; it was
+underground, with a little grated window at the top that seemed to be
+level with the court; there was a pallet--painfully pressed and worn,--a
+chair, a stone on which stood a plate and broken pitcher, and in one
+corner a huge bundle of firewood which mocked a place where there was no
+fire. Stones by lay scattered about, the walls were black, and in the
+far dark corners the wet oozed out and trickled slowly down, and lizards
+and other reptiles crawled up.
+
+I suppose that the first object that attracts the hopes of a new
+prisoner is the window of his cell, and to this, despite his weakness,
+Monsieur the Viscount crept. It afforded him little satisfaction. It was
+too high in the cell for him to reach it, too low in the prison to
+command any view, and was securely grated with iron. Then he examined
+the walls, but not a stone was loose. As he did so, his eye fell upon
+the floor, and he noticed that two of the stones that lay about had been
+raised up by some one and a third laid upon the top. It looked like
+child's play, and Monsieur the Viscount kicked it down, and then he saw
+that underneath it there was a pellet of paper roughly rolled together.
+Evidently it was something left by the former occupant of the cell for
+his successor. Perhaps he had begun some plan for getting away which he
+had not had time to perfect on his own account. Perhaps--but by this
+time the paper was spread out, and Monsieur the Viscount read the
+writing. The paper was old and yellow. It was the fly leaf torn out of a
+little book and it was written in black chalk, the words--
+
+                  "_Souvenez-vous du Sauveur._"
+                     (Remember the Saviour.)
+
+He turned it over, he turned it back again; there was no other mark;
+there was nothing more; and Monsieur the Viscount did not conceal it
+from himself that he was disappointed. How could it be otherwise? He had
+been bred in ease and luxury, and surrounded with everything that could
+make life beautiful; while ugliness, and want, and sickness, and all
+that make life miserable, had been kept, as far as they can be kept,
+from the precincts of the beautiful chateau which was his home. What
+were the _consolations_ of religion to him? They are offered to those,
+(and to those only) who need them. They were to Monsieur the Viscount
+what the Crucified Christ was to the Greeks of old--foolishness.
+
+He put the paper in his pocket and lay down again, feeling it the
+crowning disappointment of what he had lately suffered. Presently,
+Antoine came with some food; it was not dainty, but Monsieur the
+Viscount devoured it like a famished hound, and then made inquiries as
+to how he came and how long he had been there. When the gaoler began to
+describe him whom he called the Cure, Monsieur the Viscount's attention
+quickened into eagerness, an eagerness deepened by the tender interest
+that always hangs round the names of those whom we have known in happier
+and younger days. The happy memories recalled by hearing of his old
+tutor seemed to blot out his present misfortunes. With French
+excitability, he laughed and wept alternately.
+
+"As burly as ever, you say? The little book? I remember it, it was his
+breviary. Ah! it is he. It is Monsieur the Preceptor, whom I have not
+seen for years. Take me to him, bring him here, let me see him!"
+
+But Monsieur the Preceptor was in Paradise.
+
+That first night of Monsieur the Viscount's imprisonment was a terrible
+one. The bitter chill of a Parisian autumn, the gnawings of
+half-satisfied hunger, the thick walls that shut out all hope of escape
+but did not exclude those fearful cries that lasted with few intervals
+throughout the night, made it like some hideous dream. At last the
+morning broke; at half-past two o'clock, some members of the _commune_
+presented themselves in the hall of the National Assembly with the
+significant announcement: "The prisons are empty!" and Antoine, who had
+been quaking for hours, took courage, and went with a half loaf of bread
+and a pitcher of water to the cell that was not "empty." He found his
+prisoner struggling with a knot of white ribbon, which he was trying to
+fasten in his hair. One glance at his face told all.
+
+"It is the fever," said Antoine; and he put down the bread and water and
+fetched an old blanket and a pillow; and that day and for many days, the
+gaoler hung above his prisoner's pallet with the tenderness of a woman.
+Was he haunted by the vision of a burly figure that had bent over his
+own sick bed in the Rue de la Croix? Did the voice (once so familiar in
+counsel and benediction!) echo still in his ears?
+
+"_The blessing of a dying priest upon you if you do well, and his curse
+if you do ill to this poor child, whose home was my home in better
+days._"
+
+Be this as it may, Antoine tended his patient with all the constancy
+compatible with keeping his presence in the prison a secret; and it was
+not till the crisis was safely past, that he began to visit the cell
+less frequently, and re-assumed the harsh manners which he held to befit
+his office.
+
+Monsieur the Viscount's mind rambled much in his illness. He called for
+his mother, who had long been dead. He fancied himself in his own
+chateau. He thought that all his servants stood in a body before him,
+but that not one would move to wait on him. He thought that he had
+abundance of the most tempting food and cooling drinks, but placed just
+beyond his reach. He thought that he saw two lights like stars near
+together, which were close to the ground, and kept appearing and then
+vanishing away. In time he became more sensible; the chateau melted into
+the stern reality of his prison walls; the delicate food became bread
+and water; the servants disappeared like spectres; but in the empty
+cells, in the dark corners near the floor, he still fancied that he saw
+two sparks of light coming and going, appearing and then vanishing away.
+He watched them till his giddy head would bear it no longer, and he
+closed his eyes and slept. When he awoke he was much better, but when he
+raised himself and turned towards the stone--there, by the bread and the
+broken pitcher, sat a dirty, ugly, wrinkled toad gazing at him, Monsieur
+the Viscount, with eyes of yellow fire.
+
+Monsieur the Viscount had long ago forgotten the toad which had alarmed
+his childhood; but his national dislike to that animal had not been
+lessened by years, and the toad of the prison seemed likely to fare no
+better than the toad of the chateau. He dragged himself from his pallet,
+and took up one of the large damp stones which lay about the floor of
+the cell, to throw at the intruder. He expected that when he approached
+it, the toad would crawl away, and that he could throw the stone after
+it; but to his surprise, the beast sat quite unmoved, looking at him
+with calm shining eyes, and somehow or other, Monsieur the Viscount
+lacked strength or heart to kill it. He stood doubtful for a moment, and
+then a sudden feeling of weakness obliged him to drop the stone, and sit
+down, while tears sprang to his eyes with a sense of his helplessness.
+
+"Why should I kill it?" he said bitterly. "The beast will live and grow
+fat upon this damp and loathsomeness, long after they have put an end to
+my feeble life. It shall remain. The cell is not big, but it is big
+enough for us both. However large be the rooms a man builds himself to
+live in, it needs but little space in which to die!"
+
+So Monsieur the Viscount dragged his pallet away from the toad, placed
+another stone by it, and removed the pitcher; and then, wearied with his
+efforts, lay down and slept heavily.
+
+When he awoke, on the new stone by the pitcher was the toad, staring
+full at him with topaz eyes. He lay still this time and did not move,
+for the animal showed no intention of spitting, and he was puzzled by
+its tameness.
+
+"It seems to like the sight of a man," he thought. "Is it possible that
+any former inmate of this wretched prison can have amused his solitude
+by making a pet of such a creature? and if there were such a man, where
+is he now?"
+
+Henceforward, sleeping or waking, whenever Monsieur the Viscount lay
+down upon his pallet, the toad crawled up on to the stone, and kept
+watch over him with shining lustrous eyes; but whenever there was a
+sound of the key grating in the lock, and the gaoler coming his rounds,
+away crept the toad, and was quickly lost in the dark corners of the
+room. When the man was gone, it returned to its place, and Monsieur the
+Viscount would talk to it, as he lay on his pallet.
+
+"Ah! Monsieur Crapaud," he would say with mournful pleasantry, "without
+doubt you have had a master, and a kind one; but tell me who was he, and
+where is he now? Was he old or young, and was it in the last stage of
+maddening loneliness that he made friends with such a creature as you?"
+
+Monsieur Crapaud looked very intelligent, but he made no reply, and
+Monsieur the Viscount had recourse to Antoine.
+
+"Who was in this cell before me?" he asked at the gaoler's next visit.
+
+Antoine's face clouded. "Monsieur le Cure had this room. My orders were
+that he was to be imprisoned 'in secret.'"
+
+Monsieur le Cure had this room. There was a revelation in those words.
+It was all explained now. The priest had always had a love for animals
+(and for ugly, common animals) which his pupil had by no means shared.
+His room at the chateau had been little less than a menagerie. He had
+even kept a glass beehive there, which communicated with a hole in the
+window through which the bees flew in and out, and he would stand for
+hours with his thumb in the breviary, watching the labors of his pets.
+And this also had been his room! This dark, damp cell. Here, breviary in
+hand, he had stood, and lain, and knelt. Here, in this miserable prison,
+he had found something to love, and on which to expend the rare
+intelligence and benevolence of his nature. Here, finally, in the last
+hours of his life, he had written on the fly-leaf of his prayer-book
+something to comfort his successor, and "being dead yet spoke" the words
+of consolation which he had administered in his lifetime. Monsieur the
+Viscount read that paper now with different feelings.
+
+There is perhaps no argument so strong, and no virtue that so commands
+the respect of young men, as consistency. Monsieur the Preceptor's
+lifelong counsel and example would have done less for his pupil than was
+effected by the knowledge of his consistent career, now that it was
+past. It was not the nobility of the priest's principles that awoke in
+Monsieur the Viscount a desire to imitate his religious example, but the
+fact that he had applied them to his own life, not only in the time of
+wealth, but in the time of tribulation and in the hour of death. All
+that high-strung piety--that life of prayer--those unswerving
+admonitions to consider the vanity of earthly treasures, and to prepare
+for death--which had sounded so unreal amidst the perfumed elegancies of
+the chateau, came back now with a reality gained from experiment. The
+daily life of self-denial, the conversation garnished from Scripture and
+from the Fathers, had not, after all, been mere priestly affectations.
+In no symbolic manner, but, literally, he had "watched for the coming of
+his Lord," and "taken up the cross daily;" and so, when the cross was
+laid on him, and when the voice spoke which must speak to all, "The
+Master is come, and calleth for thee," he bore the burden and obeyed the
+summons unmoved.
+
+_Unmoved!_--this was the fact that struck deep into the heart of
+Monsieur the Viscount, as he listened to Antoine's account of the Cure's
+imprisonment. What had astonished and overpowered his own undisciplined
+nature had not disturbed Monsieur the Preceptor. He had prayed in the
+chateau--he prayed in the prison. He had often spoken in the chateau of
+the softening and comforting influences of communion with the lower
+animals and with nature, and in the uncertainty of imprisonment he had
+tamed a toad. "None of these things had moved him," and in a storm of
+grief and admiration, Monsieur the Viscount bewailed the memory of his
+tutor.
+
+"If he had only lived to teach me!"
+
+But he was dead, and there was nothing for Monsieur the Viscount but to
+make the most of his example. This was not so easy to follow as he
+imagined. Things seemed to be different with him to what they had been
+with Monsieur the Preceptor. He had no lofty meditations, no ardent
+prayers, and calm and peace seemed more distant than ever. Monsieur the
+Viscount met, in short, with all those difficulties that the soul must
+meet with, which, in a moment of enthusiasm, has resolved upon a higher
+and a better way of life, and in moments of depression is perpetually
+tempted to forego that resolution. His prison life was, however, a
+pretty severe discipline, and he held on with struggles and prayers; and
+so, little by little, and day by day, as the time of his imprisonment
+went by, the consolations of religion became a daily strength against
+the fretfulness of imperious temper, the sickness of hope deferred, and
+the dark suggestions of despair.
