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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/39345-8.txt b/39345-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d9e5ac4 --- /dev/null +++ b/39345-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5351 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Mitchelhurst Place, Vol. I (of 2), by Margaret Veley + +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: Mitchelhurst Place, Vol. I (of 2) + A Novel + +Author: Margaret Veley + +Release Date: April 2, 2012 [EBook #39345] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MITCHELHURST PLACE, VOL. I (OF 2) *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Paula Franzini and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by The Internet Archive) + + + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and + bold text by =equal signs=. + + + + + MITCHELHURST PLACE + + A Novel + + BY + MARGARET VELEY + + AUTHOR OF "FOR PERCIVAL" + + "Que voulez-vous? Hélas! notre mère Nature, + Comme toute autre mère, a ses enfants gâtés, + Et pour les malvenus elle est avare et dure!" + + IN TWO VOLUMES + + VOL. I. + + London + MACMILLAN AND CO. + 1884 + + _The Right of Translation and Reproduction is Reserved._ + + + + + Bungay: + + CLAY AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS. + + + + + TO + + BARBARA'S BEST FRIEND + + _ELFRIDA IONIDES_ + + HER STORY IS MOST AFFECTIONATELY + AND GRATEFULLY INSCRIBED. + + + + +CONTENTS OF VOL. I. + + + CHAPTER I. PAGE + TREASURES DROPPED AND PICKED UP 1 + + CHAPTER II. + AN UNEXPECTED INVITATION 19 + + CHAPTER III. + "WELCOME TO MITCHELHURST PLACE" 48 + + CHAPTER IV. + DINNER AND A LITTLE MUSIC 73 + + CHAPTER V. + AN OLD LOVE STORY 95 + + CHAPTER VI. + REYNOLD'S RESOLUTION 124 + + CHAPTER VII. + A GAME AT CHESS 160 + + CHAPTER VIII. + BARBARA'S TUNE 192 + + CHAPTER IX. + OF MAGIC LANTERNS 209 + + CHAPTER X. + AN AFTER-DINNER DISCUSSION 237 + + + + +MITCHELHURST PLACE + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +TREASURES DROPPED AND PICKED UP. + + "Dans l'air pâle, émanant ses tranquilles lumières + Rayonnait l'astre d'or de l'arrière-saison." + + +There was nothing remarkable in the scene. It was just a bit of country +lane, cut deeply into the side of a hill, and seamed with little pebbly +courses, made by the streams of rain which had poured across it on their +downward way. The hill-side faced the west, and, standing on this ledge +as on a balcony, one might look down into a valley where cattle were +feeding in the pastures, and where a full and softly-flowing river +turned the wheel of a distant mill, and slipped quietly under the arched +bridge of the lower road. Sometimes in summer the water lay gleaming, +like a curved blade, in the midst of the warm green meadows, but on this +late October day it was misty and wan, and light vapours veiled the pale +globe of the declining sun. Looking upward from the valley, a broad +slope of ploughed land rose above the road, and the prospect ended in a +hedge, a gate, through whose bars one saw the sky, and a thin line of +dusky, red-trunked firs. But from the road itself there was nothing to +be seen in this direction except a steep bank. This bank was crowned +with hawthorn bushes, and here and there a stubborn stunted oak, which +held its dry brown leaves persistently, as some oaks do. With every +passing breath of wind there was a crisp rustling overhead. + +This bit of road lay deserted in the faint yellow gleams. But for a wisp +of straw, caught on an overhanging twig, and some cart-tracks, which +marked the passage of a load, one might have fancied that the pale sun +had risen, and now was about to set, without having seen a single +wayfarer upon it. But there were four coming towards it, and, slowly as +two of them might travel, they would yet reach it while the sunlight +lasted. The little stage was to have its actors that afternoon. + +First there appeared a man's figure on the crest of the hill. He swung +himself over the gate, and came with eager strides down the field, till +he reached the hedge which divided it from the road. There he stopped, +consulted his watch, and sheltering himself behind one of the little +oaks, he rested one knee on a mossy stump, and thus, half-standing, +half-kneeling, he waited. The attitude was picturesque, and so was the +man. He had bright grey-blue eyes, hair and moustache brown, with a +touch of reddish gold, a quick, animated face, and a smiling mouth. It +was easy to see that he was sanguine and fearless, and on admirable +terms with himself and the world in general. He was young, and he was +pleasant to look