+
+The term of his imprisonment was a long one. Many prisoners came and
+went within the walls of the Abbaye, but Monsieur the Viscount still
+remained in his cell: indeed, he would have gained little by leaving it
+if he could have done so, as he would almost certainly have been
+retaken. As it was, Antoine on more than one occasion concealed him
+behind the bundles of firewood, and once or twice he narrowly escaped
+detection by less friendly officials. There were times when the
+guillotine seemed to him almost better than this long suspense: but
+while other heads passed to the block, his remained on his shoulders;
+and so weeks and even months went by. And during all this time, sleeping
+or waking, whenever he lay down upon his pallet, the toad crept up on to
+the stone, and kept watch over him with lustrous eyes.
+
+Monsieur the Viscount hardly acknowledged to himself the affection with
+which he came to regard this ugly and despicable animal. The greater
+part of his regard for it he believed to be due to its connection with
+his tutor, and the rest he set down to the score of his own humanity,
+and took credit to himself accordingly; whereas in truth Monsieur
+Crapaud was of incalculable service to his new master, who would lie and
+chatter to him for hours, and almost forget his present discomfort in
+recalling past happiness, as he described the chateau, the gardens, the
+burly tutor, and beautiful Madame, or laughed over his childish
+remembrances of the toad's teeth in Claude Mignon's pocket; whilst
+Monsieur Crapaud sat well-bred and silent, with a world of comprehension
+in his fiery eyes. Whoever thinks this puerile must remember that my
+hero was a Frenchman, and a young Frenchman, with a prescriptive right
+to chatter for chattering's sake, and also that he had not a very highly
+cultivated mind of his own to converse with, even if the most highly
+cultivated intellect is ever a reliable resource against the terrors of
+solitary confinement.
+
+Foolish or wise, however, Monsieur the Viscount's attachment
+strengthened daily; and one day something happened which showed his pet
+in a new light, and afforded him fresh amusement.
+
+The prison was much infested with certain large black spiders, which
+crawled about the floor and walls; and, as Monsieur the Viscount was
+lying on his pallet, he saw one of these scramble up and over the stone
+on which sat Monsieur Crapaud. That good gentleman, whose eyes, till
+then, had been fixed as usual on his master, now turned his attention to
+the intruder. The spider, as if conscious of danger, had suddenly
+stopped still. Monsieur Crapaud gazed at it intently with his beautiful
+eyes, and bent himself slightly forward. So they remained for some
+seconds, then the spider turned round, and began suddenly to scramble
+away. At this instant Monsieur the Viscount saw his friend's eyes gleam
+with an intenser fire, his head was jerked forwards; it almost seemed as
+if something had been projected from his mouth, and drawn back again
+with the rapidity of lightning. Then Monsieur Crapaud resumed his
+position, drew in his head, and gazed mildly and sedately before him;
+_but the spider was nowhere to be seen_.
+
+Monsieur the Viscount burst into a loud laugh.
+
+"Eh, well! Monsieur," said he, "but this is not well-bred on your part.
+Who gave you leave to eat my spiders, and to bolt them in such an
+unmannerly way, moreover?"
+
+In spite of this reproof Monsieur Crapaud looked in no way ashamed of
+himself, and I regret to state that hence-forward (with the partial
+humaneness of mankind in general), Monsieur the Viscount amused himself
+by catching the insects (which were only too plentiful) in an old
+oyster-shell, and setting them at liberty on the stone for the benefit
+of his friend. As for him, all appeared to be fish that came to his
+net--spiders and beetles, slugs and snails from the damp corners,
+flies, and wood-lice found on turning up the large stone, disappeared
+one after the other. The wood-lice were an especial amusement: when
+Monsieur the Viscount touched them, they shut up into tight little
+balls, and in this condition he removed them to the stone, and placed
+them like marbles in a row, Monsieur Crapaud watching the proceeding
+with rapt attention. After awhile the balls would slowly open and begin
+to crawl away; but he was a very active wood-louse indeed who escaped
+the suction of Monsieur Crapaud's tongue, as his eyes glowing with eager
+enjoyment, he bolted one after another, and Monsieur the Viscount
+clapped his hands and applauded.
+
+The grated window was a fine field for spiders and other insects, and by
+piling up stones on the floor, Monsieur the Viscount contrived to
+scramble up to it, and fill his friend's oyster-shell with the prey.
+
+One day, about a year and nine months after his first arrival at the
+prison, he climbed to the embrasure of the window, as usual,
+oyster-shell in hand. He always chose a time for this when he knew that
+the court would most probably be deserted, to avoid the danger of being
+recognized through the grating. He was therefore, not a little startled
+at being disturbed in his capture of a fat black spider by a sound of
+something bumping against the iron bars. On looking up, he saw that a
+string was dangling before the window with something attached to the end
+of it. He drew it in, and, as he did so, he fancied that he heard a
+distant sound of voices and clapped hands, as if from some window above.
+He proceeded to examine his prize, and found that it was a little round
+pincushion of sand, such as women use to polish their needles with, and
+that, apparently, it was used as a make-weight to ensure the steady
+descent of a neat little letter that was tied beside it, in company with
+a small lead pencil. The letter was directed to "_The prisoner who finds
+this._" Monsieur the Viscount opened it at once. This was the letter:
+
+                              "_In prison, 24th Prairial, year 2._
+
+     "_Fellow-sufferer, who are you? how long have you been
+     imprisoned? Be good enough to answer._"
+
+Monsieur the Viscount hesitated for a moment, and then determined to
+risk all. He tore off a bit of the paper, and with the little pencil
+hurriedly wrote this reply:--
+
+                                      "_In secret, June 12, 1794._
+
+     "_Louis Archambaud Jean-Marie Arnaud, Vicomte de B. supposed
+     to have perished in the massacres of September, 1792. Keep
+     my secret. I have been imprisoned a year and nine months.
+     Who are you? how long have you been here?_"
+
+The letter was drawn up, and he watched anxiously for the reply. It
+came, and with it some sheets of blank paper.
+
+     "_Monsieur,--We have the honor to reply to your inquiries
+     and thank you for your frankness. Henri Edouard Clermont,
+     Baron de St. Claire. Valerie de St. Claire. We have been
+     here but two days. Accept our sympathy for your
+     misfortunes._"
+
+Four words in this note seized at once upon Monsieur the Viscount's
+interest--_Valerie de St. Claire_:--and for some reasons which I do not
+pretend to explain, he decided that it was she who was the author of
+these epistles, and the demon of curiosity forthwith took possession of
+his mind. Who was she? was she old or young. And in which relation did
+she stand to Monsieur le Baron--that of wife, of sister, or of daughter?
+And from some equally inexplicable cause Monsieur the Viscount
+determined in his own mind that it was the latter. To make assurance
+doubly sure, however, he laid a trap to discover the real state of the
+case. He wrote a letter of thanks and sympathy, expressed with all the
+delicate chivalrous politeness of a nobleman of the old _regime_, and
+addressed it to _Madame la Baronne_. The plan succeeded. The next note
+he received contained these sentences:--"_I am not the Baroness. Madame
+my mother is, alas! dead. I and my father are alone. He is ill; but
+thanks you, Monsieur, for your letters, which relieve the_ ennui _of
+imprisonment. Are you alone?_"
+
+Monsieur the Viscount, as in duty bound, relieved the ennui of the
+Baron's captivity by another epistle. Before answering the last
+question, he turned round involuntarily and looked to where Monsieur
+Crapaud sat by the broken pitcher. The beautiful eyes were turned
+towards him, and Monsieur the Viscount took up his pencil, and wrote
+hastily, "_I am not alone--I have a friend._"
+
+Henceforward the oyster-shell took a long time to fill, and patience
+seemed a harder virtue than ever. Perhaps the last fact had something to
+do with the rapid decline of Monsieur the Viscount's health. He became
+paler and weaker, and more fretful. His prayers were accompanied by
+greater mental struggles, and watered with more tears. He was, however,
+most positive in his assurances to Monsieur Crapaud that he knew the
+exact nature and cause of the malady that was consuming him. It
+resulted, he said, from the noxious and unwholesome condition of his
+cell; and he would entreat Antoine to have it swept out. After some
+difficulty the gaoler consented.
+
+It was nearly a month since Monsieur the Viscount had first been
+startled by the appearance of the little pincushion. The stock of paper
+had long been exhausted. He had torn up his cambric ruffles to write
+upon, and Mademoiselle de St. Claire had made havoc of her
+pocket-handkerchiefs for the same purpose. The Viscount was feebler than
+ever, and Antoine became alarmed. The cell should be swept out the next
+morning. He would come himself, he said, and bring another man out of
+the town with him to help him, for the work was heavy, and he had a
+touch of rheumatism. The man was a stupid fellow from the country, who
+had only been a week in Paris; he had never heard of the Viscount, and
+Antoine would tell him that the prisoner was a certain young lawyer who
+had really died of fever in prison the day before. Monsieur the Viscount
+thanked him; and it was not till the next morning arrived, and he was
+expecting them every moment, that Monsieur the Viscount remembered the
+toad, and that he would without doubt be swept away with the rest in
+the general clearance. At first he thought that he would beg them to
+leave it, but some knowledge of the petty insults which that class of
+men heaped upon their prisoners made him feel that this would probably
+be only an additional reason for their taking the animal away. There was
+no place to hide it in, for they would go all round the room;
+unless--unless Monsieur the Viscount took it up in his hand. And this
+was just what he objected to do. All his old feelings of repugnance came
+back, he had not even got gloves on; his long white hands were bare, he
+could not touch a toad. It was true that the beast had amused him, and
+that he had chatted to it; but after all, this was a piece of childish
+folly--an unmanly way, to say the least, of relieving the tedium of
+captivity. What was Monsieur Crapaud but a very ugly (and most people
+said a venomous) reptile? To what a folly he had been condescending!
+With these thoughts, Monsieur the Viscount steeled himself against the
+glances of his topaz-eyed friend, and when the steps of thee men were
+heard upon the stairs, he did not move from the window where he had
+placed himself, with his back to the stone.
+
+The steps came nearer and nearer, Monsieur the Viscount began to
+whistle;--the key was rattled into the lock, and Monsieur the Viscount
+heard a bit of bread fall, as the toad hastily descended to hide itself
+as usual in the corners. In a moment his resolution was gone; another
+second, and it would be too late. He dashed after the creature, picked
+it up, and when the men came in he was standing with his hands behind
+him, in which Monsieur Crapaud was quietly and safely seated.
+
+The room was swept, and Antoine was preparing to go, when the other, who
+had been eyeing the prisoner suspiciously, stopped and said with a sharp
+sneer, "Does the citizen always preserve that position?"
+
+"Not he," said the gaoler, good-naturedly. "He spends most of his time
+in bed, which saves his legs. Come along Francois."
+
+"I shall not come," said the other, obstinately. "Let the citizen show
+me his hands."
+
+"Plague take you!" said Antoine, in a whisper. "What sulky fit
+possesses you, my comrade! Let the poor wretch alone. What wouldst thou
+with his hands? Wait a little, and thou shalt have his head."
+
+"We should have few heads or prisoners either, if thou hadst the care of
+them," said Francois sharply. "I say that the prisoner secretes
+something, and that I will see it. Show your hands, dog of an
+aristocrat!"
+
+Monsieur the Viscount set his teeth to keep himself from speaking, and
+held out his hands in silence, toad and all.
+
+Both the men started back with an exclamation, and Francois got behind
+his comrade, and swore over his shoulder.
+
+Monsieur the Viscount stood upright and still, with a smile on his white
+face. "Behold, citizen, what I secrete, and what I desire to keep.
+Behold all that I have left to secrete or to desire! There is nothing
+more."
+
+"Throw it down!" screamed Francois; "many a witch has been burnt for
+less--throw it down."
+
+The color began to flood over Monsieur the Viscount's face; but still he
+spoke gently, and with bated breath. "If you wish me to suffer, citizen,
+let this be my witness that I have suffered. I must be very friendless
+to desire such a friend. I must be brought very low to ask such a favor.
+Let the Republic give me this."