at, and, though he could hardly have dressed with a +view to occupying that precise position, his brown velvet coat was +undeniably in the happiest harmony with the tree against which he +leaned, and the withered foliage above his head. + +To wait there, with his eyes fixed on that unfrequented way, hardly +seemed a promising pastime. But the young fellow was either lucky or +wise. He had not been there more than five minutes by his watch, when a +girl turned the corner, and came, with down-bent head, slowly sauntering +along the road below him. His clasping hand on the rough oak-bark +shifted slightly, to allow him to lean a little further and gain a wider +range, though he was careful to keep in the shelter of his tree and the +hawthorn hedge. A few steps brought the girl exactly opposite his +hiding-place. There she paused. + +She sauntered because her hands and eyes were occupied, and she took no +heed of the way she went. She paused because her occupation became so +engrossing that she forgot to take another step. She wore long, loose +gloves, to guard her hands and wrists, and as she came she had pulled +autumn leaves of briony and bramble, and brier sprays with their bunches +of glowing hips. These she was gathering together and arranging, partly +that they might be easier to carry, and partly to justify her pleasure +in their beauty by setting it off to the best advantage. As she +completed her task, a tuft of yellow leaves on the bank beside her +caught her eye. She stretched her hand to gather it, and the man above +looked straight down into her unconscious upturned face. + +She was not more than eighteen or nineteen, and by a touch of innocent +shyness in her glances and movements she might have been judged to be +still younger. She was slight and dark, with a soft loose cloud of dusky +hair, and a face, not flower-like in its charm, but with a healthful +beauty more akin to her own autumn berries--ripe, clear-skinned, and +sweet. As she looked up, with red lips parted, it was hardly wonderful +that the lips of the man in ambush, breathlessly silent though he was, +made answer with a smile. She plucked the yellow leaves and turned away, +and he suffered his breath to escape softly in a sigh. Yet he was +smiling still at the pretty picture of that innocent face held up to +him. + +It was all over in a minute. She had come and gone, and he stood up, +still cautiously, lest she should return, and looked at the broad brown +slope down which he had come so eagerly. Every step of that +lightly-trodden way must be retraced, and time was short. But even as he +faced it he turned for one last glance at the spot where she had stood. +And there, like coloured jewels on the dull earth, lay a bunch of hips, +orange and glowing scarlet, which she had unawares let fall. In a moment +he was down on the road, had caught up his prize, and almost as quickly +had pulled himself up again, and was standing behind the sheltering tree +while he fastened it in his coat. And when he had secured it, it seemed, +after all, as if he had needed just that touch of soft bright colour, +and would not have been completely himself without it. + +"Barbara's gift," he said to himself, looking down at it. "I'll tell her +of it one of these days, when the poor things are dead and dry! No, that +they never shall be!" He quickened his pace. "They shall live, at any +rate, for me. It would not be amiss for a sonnet. _Love's +Gleaning_--yes, or _Love's Alms_," and before the young fellow's eyes +rose the dainty vision of a creamy, faintly-ribbed page, with strong yet +delicately-cut Roman type and slim italics. Though not a line of it was +written, he could vaguely see that sonnet in which his rosy spoil should +be enshrined. He could even see Barbara reading it, on some future day, +while he added the commentary, which was not for the world in general, +but for Barbara. It became clearer to him as he hurried on, striking +across the fields to reach his destination more directly. Snatches of +musical words floated on the evening air, and he quickened his pace +unconsciously as if in actual pursuit. To the east the sky grew cold and +blue, and the moon, pearl white, but as yet not luminous, swam above him +as he walked. + +So the poet went in quest of rhymes, and Barbara, strolling onward, +looked for leaves and berries. She had not gone far when she spied some +more, better, of course, than any she had already gathered. This time +they were on the lower bank which sloped steeply downward to a muddy +ditch. Barbara looked at them longingly, decided that they were +attainable, and put her nosegay down on the damp