+
+"The Republic has one safe rule for aristocrats," said the other; "she
+gives them nothing but their keep till she pays for their shaving--once
+for all. She gave one of these dogs a few rags to dress a wound on his
+back with, and he made a rope of his dressings, and let himself down
+from the window. We will have no more such games. You may be training
+the beast to spit poison at good citizens. Throw it down and kill it."
+
+Monsieur the Viscount made no reply. His hands had moved towards his
+breast, against which he was holding his golden-eyed friend. There are
+times in life when the brute creation contrasts favorably with the lords
+thereof, and this was one of them. It was hard to part just now.
+
+Antoine, who had been internally cursing his own folly in bringing such
+a companion into the cell, now interfered. "If you are going to stay
+here to be bitten or spit at, Francois, my friend," said he, "I am not.
+Thou art zealous, my comrade, but dull as an owl. The Republic is
+far-sighted in her wisdom beyond thy coarse ideas, and has more ways of
+taking their heads from these aristocrats than one. Dost thou not see?"
+And he tapped his forehead significantly, and looked at the prisoner;
+and so, between talking and pushing, got his sulky companion out of the
+cell, and locked the door after them.
+
+"And so, my friend--my friend!" said Monsieur the Viscount, tenderly,
+"we are safe once more; but it will not be for long, my Crapaud.
+Something tells me that I cannot much longer be overlooked. A little
+while, and I shall be gone; and thou wilt have, perchance, another
+master, when I am summoned before mine."
+
+Monsieur the Viscount's misgivings were just. Francois, on whose
+stupidity Antoine had relied, was (as is not uncommon with people stupid
+in other respects) just clever enough to be mischievous. Antoine's
+evident alarm made him suspicious, and he began to talk about the
+too-elegant-looking young lawyer who was imprisoned "in secret," and
+permitted by the gaoler to keep venomous beasts. Antoine was examined
+and committed to one of his own cells, and Monsieur the Viscount was
+summoned before the revolutionary tribunal.
+
+There was little need even for the scanty inquiry that in those days
+preceded sentence. In every line of his beautiful face, marred as it was
+by sickness and suffering--in the unconquerable dignity, which dirt and
+raggedness were powerless to hide, the fatal nobility of his birth and
+breeding were betrayed. When he returned to the anteroom, he did not
+positively know his fate; but in his mind there was a moral certainty
+that left him no hope.
+
+The room was filled with other prisoners awaiting trial; and as he
+entered, his eyes wandered round it to see if there were any familiar
+faces. They fell upon two figures standing with their backs to him--a
+tall, fierce-looking man, who, despite his height and fierceness, had a
+restless, nervous despondency expressed in all his movements; and a
+young girl who leant on his arm as if for support, but whose steady
+quietude gave her more the air of a supporter. Without seeing their
+faces, and for no reasonable reason, Monsieur the Viscount decided with
+himself that they were the Baron and his daughter, and he begged the man
+who was conducting him, for a moment's delay. The man consented. France
+was becoming sick of unmitigated carnage, and even the executioners
+sometimes indulged in pity by way of a change.
+
+As Monsieur the Viscount approached the two they turned round, and he
+saw her face--a very fair and very resolute one, with ashen hair and
+large eyes. In common with almost all the faces in that room, it was
+blanched with suffering; and it is fair to say, in common with many of
+them, it was pervaded by a lofty calm. Monsieur the Viscount never for
+an instant doubted his own conviction; he drew near and said in a low
+voice, "Mademoiselle de St. Claire!"
+
+The Baron looked first fierce, and then alarmed. His daughter's face
+illumined; she turned her large eyes on the speaker, and said simply,
+
+"Monsieur le Vicomte?"
+
+The Baron apologized, commiserated, and sat down on a seat near, with a
+look of fretful despair; and his daughter and Monsieur the Viscount were
+left standing together. Monsieur the Viscount desired to say a great
+deal and could say very little. The moments went by and hardly a word
+had been spoken.
+
+Valerie asked if he knew his fate.
+
+"I have not heard it," he said; "but I am morally certain. There can be
+but one end in these days."
+
+She sighed. "It is the same with us. And if you must suffer, Monsieur, I
+wish that we may suffer together. It would comfort my father--and me."
+
+Her composure vexed him. Just, too, when he was sensible that the desire
+of life was making a few fierce struggles in his own breast.
+
+"You seem to look forward to death with great cheerfulness,
+Mademoiselle."
+
+The large eyes were raised to him with a look of surprise at the
+irritation of his tone.
+
+"I think," she said gently, "that one does not look forward to, but
+_beyond_ it." She stopped and hesitated, still watching his face, and
+then spoke hurriedly and diffidently:--
+
+"Monsieur, it seems impertinent to make such suggestions to you, who
+have doubtless a full fund of consolation; but I remember, when a child,
+going to hear the preaching of a monk who was famous for his eloquence.
+He said that his text was from the Scriptures--it has been in my mind
+all to-day--'_There the wicked cease from troubling, and there the weary
+be at rest._' The man is becoming impatient. Adieu! Monsieur. A thousand
+thanks and a thousand blessings."
+
+She offered her cheek, on which there was not a ray of increased color,
+and Monsieur the Viscount stooped and kissed it, with a thick mist
+gathering in his eyes, through which he could not see her face.
+
+"Adieu! Valerie!"
+
+"Adieu! Louis!"
+
+So they met, and so they parted; and as Monsieur the Viscount went back
+to his prison, he flattered himself that the last link was broken for
+him in the chain of earthly interests.
+
+When he reached the cell he was tired, and lay down, and in a few
+seconds a soft scrambling over the floor announced the return of
+Monsieur Crapaud from his hiding place. With one wrinkled leg after
+another he clambered on to the stone, and Monsieur the Viscount started
+when he saw him.
+
+"Friend Crapaud! I had actually forgotten thee. I fancied I had said
+adieu for the last time;" and he gave a choked sigh, which Monsieur
+Crapaud could not be expected to understand. In about five minutes he
+sprang up suddenly. "Monsieur Crapaud, I have not long to live, and no
+time must be lost in making my will." Monsieur Crapaud was too wise to
+express any astonishment; and his master began to hunt for a
+tidy-looking stone (paper and cambric were both at an end). They were
+all rough and dirty; but necessity had made the Viscount inventive, and
+he took a couple and rubbed them together till he had polished both.
+Then he pulled out the little pencil, and for the next half hour wrote
+busily. When it was done he lay down, and read it to his friend. This
+was Monsieur the Viscount's last will and testament:--
+
+                  "_To my successor in this cell._
+
+     "To you whom Providence has chosen to be the inheritor of my
+     sorrows and my captivity, I desire to make another bequest.
+     There is in this prison a toad. He was tamed by a man (peace
+     to his memory!) who tenanted this cell before me. He has
+     been my friend and companion for nearly two years of sad
+     imprisonment. He has sat by my bedside, fed from my hand,
+     and shared all my confidence. He is ugly, but he has
+     beautiful eyes; he is silent, but he is attentive; he is a
+     brute, but I wish the men of France were in this respect
+     more his superiors! He is very faithful. May you never have
+     a worse friend! He feeds upon insects, which I have been
+     accustomed to procure for him. Be kind to him; he will repay
+     it. Like other men, I bequeath what I would take with me if
+     I could.
+
+     "Fellow-sufferer, adieu! God comfort you as He has comforted
+     me! The sorrows of this life are sharp but short; the joys
+     of the next life are eternal. Think some times on him who
+     commends his friend to your pity, and himself to your
+     prayers.
+
+     "This is the last will and testament of Louis Archambaud
+     Jean-Marie Arnaud, Vicomte de B----."
+
+Monsieur the Viscount's last will and testament was with difficulty
+squeezed into the surface of the larger of the stones. Then he hid it
+where the priest had hid his bequest long ago, and then lay down to
+dream of Monsieur the Preceptor, and that they had met at last.
+
+The next day was one of anxious suspense. In the evening, as usual, a
+list of those who were to be guillotined next morning, was brought into
+the prison; and Monsieur the Viscount begged for a sight of it. It was
+brought to him. First on the list was Antoine! Halfway down was his own
+name, "Louis de B--," and a little lower his fascinated gaze fell upon
+names that stirred his heart with such a passion of regret as he had
+fancied it would never feel again, "Henri de St. Claire, Valerie de St.
+Claire."
+
+Her eyes seemed to shine on him from the gathering twilight, and her
+calm voice to echo in his ears. "_It has been in my mind all to-day.
+There the wicked cease from troubling, and there the weary be at rest._"
+
+_There!_ He buried his face and prayed.
+
+He was disturbed by the unlocking of the door, and the new gaoler
+appeared with Antoine! The poor wretch seemed overpowered by terror. He
+had begged to be imprisoned for this last night with Monsieur the
+Viscount. It was only a matter of a few hours, as they were to die at
+daybreak, and his request was granted.
+
+Antoine's entrance turned the current of Monsieur the Viscount's
+thoughts. No more selfish reflections now. He must comfort this poor
+creature, of whose death he was to be the unintentional cause. Antoine's
+first anxiety was that Monsieur the Viscount should bear witness that
+the gaoler had treated him kindly, and so earned the blessing and not
+the curse of Monsieur le Cure, whose powerful presence seemed to haunt
+him still. On this score he was soon set at rest, and then came the old,
+old story. He had been but a bad man. If his life were to come over
+again, he would do differently. Did Monsieur the Viscount think that
+there was any hope?
+
+Would Monsieur the Viscount have recognized himself, could he, two years
+ago, have seen himself as he was now? Kneeling by that rough,
+uncultivated figure, and pleading with all the eloquence that he could
+master to that rough uncultivated heart, the great Truths of
+Christianity,--so great and few and simple in their application to our
+needs! The violet eyes had never appealed more tenderly, the soft voice
+had never been softer than now, as he strove to explain to this ignorant
+soul, the cardinal doctrines of Faith and Repentance, and Charity, with
+an earnestness that was perhaps more effectual than his preaching.
+
+Monsieur the Viscount was quite as much astonished as flattered by the
+success of his instructions. The faith on which he had laid hold with
+such mortal struggles, seemed almost to "come natural" (as people say)
+to Antoine. With abundant tears, he professed the deepest penitence for
+his past life, at the same time that he accepted the doctrine of the
+Atonement as a natural remedy, and never seemed to have a doubt in the
+Infinite Mercy that should cover his infinite guilt.
+
+It was all so orthodox that even if he had doubted (which he did not)
+the sincerity of the gaoler's contrition and belief, Monsieur the
+Viscount could have done nothing but envy the easy nature of Antoine's
+convictions. He forgot the difference of their respective capabilities!
+
+When the night was far advanced the men rose from their knees, and
+Monsieur the Viscount persuaded Antoine to lie down on his pallet, and
+when the gaoler's heavy breathing told that he was asleep, Monsieur the
+Viscount felt relieved to be alone once more; alone, except for Monsieur
+Crapaud, whose round fiery eyes were open as usual.
+
+The simplicity with which he had been obliged to explain the truths of
+Divine Love to Antoine, was of signal service to Monsieur the Viscount
+himself. It left him no excuse for those intricacies of doubt, with
+which refined minds too often torture themselves; and as he paced feebly
+up and down the cell, all the long-withheld peace for which he had
+striven since his imprisonment seemed to flood into his soul. How
+blessed--how undeservedly blessed--was his fate! Who or what was he that
+after such short, such mitigated sufferings, the crown of victory should
+be so near? The way had seemed long to come, it was short to look back
+upon, and now the golden gates were almost reached, the everlasting
+doors were open. A few more hours, and then--! and as Monsieur the
+Viscount buried his worn face in his hands, the tears that trickled from
+his fingers were literally tears of joy.
+
+He groped his way to the stone, pushed some straw close to it, and lay
+down on the ground to rest, watched by Monsieur Crapaud's fiery eyes.
+And as he lay, faces seemed to him to rise out of the darkness, to take
+the form and features of the face of the Priest, and to gaze at him with
+unutterable benediction. And in his mind, like some familiar piece of
+music, awoke the words that had been written on the fly-leaf of the
+little book; coming back, sleepily and dreamily, over and over again--
+
+       "_Souvenez-vous du Sauveur! Souvenez-vous du Sauveur!_"
+                      (Remember the Saviour!)
+
+In that remembrance he fell asleep.
+
+Monsieur the Viscount's sleep for some hours was without a dream. Then
+it began to be disturbed by that uneasy consciousness of sleeping too
+long, which enables some people to awake at whatever hour they have
+resolved upon. At last it became intolerable, and wearied as he was, he
+awoke. It was broad daylight, and Antoine was snoring beside him. Surely
+the cart would come soon, the executions were generally at an early
+hour. But time went on, and no one came, and Antoine awoke. The hours of
+suspense passed heavily, but at last there were steps and a key rattled
+into the lock. The door opened, and the gaoler appeared with a jug of
+milk and a loaf. With a strange smile he set them down.
+
+"A good appetite to you, citizens."
+
+Antoine flew on him. "Comrade! we used to be friends. Tell me, what is
+it? Is the execution deferred?"
+
+"The execution has taken place at last," said the other, significantly;
+"_Robespierre is dead!_" and he vanished.
+
+Antoine uttered a shriek of joy. He wept, he laughed, he cut capers, and
+flinging himself at Monsieur the Viscount's feet, he kissed them
+rapturously. When he raised his eyes to Monsieur the Viscount's face,
+his transports moderated. The last shock had been too much, he seemed
+almost in a stupor. Antoine got him on the pallet, dragged the blanket
+over him, broke the bread into the milk, and played the nurse once more.
+
+On that day thousands of prisoners in the city of Paris alone awoke from
+the shadow of death to the hope of life. The Reign of Terror was ended!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+It was a year of grace early in the present century.
+
+We are again in the beautiful country of beautiful France. It is the
+chateau once more. It is the same, but changed. The unapproachable
+elegance, the inviolable security, have witnessed invasion. The right
+wing of the chateau is in ruins, with traces of fire upon the blackened
+walls; while here and there, a broken statue or a roofless temple, are
+sad memorials of the Revolution. Within the restored part of the
+chateau, however, all looks well. Monsieur the Viscount has been
+fortunate, and if not so rich a man as his father, has yet regained
+enough of his property to live with comfort, and, as he thinks, luxury.
+The long rooms are little less elegant than in former days, and Madame
+the present Viscountess's boudoir is a model of taste. Not far from it
+is another room, to which it forms a singular contrast. This room
+belongs to Monsieur the Viscount. It is small, with one window. The
+floor and walls are bare, and it contains no furniture; but on the floor
+is a worn-out pallet, by which lies a stone, and on that a broken
+pitcher, and in a little frame against the wall is preserved a crumpled
+bit of paper like the fly-leaf of some little book, on which is a
+half-effaced inscription, which can be deciphered by Monsieur the
+Viscount if by no one else. Above the window is written in large
+letters, a date and the word REMEMBER. Monsieur the Viscount is not
+likely to forget, but he is afraid of himself and of prosperity lest it
+should spoil him.
+
+It is evening, and Monsieur the Viscount is strolling along the terrace
+with Madame on his arm. He has only one to offer her, for where the
+other should be an empty sleeve is pinned to his breast, on which a bit
+of ribbon is stirred by the breeze. Monsieur the Viscount has not been
+idle since we saw him last; the faith that taught him to die, has
+taught him also how to live,--an honorable, useful life.
+
+It is evening, and the air comes up perfumed from a bed of violets by
+which Monsieur the Viscount is kneeling. Madame (who has a fair face and
+ashen hair) stands by him with her little hand on his shoulder and her
+large eyes upon the violets.
+
+"My friend! My friend! My friend!" It is Monsieur the Viscount's voice,
+and at the sound of it, there is a rustle among the violets that sends
+the perfume high into the air. Then from the parted leaves come forth
+first a dirty wrinkled leg, then a dirty wrinkled head with gleaming
+eyes, and Monsieur Crapaud crawls with self-satisfied dignity on to
+Monsieur the Viscount's outstretched hand.
+
+So they stay laughing and chatting, and then Monsieur the Viscount bids
+his friend good-night, and holds him towards Madame, that she may do the
+same. But Madame (who did not enjoy Monsieur Crapaud's society in
+prison) cannot be induced to do more than scratch his head delicately
+with the tip of her white finger. But she respects him greatly, at a
+distance, she says. Then they go back along the terrace, and are met by
+a man-servant in Monsieur the Viscount's livery. Is it possible that
+this is Antoine, with his shock head covered with powder?
+
+Yes; that grating voice which no mental change avails to subdue, is his,
+and he announces that Monsieur le Cure has arrived. It is the old Cure
+of the village (who has survived the troubles of the Revolution), and
+many are the evenings he spends at the chateau, and many the times in
+which the closing acts of a noble life are recounted to him, the life of
+his old friend whom he hopes ere long to see,--of Monsieur the
+Preceptor. He is kindly welcomed by Monsieur and by Madame, and they
+pass on together into the chateau. And when Monsieur the Viscount's
+steps have ceased to echo from the terrace, Monsieur Crapaud buries
+himself once more among the violets.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Monsieur the Viscount is dead, and Madame sleeps also at his side; and
+their possessions have descended to their son.
+
+Not the least valued among them, is a case with a glass front and sides,
+in which, seated upon a stone is the body of a toad stuffed with
+exquisite skill, from whose head gleam eyes of genuine topaz. Above it
+in letters of gold is a date, and this inscription:--
+
+              "MONSIEUR THE VISCOUNT'S FRIEND."
+                            ADIEU!
+
+
+
+
+THE YEW-LANE GHOSTS.
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+    "Cowards are cruel."
+
+                    OLD PROVERB.
+
+
+This story begins on a fine autumn afternoon, when at the end of a field
+over which the shadows of a few wayside trees were stalking like long
+thin giants, a man and a boy sat side by side upon a stile. They were
+not a happy looking pair. The boy looked uncomfortable, because he
+wanted to get away, and dared not go. The man looked uncomfortable also;
+but then no one had ever seen him look otherwise, which was the more
+strange as he never professed to have any object in life but his own
+pleasure and gratification. Not troubling himself with any consideration
+of law or principle--of his own duty or other people's comfort--he had
+consistently spent his whole time and energies in trying to be jolly;
+and though now a grown-up young man, had so far had every appearance of
+failing in the attempt. From this it will be seen that he was not the
+most estimable of characters, and we shall have no more to do with him
+than we can help; but as he must appear in the story, he may as well be
+described.
+
+If constant self-indulgence had answered as well as it should have done,
+he would have been a fine-looking young man; as it was, the habits of
+his life were fast destroying his appearance. His hair would have been
+golden if it had been kept clean. His figure was tall and strong; but
+the custom of slinking about places where he had no business to be, and
+lounging in corners where he had nothing to do, had given it such a
+hopeless slouch, that for the matter of beauty he might almost as well
+have been knock-kneed. His eyes would have been handsome if the lids had
+been less red; and if he had ever looked you in the face, you would have
+seen that they were blue. His complexion was fair by nature, and
+discolored by drink. His manner was something between a sneak and a
+swagger, and he generally wore his cap a-one-side, carried his hands in
+his pockets, and a short stick under his arm, and whistled when any one
+passed him. His chief characteristic perhaps was a habit he had of
+kicking. Indoors he kicked the furniture; in the road he kicked the
+stones; if he lounged against a wall he kicked it; he kicked all
+animals, and such human beings as he felt sure would not kick him again.
+
+It should be said here that he had once announced his intention of
+"turning steady, and settling, and getting wed." The object of his
+choice was the prettiest girl in the village, and was as good as she was
+pretty. To say the truth, the time had been when Bessy had not felt
+unkindly towards the yellow-haired lad; but his conduct had long put a
+gulf between them, which only the conceit of a scamp would have
+attempted to pass. However, he flattered himself that he "knew what the
+lasses meant when they said no;" and on the strength of this knowledge
+he presumed far enough to elicit a rebuff so hearty and unmistakable,
+that for a week he was the laughing-stock of the village. There was no
+mistake this time as to what "no" meant; his admiration turned to a
+hatred almost as intense, and he went faster "to the bad" than ever.
+
+It was Bessy's little brother who sat by him on the stile; "Beauty
+Bill," as he was called, from the large share he possessed of the family
+good looks. The lad was one of those people who seem born to be
+favorites. He was handsome and merry and intelligent; and being well
+brought up, was well-conducted and amiable--the pride and pet of the
+village. Why did Mother Muggins of the shop let the goody side of her
+scales of justice drop the lower by one lollipop for Bill than for any
+other lad, and exempt him by unwonted smiles from her general anathema
+on the urchin race? There were other honest boys in the parish who paid
+for their treacle-sticks in sterling copper of the realm! The very
+roughs of the village were proud of him, and would have showed their
+good nature in ways little to his benefit, had not his father kept a
+somewhat severe watch upon his habits and conduct. Indeed, good parents
+and a strict home counterbalanced the evils of popularity with Beauty
+Bill, and on the whole he was little spoilt, and well deserved the favor
+he met with. It was under cover of friendly patronage that his companion
+was now detaining him; but all the circumstances considered, Bill felt
+more suspicious than gratified, and wished Bully Tom anywhere but where
+he was.
+
+The man threw out one leg before him like the pendulum of a clock--
+
+"Night school's opened, eh?" he inquired; and back swung the pendulum
+against Bill's shins.
+
+"Yes;" and the boy screwed his legs on one side.
+
+"You don't go, do you?"
+
+"Yes, I do," said Bill, trying not to feel ashamed of the fact. "Father
+can't spare me to the day-school now, so our Bessy persuaded him to let
+me go at nights."
+
+Bully Tom's face looked a shade darker, and the pendulum took a swing
+which it was fortunate the lad avoided; but the conversation continued
+with every appearance of civility.
+
+"You come back by Yew-lane, I suppose?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Why, there's no one lives your way but old Johnson; you must come back
+alone?"
+
+"Of course I do," said Bill, beginning to feel vaguely uncomfortable.
+
+"It must be dark now before school looses?" was the next inquiry; and
+the boy's discomfort increased, he hardly knew why, as he answered--
+
+"There's a moon."
+
+"So there is," said Bully Tom, in a tone of polite assent; "and there's
+a weathercock on the church steeple; but I never heard of either of 'em
+coming down to help a body, whatever happened."
+
+Bill's discomfort had become alarm.
+
+"Why, what could happen?" he asked. "I don't understand you."
+
+His companion whistled, looked up in the air, and kicked vigorously, but
+said nothing. Bill was not extraordinarily brave, but he had a fair
+amount both of spirit and sense; and having a shrewd suspicion that
+Bully Tom was trying to frighten him, he almost made up his mind to run
+off then and there. Curiosity, however, and a vague alarm which he could
+not throw off, made him stay for a little more information.
+
+"I wish you'd out with it!" he exclaimed impatiently. "What could
+happen? No one ever comes along Yew-lane; and if they did, they wouldn't
+hurt me."
+
+"I know no one ever comes near it when they can help it," was the reply;
+"so to be sure you couldn't get set upon; and a pious lad of your sort
+wouldn't mind no other kind. Not like ghosts or anything of that."
+
+And Bully Tom looked round at his companion; a fact disagreeable from
+its rarity.
+
+"I don't believe in ghosts," said Bill, stoutly.
+
+"Of course you don't," sneered his tormentor; "you're too well educated.
+Some people does, though. I suppose them that has seen them does. Some
+people thinks that murdered men walk. P'raps some people thinks the man
+as was murdered in Yew-lane walks."