grass that she might +have both hands free for her enterprise. + +She was certain she could get them. She leaned forward, her finger-tips +almost brushed them, when a man's footsteps, close beside her, startled +her into consciousness of an undignified position, and she sprang back +to firmer ground. But a thin chain she wore had caught on a thorny +spray. It snapped, and a little gold cross dropped from it, and lay, +rather more than half-way down, among the briers and withered leaves. +She snatched at the dangling chain, and stood, flushed and +disconcerted, trying to appear absorbed in the landscape, and +unconscious of the passer-by who had done the mischief. If only he +_would_ pass by as quickly as possible, and leave her to regain her +treasure and gather her berries! + +But the steps hesitated, halted, and there was a pause--an immense +pause--during which Barbara kept her eyes fixed on a particular spot in +the meadow below. It appeared to her that the eyes of the unknown man +were fixed on the back of her head, and the sensation was intolerable. +After a moment, however, he spoke, and broke the spell. It was a +gentleman's voice, she perceived, but a little forced and hard, as if +the words cost him something of an effort. + +"I--I beg your pardon, but can I be of any service? I think you dropped +something--ah! a little cross." He came to her side. "Will you allow me +to get it for you?" + +Barbara went through the form of glancing at him, but she did not meet +his eyes. "Thank you," she said, "but I needn't trouble you, really." +And she returned to her pensive contemplation of that spot where the +meadow grass grew somewhat more rankly tufted. + +He paused again before speaking. It seemed to Barbara that this young +man did nothing but pause. "I don't think you can get it," he said, +looking at the brambles. "I really don't think you can." + +If Barbara had frankly uttered her inmost sentiments she would have +said, "Great idiot--no--not if you don't go away!" But, as it was, she +coloured yet more in her shyness, and stooped to pick up her nosegay +from the ground. He had been within an inch of treading on it. + +"Oh, I beg your pardon!" he exclaimed, starting back. "How clumsy of +me!" + +Something in his tone disarmed her. She feared that she had been +ungracious, and moreover she was a little doubtful whether she would not +find it difficult to regain her trinket without his help. "You haven't +done any harm," she said. Then, glancing downward, "Well, if you will be +so kind." + +The new-comer surveyed the situation so intently that Barbara took the +opportunity of surveying him. + +She was familiar, in novels, with heroes and heroines who were not +precisely beautiful, yet possessed a nameless and all-conquering charm. +Perhaps for that very reason she was slow to recognize good looks where +this charm was absent. The tall young fellow who stood a few steps away, +gazing with knitted brows at the little wilderness of briers, was really +very handsome, but he was not certain of the fact. Beauty should not be +self-conscious, but it should not despondently question its own +existence. This man seemed to be accustomed to a chilly, ungenial +atmosphere, to be numbed and repressed, to lack fire. Barbara fancied +that if he touched her his hand would be cold. + +In point of actual features he was decidedly the superior of the young +fellow who was climbing the hill-side, but the pleasant colour and grace +were altogether wanting. Yet he was not exactly awkward. Neither was he +ill-dressed, though his clothes did not seem to express his +individuality, except perhaps by the fact that they were black and grey. +Any attempt at description falls naturally into cold negatives, and the +scarlet autumn berries which were just a jewel-like brightness in the +first picture would have been a strange and vivid contrast in the +second. + +His momentary hesitation on the brink of his venture was not in reality +indecision, but the watchful distrust produced by a conviction that +circumstances were hostile. He wished to take them all into account. +Having briefly considered the position of the cross, and the steepness +of the bank, he stepped boldly down. In less than half a second the +treacherous earth had betrayed him; his foot slipped, he fell on his +back, and slid down the short incline to the muddy ditch at the bottom, +losing his hat by the way. + +Barbara, above him, uttered a silvery little "Oh!" of dismay and +surprise. She was not accustomed to a man who failed in what he +undertook. + +The victim of the little accident was grimly silent. With a scrambling +effort he