+
+"What man?" gasped Bill, feeling very chilly down the spine.
+
+"Him that was riding by the cross roads and dragged into Yew-lane, and
+his head cut off and never found, and his body buried in the
+churchyard," said Bully Tom, with a rush of superior information; "and
+all I know is, if I thought he walked in Yew-lane, or any other lane, I
+wouldn't go within five mile of it after dusk--that's all. But then I'm
+not book-larned."
+
+The two last statements were true if nothing else was that the man had
+said; and after holding up his feet and examining his boots with his
+head a-one-side, as if considering their probable efficiency against
+flesh and blood, he slid from his perch, and "loafed" slowly up the
+street, whistling and kicking the stones as he went along. As to Beauty
+Bill, he fled home as fast as his legs would carry him. By the door
+stood Bessy, washing some clothes, who turned her pretty face as he came
+up.
+
+"You're late, Bill," she said. "Go in and get your tea, it's set out.
+It's night-school night, thou knows, and Master Arthur always likes his
+class to time." He lingered, and she continued--"John Gardener was down
+this afternoon about some potatoes, and he says Master Arthur is
+expecting a friend."
+
+Bill did not heed this piece of news, any more than the slight flush on
+his sister's face as she delivered it; he was wondering whether what
+Bully Tom said was mere invention to frighten him, or whether there was
+any truth in it.
+
+"Bessy!" he said, "was there a man ever murdered in Yew-lane?"
+
+Bessy was occupied with her own thoughts, and did not notice the anxiety
+of the question.
+
+"I believe there was," she answered carelessly, "somewhere about there.
+It's a hundred years ago or more. There's an old gravestone over him in
+the churchyard by the wall, with an odd verse on it. They say the parish
+clerk wrote it. But get your tea, or you'll be late, and father'll be
+angry;" and Bessy took up her tub and departed.
+
+Poor Bill! Then it was too true. He began to pull up his trousers and
+look at his grazed legs; and the thoughts of his aching shins, Bully
+Tom's cruelty, the unavoidable night-school, and the possible ghost,
+were too much for him, and he burst into tears.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+    "There are birds out on the bushes,
+      In the meadows lies the lamb;
+    How I wonder if they're ever
+      Half as frightened as I am?"
+
+                            C. F. ALEXANDER.
+
+
+The night-school was drawing to a close. The attendance had been good,
+and the room looked cheerful. In one corner the Rector was teaching a
+group of grown-up men, who (better late than never) were zealously
+learning to read; in another the schoolmaster was flourishing his stick
+before a map as he concluded his lesson in geography. By the fire sat
+Master Arthur, the Rector's son, surrounded by his class, and in front
+of him stood Beauty Bill. Master Arthur was very popular with the
+people, especially with his pupils. The boys were anxious to get into
+his class, and loath to leave it. They admired his great height, his
+merry laugh, the variety of walking-sticks he brought with him, and his
+very funny way of explaining pictures. He was not a very methodical
+teacher, and was rather apt to give unexpected lessons on subjects in
+which he happened just then to be interested himself; but he had a clear
+simple way of explaining anything, which impressed it on the memory, and
+he took a great deal of pains in his own way. Bill was especially
+devoted to him. He often wished that Master Arthur could get very rich,
+and take him for his man-servant; he thought he should like to brush his
+clothes and take care of his sticks. He had a great interest in the
+growth of his mustache and whiskers. For some time past Master Arthur
+had had a trick of pulling at his upper lip while he was teaching; which
+occasionally provoked a whisper of "Moostarch, guvernor!" between two
+unruly members of his class; but never till to-night had Bill seen
+anything in that line which answered his expectations. Now, however, as
+he stood before the young gentleman, the fire-light fell on such a
+distinct growth of hair, that Bill's interest became absorbed to the
+exclusion of all but the most perfunctory attention to the lesson on
+hand. Would Master Arthur grow a beard? Would his mustache be short like
+the pictures of Prince Albert, or long and pointed like that of some
+other great man whose portrait he had seen in the papers? He was
+calculating on the probable effect of either style, when the order was
+given to put away books, and then the thought which had been for a time
+diverted came back again,--his walk home.
+
+Poor Bill! his fears returned with double force from having been for a
+while forgotten. He dawdled over the books, he hunted in wrong places
+for his cap and comforter, he lingered till the last boy had clattered
+through the door-way and left him with the group of elders who closed
+the proceedings and locked up the school. But after this, further delay
+was impossible. The whole party moved out into the moonlight, and the
+Rector and his son, the schoolmaster and the teachers, commenced a
+sedate parish gossip, while Bill trotted behind, wondering whether any
+possible or impossible business would take one of them his way. But when
+the turning-point was reached, the Rector destroyed all his hopes.
+
+"None of us go your way, I think," said he, as lightly as if there were
+no grievance in the case; "however, it's not far. Good-night, my boy!"
+
+And so with a volley of good-nights, the cheerful voices passed on up
+the village. Bill stood till they had quite died away, and then, when
+all was silent, he turned into the lane.
+
+The cold night-wind crept into his ears, and made uncomfortable noises
+among the trees, and blew clouds over the face of the moon. He almost
+wished that there were no moon. The shifting shadows under his feet, and
+the sudden patches of light on unexpected objects, startled him, and he
+thought he should have felt less frightened if it had been quite dark.
+Once he ran for a bit, then he resolved to be brave, then to be
+reasonable; he repeated scraps of lessons, hymns, and last Sunday's
+Collect, to divert and compose his mind; and as this plan seemed to
+answer, he determined to go through the Catechism, both question and
+answer, which he hoped might carry him to the end of his unpleasant
+journey. He had just asked himself a question with considerable dignity,
+and was about to reply, when a sudden gleam of moonlight lit up a round
+object in the ditch. Bill's heart seemed to grow cold, and he thought
+his senses would have forsaken him. Could this be the head of--? No! on
+nearer inspection it proved to be only a turnip; and when one came to
+think of it, that would have been rather a conspicuous place for the
+murdered man's skull to have been lost in for so many years.
+
+My hero must not be ridiculed too much for his fears. The terrors that
+visit childhood are not the less real and overpowering from being
+unreasonable; and to excite them is wanton cruelty. Moreover, he was but
+a little lad, and had been up and down Yew-lane both in daylight and
+dark without any fears, till Bully Tom's tormenting suggestions had
+alarmed him. Even now, as he reached the avenue of yews from which the
+lane took its name, and passed into their gloomy shade, he tried to be
+brave. He tried to think of the good God Who takes care of His children,
+and to Whom the darkness and the light are both alike. He thought of all
+he had been taught about angels, and wondered if one were near him now,
+and wished that he could see him, as Abraham and other good people had
+seen angels. In short, the poor lad did his best to apply what he had
+been taught to the present emergency, and very likely had he not done so
+he would have been worse; but as it was, he was not a little frightened,
+as we shall see.
+
+Yew-lane--cool and dark when the hottest sunshine lay beyond it--a
+loitering-place for lovers--the dearly loved play-place of generations
+of children on sultry summer days--looked very grim and vault-like, with
+narrow streaks of moonlight peeping in at rare intervals to make the
+darkness to be felt! Moreover, it was really damp and cold, which is not
+favorable to courage. At a certain point Yew-lane skirted a corner of
+the churchyard, and was itself crossed by another road, thus forming a
+"four-want-way," where suicides were buried in times past. This road
+was the old highroad, where the mail-coach ran, and along which, on such
+a night as this, a hundred years ago, a horseman rode his last ride. As
+he passed the church on his fatal journey, did anything warn him how
+soon his headless body would be buried beneath its shadow? Bill
+wondered. He wondered if he were old or young--what sort of a horse he
+rode--whose cruel hands dragged him into the shadow of the yews and slew
+him, and where his head was hidden and why. Did the church look just the
+same, and the moon shine just as brightly, that night a century ago?
+Bully Tom was right. The weathercock and the moon sit still, whatever
+happens. The boy watched the gleaming highroad as it lay beyond the dark
+aisle of trees, till he fancied he could hear the footfalls of the
+solitary horse--and yet no! The sound was not upon the hard road, but
+nearer; it was not the clatter of hoofs, but something--and a
+rustle--and then Bill's blood seemed to freeze in his veins, as he saw a
+white figure, wrapped in what seemed to be a shroud, glide out of the
+shadow of the yews and move slowly down the lane. When it reached the
+road it paused, raised a long arm warningly towards him for a moment,
+and then vanished in the direction of the churchyard.
+
+What would have been the consequence of the intense fright the poor lad
+experienced is more than any one can say, if at that moment the church
+clock had not begun to strike nine. The familiar sound, close in his
+ears, roused him from the first shock, and before it had ceased he
+contrived to make a desperate rally of his courage, flew over the road,
+and crossed the two fields that now lay between him and home without
+looking behind him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+     "It was to her a real _grief of heart_, acute, as children's
+     sorrows often are.
+
+     "We beheld this from the opposite windows--and, seen thus
+     from a little distance, how many of our own and of other
+     people's sorrows might not seem equally trivial, and equally
+     deserving of ridicule!"
+
+                             HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.
+
+
+When Bill got home he found the household busy with a much more
+practical subject than that of ghosts and haunted yew-trees. Bessy was
+ill. She had felt a pain in her side all the day, which towards night
+had become so violent that the doctor was sent for, who had pronounced
+it pleurisy, and had sent her to bed. He was just coming down-stairs as
+Bill burst into the house. The mother was too much occupied about her
+daughter to notice the lad's condition; but the doctor's sharp eyes saw
+that something was amiss, and he at once inquired what it was. Bill
+hammered and stammered, and stopped short. The doctor was such a tall,
+stout, comfortable-looking man, he looked as if he couldn't believe in
+ghosts. A slight frown however had come over his comfortable face, and
+he laid two fingers on Bill's wrist as he repeated his question.
+
+"Please sir," said Bill, "I've seen--"
+
+"A mad dog?" suggested the doctor.
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"A mad bull?"
+
+"No, sir," said Bill, desperately, "I've seen a ghost."
+
+The doctor exploded into a fit of laughter, and looked more comfortable
+than ever.
+
+"And _where_ did we see the ghost?" he inquired in a professional voice,
+as he took up his coat-tails and warmed himself at the fire.
+
+"In Yew-lane, sir; and I'm sure I did see it," said Bill, half crying;
+"it was all in white, and beckoned me."
+
+"That's to say, you saw a white gravestone, or a tree in the moonlight,
+or one of your classmates dressed up in a table-cloth. It was all
+moonshine, depend upon it," said the doctor, with a chuckle at his own
+joke; "take my advice, my boy, and don't give way to foolish fancies."
+
+At this point the mother spoke--
+
+"If his father knew, sir, as he'd got any such fads in his head, he'd
+soon flog 'em out of him."
+
+"His father is a very good one," said the doctor; "a little too fond of
+the stick, perhaps. There," he added good-naturedly, slipping sixpence
+into Bill's hand, "get a new knife, my boy, and cut a good thick stick,
+and the next ghost you meet, lay hold of him and let him taste it."
+
+Bill tried to thank him, but somehow his voice was choked, and the
+doctor turned to his mother.
+
+"The boy has been frightened," he said, "and is upset. Give him some
+supper, and put him to bed." And the good gentleman departed.
+
+Bill was duly feasted and sent to rest. His mother did not mention the
+matter to her husband, as she knew he would be angry; and occupied with
+real anxiety for her daughter, she soon forgot it herself. Consequently,
+the next night-school night she sent Bill to "clean himself," hurried on
+his tea, and packed him off, just as if nothing had happened. The boy's
+feelings since the night of the apparition had not been enviable. He
+could neither eat nor sleep. As he lay in bed at night, he kept his face
+covered with the clothes, dreading that if he peeped out into the room
+the phantom of the murdered horseman would beckon to him from the dark
+corners. Lying so till the dawn broke and the cocks began to crow, he
+would then look cautiously forth, and seeing by the gray light that the
+corners were empty, and that the figure by the door was not the Yew-lane
+Ghost, but his mother's faded print dress hanging on a nail, would drop
+his head and fall wearily asleep. The day was no better, for each hour
+brought him nearer to the next night-school; and Bessy's illness made
+his mother so busy that he never could find the right moment to ask her
+sympathy for his fears, and still less could he feel himself able to
+overcome them. And so the night-school came round again, and there he
+sat, gulping down a few mouthfuls of food, and wondering how he should
+begin to tell his mother that he neither dare, could, nor would, go down
+Yew-lane again at night. He had just opened his lips when the father
+came in, and asked in a loud voice "why Bill was not off." This
+effectually put a stop to any confidences, and the boy ran out of the
+house. Not, however, to school. He made one or two desperate efforts at
+determination, and then gave up altogether. He _could_ not go!
+
+He was wondering what he should do with himself, when it struck him that
+he would go while it was daylight and look for the grave with the odd
+verse of which Bessy had spoken. He had no difficulty in finding it. It
+was marked by a large ugly stone, on which the inscription was green,
+and in some places almost effaced.
+
+                   SACRED TO THE MEMORY.
+                            OF
+                     EPHRAIM GARNETT--
+
+He had read so far when a voice close by him said--
+
+"You'll be late for school, young chap."
+
+Bill looked up, and to his horror beheld Bully Tom standing in the road
+and kicking the churchyard wall.
+
+"Aren't you going!" he asked, as Bill did not speak.
+
+"Not to-night," said Bill, with crimson cheeks.
+
+"Larking, eh?" said Bully Tom. "My eyes, won't your father give it you!"
+and he began to move off.
+
+"Stop!" shouted Bill in an agony; "don't tell him, Tom. That would be a
+dirty trick. I'll go next time, I will indeed; I can't go to-night. I'm
+not larking, I'm scared. You won't tell?"
+
+"Not this time, maybe," was the reply; "but I wouldn't be in your shoes
+if you play this game next night;" and off he went.
+
+Bill thought it well to quit the churchyard at once for some place where
+he was not likely to be seen; he had never played truant before, and for
+the next hour or two was thoroughly miserable as he slunk about the
+premises of a neighboring farm, and finally took refuge in a shed, and
+began to consider his position. He would remain hidden till nine
+o'clock, and then go home. If nothing were said, well and good; unless
+some accident should afterwards betray him. But if his mother asked any
+questions about the school? He dared not, and he would not, tell a lie;
+and yet what would be the result of the truth coming out? There could be
+no doubt that his father would beat him. Bill thought again, and decided
+that he could bear a thrashing, but not the sight of the Yew-lane Ghost;
+so he remained where he was, wondering how it would be, and how he
+should get over the next school-night when it came. The prospect was so
+hopeless, and the poor lad so wearied with anxiety and wakeful nights,
+that he was almost asleep when he was startled by the church clock
+striking nine; and jumping up he ran home. His heart beat heavily as he
+crossed the threshold; but his mother was still absorbed by thoughts of
+Bessy, and he went to bed unquestioned. The next day too passed over
+without any awkward remarks, which was very satisfactory; but then
+night-school day came again, and Bill felt that he was in a worse
+position than ever. He had played truant once with success; but he was
+aware that it would not do a second time. Bully Tom was spiteful, and
+Master Arthur might come to "look up" his recreant pupil, and then
+Bill's father would know all.
+
+On the morning of the much-dreaded day, his mother sent him up to the
+Rectory to fetch some little delicacy that had been promised for Bessy's
+dinner. He generally found it rather amusing to go there. He liked to
+peep at the pretty garden, to look out for Master Arthur, and to sit in
+the kitchen and watch the cook, and wonder what she did with all the
+dishes and bright things that decorated the walls. To-day all was quite
+different. He avoided the gardens, he was afraid of being seen by his
+teacher, and though cook had an unusual display of pots and pans in
+operation, he sat in the corner of the kitchen indifferent to everything
+but the thought of the Yew-lane Ghost. The dinner for Bessy was put
+between two saucers, and as cook gave it into his hands she asked kindly
+after his sister, and added--
+
+"You don't look over-well yourself, lad! What's amiss?"
+
+Bill answered that he was quite well, and hurried out of the house to
+avoid further inquiries. He was becoming afraid of every one! As he
+passed the garden he thought of the gardener, and wondered if he would
+help him. He was very young and very good-natured; he had taken of late
+to coming to see Bessy, and Bill had his own ideas upon that point;
+finally, he had a small class at the night-school. Bill wondered whether
+if he screwed up his courage to-night to go, John Gardener would walk
+back with him for the pleasure of hearing the latest accounts of Bessy.
+But all hopes of this sort were cut off by Master Arthur's voice
+shouting to him from the garden--
+
+"Hi there! I want you, Willie! Come here, I say."
+
+Bill ran through the evergreens, and there among the flower-beds in the
+sunshine he saw--first, John Gardener driving a mowing-machine over the
+velvety grass under Master Arthur's very nose, so there was no getting a
+private interview with him. Secondly, Master Arthur himself, sitting on
+the ground with his terrier in his lap, directing the proceedings by
+means of a donkey-headed stick with elaborately carved ears; and thirdly
+Master Arthur's friend.
+
+Now little bits of gossip will fly; and it had been heard in the
+dining-room, and conveyed by the parlor-maid to the kitchen, and passed
+from the kitchen into the village, that Master Arthur's friend was a
+very clever young gentleman; consequently Beauty Bill had been very
+anxious to see him. As, however, the clever young gentleman was lying on
+his back on the grass, with his hat flattened over his face to keep out
+the sun, and an open book lying on its face upon his waistcoat to keep
+the place, and otherwise quite immovable, and very like other young
+gentlemen, Bill did not feel much the wiser for looking at him. He had
+a better view of him soon, however, for Master Arthur began to poke his
+friend's legs with the donkey-headed stick, and to exhort him to get up.
+
+"Hi! Bartram, get up! Here's my prime pupil. See what we can turn out.
+You may examine him if you like--Willie! this gentleman is a very clever
+gentleman, so you must keep your wits about you. _He'll_ put questions
+to you, I can tell you! There's as much difference between his head and
+mine, as between mine and the head of this stick." And Master Arthur
+flourished his "one-legged donkey," as he called it, in the air, and
+added, "Bertram! you lazy lout! _will_ you get up and take an interest
+in my humble efforts for the good of my fellow-creatures?"
+
+Thus adjured, Mr. Bartram sat up with a jerk which threw his book on to
+his boots, and his hat after it, and looked at Bill. Now Bill and the
+gardener had both been grinning, as they always did at Master Arthur's
+funny speeches; but when Bill found the clever gentleman looking at him,
+he straightened his face very quickly. The gentleman was not at all like
+his friend ("nothing near so handsome," Bill reported at home), and he
+had such a large prominent forehead that he looked as if he were bald.
+When he had sat up, he suddenly screwed up his eyes in a very peculiar
+way, pulled out a double gold eye-glass, fixed it on his nose, and
+stared through it for a second; after which his eyes unexpectedly opened
+to their full extent (they were not small ones), and took a sharp survey
+of Bill over the top of his spectacles, and this ended, he lay back on
+his elbow without speaking. Bill then and there decided that Mr. Bartram
+was very proud, rather mad, and the most disagreeable gentleman he ever
+saw; and he felt sure could see as well as he (Bill) could, and only
+wore spectacles out of a peculiar kind of pride and vain-glory which he
+could not exactly specify. Master Arthur seemed to think, at any rate,
+that he was not very civil, and began at once to talk to the boy
+himself.
+
+"Why were you not at school last time, Willie? Couldn't your mother
+spare you?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Then why didn't you come?" said Master Arthur, in evident astonishment.
+
+Poor Bill! He stammered as he had stammered before the doctor, and
+finally gasped--
+
+"Please, sir, I was scared."
+
+"Scared? What of?"
+
+"Ghosts," murmured Bill in a very ghostly whisper. Mr. Bartram raised
+himself a little. Master Arthur seemed confounded.
+
+"Why, you little goose! How is it you never were afraid before?"
+
+"Please, sir, I saw one the other night."
+
+Mr. Bartram took another look over the top of his eye-glass and sat bolt
+upright, and John Gardener stayed his machine and listened, while poor
+Bill told the whole story of the Yew-lane Ghost.
+
+When it was finished, the gardener, who was behind Master Arthur, said--
+
+"I've heard something of this, sir, in the village," and then added more
+which Bill could not hear.
+
+"Eh, what?" said Master Arthur. "Willie, take the machine and drive
+about the garden a bit wherever you like.--Now John."
+
+Willie did not at all like being sent away at this interesting point.
+Another time he would have enjoyed driving over the short grass, and
+seeing it jump up like a little green fountain in front of him; but now
+his whole mind was absorbed by the few words he caught at intervals of
+the conversation going on between John and the young gentleman. What
+could it mean? Mr. Bartram seemed to have awakened to extraordinary
+energy, and was talking rapidly. Bill heard the words "lime-light" and
+"large sheet," and thought they must be planning a magic-lantern
+exhibition, but was puzzled by catching the word "turnip." At last, as
+he was rounding the corner of the bed of geraniums, he distinctly heard
+Mr. Bartram ask,--
+
+"They cut the man's head off, didn't they?"
+
+Then they were talking about the ghost, after all! Bill gave the machine
+a jerk, and to his dismay sliced a branch off one of the geraniums. What
+was to be done? He must tell Master Arthur, but he could not interrupt
+him just now; so on he drove, feeling very much dispirited, and by no
+means cheered by hearing shouts of laughter from the party on the grass.
+When one is puzzled and out of spirits, it is no consolation to hear
+other people laughing over a private joke; moreover, Bill felt that if
+they were still on the subject of the murdered man and his ghost, their
+merriment was very unsuitable: Whatever was going on, it was quite
+evident that Mr. Bartram was the leading spirit of it, for Bill could
+see Master Arthur waving the one-legged donkey in an ecstasy, as he
+clapped his friend on the back till the eye-glass danced upon his nose.
+At last Mr. Bartram threw himself back as if closing a discussion, and
+said loud enough for Bill to hear--
+
+"You never heard of a bully who wasn't a coward."
+
+Bill thought of Bully Tom, and how he had said he dared not risk the
+chance of meeting with a ghost, and began to think that this was a
+clever young gentleman, after all. Just then Master Arthur called to
+him, and he took the bit of broken geranium and went.
+
+"Oh, Willie!" said Master Arthur, "we've been talking over your
+misfortunes--geranium? fiddlesticks! put it in your button-hole--your
+misfortunes, I say, and for to-night at any rate we intend to help you
+out of them. John--ahem!--will be--ahem!--engaged to-night, and unable
+to take his class as usual; but this gentleman has kindly consented to
+fill his place ("Hear, hear," said the gentleman alluded to), and if
+you'll come to-night, like a good lad, he and I will walk back with you;
+so if you do see the ghost, it will be in good company. But mind, this
+is on one condition. You must not say anything about it--about our
+walking back with you, I mean--to anybody. Say nothing; but get ready
+and come to school as usual. You understand?"
+
+"Yes, sir," said Bill; "and I'm very much obliged to you, sir, and the
+other gentleman as well."
+
+Nothing more was said, so Bill made his best bow and retired. As he went
+he heard Master Arthur say to the gardener--
+
+"Then you'll go to the town at once, John. We shall want the things as soon
+as possible. You'd better take the pony, and we'll have the list ready for
+you."
+
+Bill heard no more words; but as he left the grounds the laughter of the
+young gentleman rang out into the road.
+
+What did it all mean?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+     "The night was now pitmirk; the wind soughed amid the
+     headstones and railings of the gentry (for we all must die),
+     and the black corbies in the steeple-holes cackled and
+     crawed in a fearsome manner."