recovered his footing and lost it again. A second attempt was +more successful; he secured the cross, clambered up, and restored it to +its owner, turning away from her thanks to pick up his hat, which +luckily lay within easy reach. Barbara did not know which way to look. +She was painfully, burningly conscious of his evil plight. His boots +were coated with mire, his face was darkly flushed and seamed with a +couple of brier scratches, a bit of dead leaf was sticking in his hair, +and "Oh," thought Barbara, "he cannot possibly know how muddy his back +is!" + +She stood, turning the little cross in her fingers. "Thank you very +much," she said nervously. "I should never have got it for myself." + +"Are you quite sure?" he asked, with bitter distinctness. "I think you +would have managed it much better." + +"I'm sure I would rather not try." She dared not raise her eyes to his +face, but she saw that he wore no glove, and that the thorns had torn +his hand. He was winding his handkerchief round it, and the blood +started through the white folds. "Oh, you have hurt yourself!" she +exclaimed. He answered only with an impatient gesture of negation. + +"How am I to thank you?" she asked despairingly. + +"Don't you think the less said the better, at any rate for me?" he +replied, picking a piece of bramble from his sleeve, and glancing aside, +as if to permit her to go her way with no more words. + +But Barbara held her ground. "I should have been sorry to lose that +cross. I--I prize it very much." + +"Then I am sorry to have given you an absurd association with it." + +"Please don't talk like that. I shall remember your kindness," said the +girl hurriedly. She felt as if she must add something more. "I always +fancy my cross is a kind of--what do they call those things that bring +good luck?" + +"Amulet? Talisman?" + +"Yes, a talisman," she repeated, with a little nod. "It belonged to my +godmother. I was named after her. She died before I was a year old, but +I have heard my mother say she was the most beautiful woman she ever +saw. Oh, I should hate to lose it!" + +"Would your luck go with it?" He smiled as he asked the question, and +the smile was like a momentary illumination, revealing the habitual +melancholy of his mouth. + +"Perhaps," said Barbara. + +"Well, you would not have lost it this afternoon, as it was quite +conspicuously visible," he rejoined. + +By this time he had brushed his hat, and, passing his hand over his +short waves of dark hair, had found and removed the bit of leaf which +had distressed Barbara. She advanced a step, perhaps emboldened a little +by that passing smile. "Oh, I beg your pardon," she said, "but when you +slipped you got some earth on your coat." (She fancied that "earth" +sounded a little more dignified than "mud" or "dirt," and that he might +not mind it quite so much.) "Please let me brush it off for you." She +looked up at him with a pleading glance and produced a filmy little +feminine handkerchief. + +He eyed her, drawing back. "No!" he ejaculated; and then, more mildly, +"No, thank you. I can manage. No, thank you." + +"I wish----" Barbara began, but she said no more, for the expression of +his face changed so suddenly that she looked over her shoulder to +discover the cause. + +A gentleman stood a few steps away, gazing at them in unconcealed +surprise. A small, neat, black-clothed gentleman, with bright grey eyes +and white hair and whiskers, who wore a very tall hat and carried a +smart little cane. + +"Uncle!" the girl exclaimed, and her uplifted hand dropped loosely by +her side. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +AN UNEXPECTED INVITATION. + + +The old gentleman's face would have been a mere note of interrogation, +but for a hint of chilly displeasure in its questioning. The young +people answered with blushes. The word was the same for both, but the +fact was curiously different. The colour that sprang to Barbara's cheek +was light and swift as flame, while the man at her side reddened slowly, +as if with the rising of a dark and sullen tide, till the lines across +his face were angrily swollen. The bandage, loosely wound round his +hand, showed the wet stains, and the new-comer's bright gaze, travelling +downwards, rested on it for a moment, and then passed on to the muddy +boots and trousers. + +"Uncle," said Barbara, "I dropped my gold cross, and this gentleman was +so kind as to get it back for me." + +"It was nothing--I was very glad to be of any service, but it isn't +worth mentioning," the stranger protested, again with a rough edge of +effort in his tone. + +"On the contrary," said the old gentleman, "I