+
+                                MANSIE WAUCH.
+
+
+Bill was early at the night-school. No other of his class had arrived,
+so he took the corner by the fire, sacred to first-comers, and watched
+the gradual gathering of the school. Presently Master Arthur appeared,
+and close behind him came his friend. Mr. Bartram Lindsay looked more
+attractive now than he had done in the garden. When standing, he was an
+elegant though plain-looking young man, neat in his dress, and with an
+admirable figure. He was apt to stand very still and silent for a length
+of time, and had a habit of holding his chin up in the air, which led
+some people to say that he "held himself very high." This was the
+opinion that Bill had formed, and he was rather alarmed by hearing
+Master Arthur pressing his friend to take his class instead of the more
+backward one, over which the gardener usually presided; and he was
+proportionably relieved when Mr. Bartram steadily declined.
+
+"To say the truth, Bartram," said the young gentleman, "I am much
+obliged to you, for I am used to my own boys, and prefer them."
+
+Then up came the schoolmaster.
+
+"Mr. Lindsay going to take John's class? Thank you, sir. I've put out
+the books; if you want anything else, sir, p'raps you'll mention it.
+When they have done reading, perhaps, sir, you will kindly draft them
+off for writing, and take the upper classes in arithmetic, if you don't
+object, sir."
+
+Mr. Lindsay did not object.
+
+"If you have a picture or two," he said. "Thank you. Know their letters?
+All right. Different stages of progression. Very good. I've no doubt we
+shall get on together."
+
+"Between ourselves, Bartram," whispered Master Arthur into his friend's
+ear, "the class is composed of boys who ought to have been to school,
+and haven't; or who have been, and are none the better for it. Some of
+them can what they call 'read in the Testament,' and all of them
+confound _b_ and _d_ when they meet with them. They are at one point of
+general information; namely, they all know what you have just told them,
+and will none of them know it by next time. _I_ call it the rag-tag and
+bob-tail class. John says they are like forced tulips. They won't
+blossom simultaneously. He can't get them all to one standard of
+reading."
+
+Mr. Lindsay laughed and said,--
+
+"He had better read less, and try a little general oral instruction.
+Perhaps they don't remember because they can't understand;"--and the
+Rector coming in at that moment, the business of the evening commenced.
+
+Having afterwards to cross the school for something, Bill passed the new
+teacher and his class, and came to the conclusion that they did "get on
+together," and very well too. The rag-tag and bob-tail shone that night,
+and afterwards were loud in praises of the lesson.
+
+"It was so clear" and "He was so patient." Indeed, patience was one
+great secret of Mr. Lindsay's teaching; he waited so long for an answer
+that he generally got it. His pupils were obliged to exert themselves
+when there was no hope of being passed over, and everybody was waiting.
+Finally, Bill's share of the arithmetic lesson converted him to Master
+Arthur's friend. He _was_ a clever young gentleman, and a kind one too.
+
+The lesson had been so interesting--the clever young gentleman, standing
+(without his eye-glass) by the blackboard, had been so strict and yet so
+entertaining, was so obviously competent, and so pleasantly kind, that
+Bill, who liked arithmetic, and (like all intelligent children)
+appreciated good teaching, had had no time to think of the Yew-lane
+Ghost till the lesson was ended. It was not till the hymn began (they
+always ended the night-school with singing,) that he remembered it.
+Then, while he was shouting with all his might Bishop Ken's glorious old
+lines--
+
+    "Keep me, O keep me, King of kings,"
+
+he caught Mr. Lindsay's eyes fixed on him, and back came the thoughts of
+his terrible fright, with a little shame too at his own timidity. Which
+of us trusts as we should do in the "defence of the Most High"?
+
+Bill lingered as he had done the last time, and went out with the
+"grown-ups." It had been raining, and the ground was wet and sludgy,
+though it was fair overhead. The wind was cold too, and Mr. Lindsay
+began to cough so violently, that Bill felt rather ashamed of taking him
+so far out of his way, through the damp, chilly lane, and began to
+wonder whether he could not summon up courage to go alone. The result
+was, that with some effort he said--
+
+"Please, Mr. Lindsay, sir, I think you won't like to come so far this
+cold night. I'll try and manage, if you like."
+
+Mr. Lindsay laid one hand on Bill's shoulder, and said quietly--
+
+"No, thank you, my boy, we'll come with you. Thank you, all the same."
+
+"Nevertheless, Bartram," said Master Arthur, "I wish you could keep that
+cough of yours quiet--it will spoil everything. A boy was eating
+peppermints in the shade of his copybook this very night. I did box his
+ears; but I wish I had seized the goodies, they might have kept you
+quiet."
+
+"Thank you," was the reply, "I abhor peppermint; but I have got some
+lozenges, if that will satisfy you. And when I smell ghosts, I can
+smother myself in my pocket-handkerchief."
+
+Master Arthur laughed boisterously.
+
+"We shall smell one if brimstone will do it. I hope he won't set himself
+on fire, or the scenic effect will be stronger than we bargained for."
+
+This was the beginning of a desultory conversation carried on at
+intervals between the two young gentlemen, of which, though Bill heard
+every sentence, he couldn't understand one. He made one effort to
+discover what Master Arthur was alluding to, but with no satisfactory
+result as we shall see.
+
+"Please, Master Arthur," he said desperately, "you don't think there'll
+be two ghosts, do you, sir?"
+
+"I should say," said Master Arthur, so slowly and with such gravity that
+Bill felt sure he was making fun of him, "I should say, Bill, that if a
+place is haunted at all there is no limit to the number of ghosts--fifty
+quite as likely as one.--What do you you say, Bartram?"
+
+"Quite so," said Bartram.
+
+Bill made no further attempts to understand the mystery. He listened,
+but only grew more and more bewildered at the dark hints he heard, and
+never understood what it all meant until the end came; when (as is not
+uncommon) he wondered how he could have been so stupid, and why he had
+not seen it all from the very first.
+
+They had now reached the turning point, and as they passed into the dark
+lane, where the wind was shuddering and shivering among the trees, Bill
+shuddered and shivered too, and felt very glad that the young gentlemen
+were with him, after all.
+
+Mr. Lindsay pulled out his watch.
+
+"Well?" said his friend.
+
+"Ten minutes to nine."
+
+Then they walked on in silence, Master Arthur with one arm through his
+friend's, and the one-legged donkey under the other; and Mr. Lindsay
+with his hand on Bill's shoulder.
+
+"I _should_ like a pipe," said Master Arthur presently; "it's so
+abominably damp."
+
+"What a fellow you are!" said Mr. Lindsay. "Out of the question! With
+the wind setting down the lane too! you talk of my cough--which is
+better, by the bye."
+
+"What a fellow _you_ are!" retorted the other. "Bartram, you are the
+oddest creature I know. Whatever you take up, you do drive at so. Now I
+have hardly got a lark afloat before I'm sick of it. I wish you'd tell
+me two things,--first, why are you so grave to-night? and secondly, what
+made you take up our young friend's cause so warmly?"
+
+"One answer will serve both questions," said Mr. Lindsay. "The truth is,
+old fellow, our young friend [and Bill felt certain that the "young
+friend" was himself] has a look of a little chap I was chum with at
+school--Regy Gordon. I don't talk about it often, for I can't very well;
+but he was killed--think of it, man!--_killed_ by such a piece of
+bullying as this! When they found him, he was quite stiff and
+speechless; he lived a few hours, but he only said two words,--my name,
+and amen."
+
+"Amen?" said Master Arthur, inquiringly.
+
+"Well, you see when the surgeon said it was no go, they telegraphed for
+his friends; but they were a long way off, and he was sinking rapidly;
+and the old Doctor was in the room, half heart-broken, and he saw Gordon
+move his hands together, and he said, 'If any boy knows what prayers
+Gordon minor has been used to say, let him come and say them by him;'
+and I did. So I knelt by his bed and said them, the old Doctor kneeling
+too and sobbing like a child; and when I had done, Regy moved his lips
+and said 'Amen;' and then he said 'Lindsay!' and smiled, and then--"
+
+Master Arthur squeezed his friend's arm tightly, but said nothing, and
+both the young men were silent; but Bill could not restrain his tears.
+It seemed the saddest story he had ever heard, and Mr. Lindsay's hand
+upon his shoulder shook so intolerably while he was speaking, that he
+had taken it away, which made Bill worse, and he fairly sobbed.
+
+"What are you blubbering about, young 'un?" said Mr. Lindsay. "He is
+better off than any of us, and if you are a good boy you will see him
+some day;" and the young gentleman put his hand back again, which was
+steady now.
+
+"What became of the other fellow?" said Master Arthur.
+
+"He was taken away, of course. Sent abroad, I believe. It was hushed
+up.--And now you know," added Mr. Lindsay, "why my native indolence has
+roused itself to get this cad taught a lesson, which many a time I
+wished to God, when wishes were too late, that that other bully had been
+taught _in time_. But no one could thrash him; and no one durst
+complain. However, let's change the subject, old fellow! I've got over
+it long since; though sometimes I think the wish to see Regy again helps
+to keep me a decent sort of fellow. But when I saw the likeness this
+morning, it startled me; and then to hear the story, it seemed like a
+dream--the Gordon affair over again. I suppose rustic nerves are
+tougher; however, your village blackguard shan't have the chance of
+committing murder if we can cure him!"
+
+"I believe you half wanted to undertake the cure yourself," said Master
+Arthur.
+
+Mr. Lindsay laughed.
+
+"I did for a minute. Fancy your father's feelings if I had come home
+with a black eye from an encounter with a pot-house bully! You know I
+put my foot into a tender secret of your man's, by offering to be the
+performer!"
+
+"How?"
+
+Mr. Lindsay lowered his voice, but not so that Bill could not hear what
+he said, and recognize the imitation of John Gardener.
+
+"He said, 'I'd rather do it, if _you_ please, sir. The fact is, I'm
+partial to the young woman myself!' After that, I could but leave John
+to defend his young woman's belongings."
+
+"Gently!" exclaimed Master Arthur. "There is the Yew Walk."
+
+From this moment the conversation was carried on in whispers, to Bill's
+further mystification. The young gentlemen recovered their spirits, and
+kept exploding in smothered chuckles of laughter.
+
+"Cold work for him, if he's been waiting long!" whispered one.
+
+"Don't know. His head's under cover remember!" said the other: and they
+laughed.
+
+"Bet you sixpence he's been smearing his hand with brimstone for the
+last half hour."
+
+"Don't smell him yet, though."
+
+"He'll be a patent aphis-destroyer in the rose-garden for months to
+come."
+
+"Sharp work for the eyelids if it gets under the sheet."
+
+They were now close by the Yews, out of which the wind came with a
+peculiar chill, as if it had been passing through a vault. Mr. Bartram
+Lindsay stooped down, and whispered in Bill's ear: "Listen, my lad. We
+can't go down the lane with you, for we want to see the ghost, but we
+don't want the ghost to see us. Don't be frightened, but go just as
+usual. And mind--when you see the white figure, point with your own arm
+_towards the Church_ and scream as loud as you like. Can you do this?"
+
+"Yes, sir," whispered Bill.
+
+"Then off with you. We shall creep quietly on behind the trees; and you
+shan't be hurt, I promise you."
+
+Bill summoned his courage, and plunged into the shadows. What could be
+the meaning of Mr. Lindsay's strange orders? Should he ever have courage
+to lift his arm towards the church in the face of that awful apparition
+of the murdered man? And if he did, would the unquiet spirit take the
+hint, and go back into the grave, which Bill knew was at that very
+corner to which he must point? Left alone, his terrors began to return;
+and he listened eagerly to see if, amid the ceaseless soughing of the
+wind among the long yew branches, he could hear the rustle of the young
+men's footsteps as they crept behind. But he could distinguish nothing.