fear my niece has given +you a great deal of trouble. I am sure we are both of us exceedingly +obliged to you for your kindness." He emphasised his thanks with a neat +little bow. To the young man's angry fancy it seemed that his glance +swept the landscape, as if he sought some perilous precipice, which +might account for the display of mud and wounds. + +"Yes," said Barbara, quickly, "the bank is so slippery, and there are +such horrid brambles--look, uncle! I came to meet you, and I was +gathering some leaves, and my chain caught and snapped." + +"Ah! that bank! Yes, a very disagreeable place," he assented, looking up +at the stranger. "I am really very sorry that you should have received +such----" he hesitated for a word, and then finished, "such injuries." + +"The bank is nothing. I was clumsy," was the reply. + +"I think, Barbara, we must be going home," her uncle suggested. The +young man stood aside to let them pass, with a certain awkwardness and +irresolution, for their road was the same as his own. + +"I beg your pardon," he said, abruptly, "but perhaps, if you are going +that way, you can tell me how far it is to Mitchelhurst." + +They both looked surprised. "About a mile and a half. Were you going to +Mitchelhurst?" + +"Yes, but if you know it----" + +"We live there," said Barbara. + +"Perhaps you could tell me what I want to know. I would just as soon not +go on this afternoon. Is there a decent inn, or, better still, could one +be tolerably sure of getting lodgings in the place, without securing +them beforehand?" + +"You want lodgings there?" + +"Only for a few days. I came by train a couple of hours ago"--he named a +neighbouring town--"and they told me at the hotel that it was uncertain +whether I should find accommodation at Mitchelhurst; so I left my +luggage there, and walked over to make inquiries." + +"I do not think that I can recommend the inn," said the other, +doubtfully. "I fear you would find it beery, and smoky, and noisy--the +village alehouse, you understand. Sanded floors, and rustics with long +clay pipes--that's the kind of thing at the 'Rothwell Arms.'" + +"Ah! the 'Rothwell Arms'!" + +"And as for lodgings," the old man continued, with something alert and +watchful in his manner, "the fact is people _don't_ care to lodge in +Mitchelhurst. They live there, a few of them--myself for instance--but +there is nothing in the place to attract ordinary visitors." + +He paused, but the only comment was-- + +"Indeed?" + +"Nothing whatever," he affirmed. "A little, out-of-the-way, +uninteresting village--but you are anxious to stay here?" + +The stranger was re-arranging the loosened handkerchief with slender, +unskilful fingers. + +"For a few days--yes," he repeated, half absently, as he tried to tuck +away a hanging end. + +"Uncle," said Barbara, with timid eagerness, "doesn't Mrs. Simmonds let +lodgings? When that man came surveying, or something, last summer, +didn't he have rooms in her house? I'm very nearly sure he did." + +Her uncle intercepted, as it were, the stranger's glance of inquiry. + +"Perhaps. But I don't think Mrs. Simmonds will do on this occasion." + +"Why not?" the other demanded. "I don't suppose I'm more particular than +the man who came surveying. If the place is decently clean, why not?" + +"Because your name is Harding. I don't know what his might happen to +be." + +The young man drew himself up, almost as if he repelled an accusation. +Then he seemed to recollect himself. + +"Yes," he said, "it is. How did you know that?" + +The little Mitchelhurst gentleman found such pleasure in his own +acuteness that it gave a momentary air of cordiality to his manner. + +"My dear sir," he replied, looking critically at Harding's scratched +face, "I knew the Rothwells well. I recognise the Rothwell features." + +"You must be a keen observer," said the other curtly. + +"Voice too," the little man continued. "Especially when you repeated the +name of the inn--the Rothwell Arms." + +Harding laughed. + +"Upon my word! The Rothwells have left me more of the family property +than I was aware of." + +"Then there was your destination. Who but a Rothwell would ever want to +stay at Mitchelhurst?" + +"I see. I appear to have betrayed myself in a variety of ways." The +discovery of his name seemed to have given him a little more ease of +manner of a defiant and half-mocking kind. "What, is there something +more?" he inquired, as his new acquaintance recommenced, "And then----" + +"Yes, enough to make me very sure. You wear a ring on your little finger +which your mother gave you. She used to wear it thirty years ago." + +"True!" said Harding, in a tone of surprise. "You knew my mother then?" + +"As I say--thirty years ago. She is still living, is she not? And in +good health, I trust?" + +"Yes." The young man looked at his ring. "You have a good memory," he +said, with an inflection which seemed to convey that he would have ended +the sentence with a name, had he known one. + +The little gentleman took the hint. + +"My name is Herbert Hayes." He spoke with careful precision, it was +impossible to mistake the words, yet there was something tentative and +questioning in their utterance. The young man's face betrayed a puzzled +half-recognition. + +"I've heard my mother speak of you," he said. + +"But you don't remember what she said?" + +"Not much, I'm afraid. It is very stupid of me. But that I have heard +her speak of you I'm certain. I know your name well." + +"There was nothing much to say. We were very good friends thirty years +ago. Mrs. Harding might naturally mention my name if she were speaking +of Mitchelhurst. Does she often talk of old days?" + +"Not often. I shall tell her I met you." + +Barbara stood by, wondering and interested, glancing to and fro as they +spoke. At this moment she caught her uncle's eye. + +"By the way," he said, "I have not introduced you to my niece--my +great-niece, to be strictly accurate--Miss Barbara Strange." + +Harding bowed ceremoniously, and yet with a touch of self-contemptuous +amusement. He bowed, but he remembered that she had seen him slide down +a muddy bank on his back by way of an earlier introduction. + +"Mr. Rothwell Harding, I suppose I should say?" the old man inquired. + +"No. I'm not named Rothwell. I'm Reynold Harding." + +"Reynold?" + +"Yes. It's an old name in my father's family. That is," he concluded, in +the dead level of an expressionless tone, "as old a name as there is in +my father's family, I believe." + +"I suppose his grandfather was named Reynold," said Mr. Hayes to +himself. Aloud he replied, "Indeed. How about Adam?" + +Harding constrained himself to smile, but he did it with such an ill +grace that Mr. Hayes perceived that he was a stupid prig, who could not +take a joke, and gave himself airs. + +"About these lodgings?" the young man persisted, returning to the point. +"If Miss Strange knows of some, why won't they do for me?" + +Mr. Hayes gulped down his displeasure. + +"There is only one roof that can shelter you in Mitchelhurst," he said +magnificently, "and that is the roof of Mitchelhurst Place." + +"Of Mitchelhurst Place?" Reynold was taken by surprise. He made a little +step backward, and Barbara, needlessly alarmed, cried, "Mind the ditch!" +Her impulsive little scream nearly startled him into it, but he +recovered himself on the brink, and they both coloured again, he +angrily, she in vexation at having reminded him of his mishap. "How can +I go to Mitchelhurst Place?" he demanded in his harshly hurried voice. + +"As my guest," said Mr. Hayes. "I am Mr. Croft's tenant. I live +there--with my niece." + +The young man's eyes went from one to the other. Barbara's face was +hardly less amazed than his own. + +"Oh thank you!" he said at last. "It's exceedingly good of you, but I +couldn't think of troubling you--I really couldn't. The lodgings Miss +Strange mentioned will do very well for me, I am sure, or I could manage +for a day or two at the inn." + +"Indeed--" Mr. Hayes began. + +"But I am not particular," said Harding with his most defiant air and in +his bitterest tone, "I assure you I am not. I have never been able to +afford it. I shall be all right. Pray do not give the matter another +thought. I'm very much obliged to you for your kindness, but it's quite +out of the question, really." + +"No," said Mr. Hayes, resting his little black kid hands on the top of +his stick and looking up at the tall young man, "it is out of the +question that you should go anywhere else. Pray do not suggest it. You +intended to go back to your hotel this evening and to come on to +Mitchelhurst to-morrow? Then let us have the pleasure of seeing you +to-morrow as early as you like to come." + +"Indeed--indeed," protested Harding, "I could not think of intruding." + +The little gentleman laughed. + +"My dear sir, who is the intruder at Mitchelhurst Place? Answer me that! +No," he said, growing suddenly serious, "you cannot go to the pot +house--you--your mother's son--while I live in the Rothwells' old home. +It is impossible--I cannot suffer it. I should be for ever ashamed and +humiliated if you refused a few days' shelter under the old roof. I +should indeed." + +"If you put it so----" + +"There is no other way to put it." + +"I can say no more. I can