+The hish-wishing of the thin leaves was so incessant, the wind was so
+dexterous and tormenting in the tricks it played and the sounds it
+produced, that the whole place seemed alive with phantom rustlings and
+footsteps; and Bill felt as if Master Arthur was right, and that there
+was "no limit" to the number of ghosts!
+
+At last he could see the end of the avenue. There among the last few
+trees was the place where the ghost had appeared. There beyond lay the
+white road, the churchyard corner, and the tall gray tombstone
+glimmering in the moonlight. A few steps more, and slowly from among the
+yews came the ghost as before, and raised its long white arm. Bill
+determined that, if he died for it, he would do as he had been told; and
+lifting his own hand he pointed towards the tombstone, and gave a shout.
+As he pointed, the ghost turned round, and then--rising from behind the
+tombstone, and gliding slowly to the edge of the wall which separated
+the churchyard from the lower level of the road--there appeared a sight
+so awful that Bill's shout merged into a prolonged scream of terror.
+
+Truly Master Arthur's anticipations of a "scenic effect" were amply
+realized. The walls and buttresses of the old Church stood out dark
+against the sky; the white clouds sailed slowly by the moon, which
+reflected itself on the damp grass, and shone upon the flat wet
+tombstones till they looked like pieces of water. It was not less bright
+upon the upright ones, upon quaint crosses, short headstones, and upon
+the huge, ungainly memorial of the murdered Ephraim Garnett. But _the_
+sight on which it shone that night was the figure now standing by
+Ephraim Garnett's grave, and looking over the wall. An awful figure, of
+gigantic height, with ghostly white garments clinging round its headless
+body, and carrying under its left arm the head that should have been
+upon its shoulders. On this there was neither flesh nor hair. It seemed
+to be a bare skull, with fire gleaming through the hollow eye-sockets
+and the grinning teeth. The right hand of the figure was outstretched as
+if in warning; and from the palm to the tips of the fingers was a mass
+of lambent flame. When Bill saw this fearful apparition he screamed with
+hearty good-will; but the noise he made was nothing to the yell of
+terror that came from beneath the shroud of the Yew-lane Ghost, who, on
+catching sight of the rival spectre, flew wildly up the lane, kicking
+the white sheet off as it went, and finally displaying, to Bill's
+amazement, the form and features of Bully Tom. But this was not all. No
+sooner had the first ghost started, than the second (not to be
+behind-hand) jumped nimbly over the wall and gave chase. But fear had
+put wings on to Bully Tom's feet; and the second ghost, being somewhat
+encumbered by his costume, judged it wisdom to stop; and then taking the
+fiery skull in its flaming hands, shied it with such dexterity that it
+hit Bully Tom in the middle of his back, and falling on to the wet
+ground, went out with a hiss. This blow was an unexpected shock to the
+Bully, who thought the ghost must have come up to him with supernatural
+rapidity, and falling on his knees in the mud, began to roar most
+lustily:--
+
+"Lord, have mercy upon me! I'll never do it no more!"
+
+Mr. Lindsay was not likely to alter his opinion on the subject of
+bullies. This one, like others, was a mortal coward. Like other men, who
+have no fear of God before their eyes, he made up for it by having a
+very hearty fear of sickness, death, departed souls, and one or two
+other things, which the most self-willed sinner knows well enough to be
+in the hands of a Power which he cannot see, and does not wish to
+believe in. Bully Tom had spoken the truth when he said that if he
+thought there was a ghost in Yew-lane he wouldn't go near it. If he had
+believed the stories with which he had alarmed poor Bill, the lad's
+evening walk would never have been disturbed, as far as he was
+concerned. Nothing but his spite against Bessy would have made him take
+so much trouble to vex the peace, and stop the schooling, of her pet
+brother; and as it was, the standing alone by the churchyard at night
+was a position so little to his taste, that he had drunk pretty heavily
+in the public-house for half an hour before-hand, to keep up his
+spirits. And now he had been paid back in his own coin, and lay
+grovelling in the mud, and calling profanely on the Lord, whose mercy
+such men always cry for in their trouble, if they never ask it for their
+sins. He was so confused and blinded by drink and fright, that he did
+not see the second ghost divest himself of his encumbrances, or know
+that it was John Gardener, till that rosy-cheeked worthy, his clenched
+hands still flaming with brimstone, danced round him, and shouted
+scornfully, and with that vehemence of aspiration in which he was apt to
+indulge when excited;--
+
+"Get hup, yer great cowardly booby, will yer? So you thought you was
+coming hout to frighten a little lad, did ye? And you met with one of
+your hown size, did ye? Now _will_ ye get hup and take it like a man, or
+shall I give it you as ye lie there?"
+
+Bully Tom chose the least of two evils, and staggering to his feet with
+an oath, rushed upon John. But in his present condition he was no match
+for the active little gardener, inspired with just wrath and thoughts of
+Bessy; and he then and there received such a sound thrashing as he had
+not known since he first arrogated the character of village bully. He
+was roaring loudly for mercy, and John Gardener was giving him a
+harmless roll in the mud by way of conclusion, when he caught sight of
+the two young gentlemen in the lane,--Master Arthur in fits of laughter
+at the absurd position of the ex-Yew-lane Ghost, and Mr. Lindsay
+standing still and silent, with folded arms, set lips, and the gold
+eye-glass on his nose. As soon as he saw them, he began to shout,
+"Murder! help!" at the top of his voice.
+
+"I see myself," said Master Arthur, driving his hands contemptuously
+into his pockets,--"I see myself helping a great lout who came out to
+frighten a child, and can neither defend his own eyes and nose, nor take
+a licking with a good grace when he deserves it!"
+
+Bully Tom appealed to Mr. Lindsay:--
+
+"Yah! yah!" he howled. "Will you see a man killed for want of help?"
+
+But the clever young gentleman seemed even less inclined to give his
+assistance.
+
+"Killed!" he said contemptuously; "I _have_ seen a lad killed on such a
+night as this, by such a piece of bullying! Be thankful you have been
+stopped in time! I wouldn't raise my little finger to save you from
+twice such a thrashing. It has been fairly earned! Give the ghost his
+shroud, Gardener, and let him go; and recommend him not to haunt
+Yew-lane in future."
+
+John did so, with a few words of parting advice on his own account.
+
+"Be hoff with you," he said. "Master Lindsay, he speaks like a book.
+You're a disgrace to your hage and sect, you are! I'd as soon fight with
+an old char-woman.--Though bless you, young gentlemen," he added, as
+Bully Tom slunk off muttering, "he is the biggest blackguard in the
+place; and what the Rector'll say, when he comes to know as you've been
+mingled up with him, passes me."
+
+"He'll forgive us, I dare say," said Master Arthur. "I only wish he
+could have seen you emerge from behind that stone! It was a sight for a
+century! I wonder what the youngster thought of it!--Hi, Willie, here,
+sir! What did you think of the second ghost?"
+
+Bill had some doubts as to the light in which he ought to regard that
+apparition; but he decided on the simple truth.
+
+"I thought it looked very horrid, sir."
+
+"I should hope it did! The afternoon's work of three able-bodied men has
+been marvellously wasted if it didn't. However, I must say you halloed
+out loud enough!"
+
+Bill colored; the more so, as Mr. Lindsay was looking hard at him over
+the top of his spectacles.
+
+"Don't you feel rather ashamed of all your fright, now you've seen the
+ghosts without their sheets?" inquired the clever young gentleman.
+
+"Yes, sir," said Bill, hanging his head. "I shall never believe in
+ghosts again, sir, though."
+
+Mr. Bartram Lindsay took off his glasses and twiddled them in his
+fingers.
+
+"Well, well," he said in a low hurried voice; "I'm not the parson, and I
+don't pretend to say what you should believe and what you shouldn't. We
+know precious little as to how much the spirits of the dead see and know
+of what they have left behind. But I think you may venture to assure
+yourself that when a poor soul has passed the waves of this troublesome
+world, by whatever means, it doesn't come back kicking about under a
+white sheet in dark lanes, to frighten little boys from going to
+school."
+
+"And that's very true, sir," said John Gardener, admiringly.
+
+"So it is," said Master Arthur. "I couldn't have explained that myself,
+Willie; but those are my sentiments; and I beg you'll attend to what Mr.
+Lindsay has told you."
+
+"Yes, sir," said Bill.
+
+Mr. Lindsay laughed, though not quite merrily, and said,--
+
+"I could tell him something more, Arthur, though he's too young to
+understand it; namely, that if he lives, the day will come, when he
+would be only too happy if the dead might come back and hold out their
+hands to us, anywhere, and for however short a time."
+
+The young gentleman stopped abruptly; and the gardener heaved a
+sympathetic sigh.
+
+"I tell you what it is, Bartram," muttered Master Arthur, "I suppose I'm
+too young too, for I've had quite enough of the melancholies for one
+night. As to you, you're as old as the hills; but it's time you came
+home; and if I'd known before what you told me to-night, old fellow, you
+shouldn't have come out on this expedition.--Now, for you, Willie,"
+added the young gentleman, whirling sharply round, "if you're not a
+pattern Solomon henceforth, it won't be the fault of your friends. And
+if wisdom doesn't bring you to school after this, I shall try the
+argument of the one-legged donkey."
+
+"I don't think I shall miss next time, sir."
+
+"I hope you won't.--Now, John, as you've come so far, you may as well
+see the lad home; but don't shake hands with the family in the present
+state of your fists, or you might throw somebody into a fit.
+Good-night!"
+
+Yew-lane echoed a round of "Good-nights," and Bill and the gardener went
+off in high spirits. As they crossed the road, Bill looked round, and
+under the trees saw the young gentlemen strolling back to the Rectory,
+arm in arm. Mr. Bartram Lindsay with his chin high in the air, and
+Master Arthur vehemently exhorting him on some topic, of which he was
+pointing the moral with flourishes of the one-legged donkey.
+
+For those who like to know "what became of" everybody, these facts are
+added:--
+
+The young gentlemen got safely home; and Master Arthur gave such a
+comical account of their adventure, that the Rector laughed too much to
+scold them, even if he had wished.
+
+Beauty Bill went up and down Yew-lane on many a moonlight night after
+this one, but he never saw another ghost, or felt any more fears in
+connection with Ephraim Garnett. To make matters more entirely
+comfortable, however, John kindly took to the custom of walking home
+with the lad after night-school was ended. In return for this attention,
+Bill's family were apt to ask him in for an hour; and by their fireside
+he told the story of the two ghosts so often--from the manufacture in
+the Rectory barn, to the final apparition at the cross-roads--that the
+whole family declare they feel just as if they had seen it.
+
+Bessy, under the hands of the cheerful doctor, got quite well, and
+eventually married. As her cottage boasts the finest window plants in
+the village, it is shrewdly surmised that her husband is a gardener.
+
+Bully Tom talked very loudly for some time of "having the law of" the
+rival ghost; but finding, perhaps, that the story did not redound to his
+credit, was unwilling to give it further publicity, and changed his
+mind.
+
+Winter and summer, day and night, sunshine and moonlight, have passed
+over the lane and the churchyard, and the wind has had many a ghostly
+howl among the yews, since poor Bill learnt the story of the murder; but
+he knows now that the true Ephraim Garnett has never been seen on the
+cross-roads since a hundred years ago, and will not be till the Great
+Day.
+
+In the ditch by the side of Yew-lane, shortly after the events I have
+been describing, a little lad found a large turnip, in which some one
+had cut eyes, nose and mouth, and put bits of stick for teeth. The
+turnip was hollow, and inside it was fixed a bit of wax candle. He
+lighted it up, and the effect was so splendid, that he made a show of it
+to his companions at the price of a marble each, who were well
+satisfied. And this was the last of the Yew-lane Ghosts.
+
+
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