only thank you for your kindness. I will +come," said Reynold Harding, slowly. Urgent as the invitation was, and +simply as it was accepted, there was yet a curious want of friendliness +about it. Circumstances constrained these two men, not any touch of +mutual liking. One would have said that Mr. Hayes was bound to insist +and Harding to yield. + +"That is settled then," said the elder man, "and we shall see you +to-morrow. I am a good deal engaged myself, but Barbara is quite at home +in Mitchelhurst, and can show you all the Rothwell memorials--the +Rothwells are the romance of Mitchelhurst, you know. She'll be delighted +to do the honours, eh, Barbara?" + +The girl murmured a shy answer. + +"Oh, if I trespass on your kindness I think that's enough; I needn't +victimise Miss Strange," said the young man, and he laughed a little, +not altogether pleasantly. "And I can't claim any of the romance. My +name isn't Rothwell." + +"The name isn't everything," said Mr. Hayes. "Come, Barbara, it's +getting late, and I want my dinner. Till to-morrow, then," and he held +out his hand to their new acquaintance. + +Young Harding bowed stiffly to Barbara. "Till to-morrow afternoon." + +The old man and the girl walked away, he with an elderly sprightliness +of bearing which seemed to say, "See how active I still am!" she moving +by his side with dreamy, unconscious grace. They came to a curve in the +road, and she turned her head and looked back before she passed it. Mr. +Reynold Harding had taken but a couple of steps from the spot where they +had left him. He had apparently arranged his bandage to his +satisfaction at last, and was pulling at the knot with his teeth and his +other hand, but his face was towards them, and Barbara knew that he saw +that backward glance. She quickened her steps in hot confusion, and +looked straight before her for at least five minutes. + +During that time it was her uncle who was the hero of her thoughts. His +dramatic recognition of Harding and Harding's ring, his absolute refusal +to permit the young man to go to any house in Mitchelhurst but the +Place, something in the tone of his voice when he uttered his "thirty +years ago," hinted a romance to Barbara. The conjecture might or might +not be correct, but at any rate it was natural. Girls who do not +understand love are apt to use it to explain all the other things they +do not understand. She waited till her cheeks were cool, and her +thoughts clear, and then she spoke. + +"I didn't know you knew the Rothwells so well, uncle." + +"My dear," said her uncle, "how should you?" + +"I suppose you might have talked about them." + +"I might," said Mr. Hayes. "Now you mention it, I might, certainly. But +I haven't any especial fancy for the gossip of the last generation." + +"Well, I have," said the girl. And after a moment she went on. "How long +is it since they left the Place?" + +Her uncle put his head on one side with a quick, birdlike movement, and +apparently referred to a cloud in the western sky before he made answer. + +"Nineteen years last Midsummer." + +"And when did you take it?" + +"A year later." + +The two walked a little way in silence, and then Barbara recommenced. + +"This Mr. Harding--he is like the Rothwells, then?" + +"Rothwell from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot. The old +people, who knew the family, will find him out as he walks through the +village--see if they don't. The same haughty, sulky, sneering way with +him, and just the same voice. Only every Rothwell at the Place, even to +the last, had an air of being a _grand seigneur_, which this fellow +can't very well have. Upon my word, I begin to think it was the +pleasantest thing about them. I don't like a pride which is conscious of +being homeless and out at elbows." + +Barbara undauntedly pursued her little romance. + +"You are talking about the men," she said. "Is Mr. Harding like his +mother?" + +"Well, she was a handsome woman," Mr. Hayes replied indifferently, "but +she had the same unpleasant manner." + +The girl was thrown back on an utter blankness of ideas. A woman beloved +may have a dozen faults, and be the dearer for them; but she cannot +possibly have an unpleasant manner. Barbara could frame no theory to fit +the perplexing facts. + +As they turned into the one street of Mitchelhurst, Mr. Hayes spoke +musingly. + +"To-morrow afternoon, Barbara, let that young man have the blue +room--the large room. You know which I mean?" + +"Yes, uncle." + +"See that everything is nice and in order. And, Barbara----" + +"Yes, uncle," said Barbara again, for he paused. + +"Mr. Reynold Harding will probably look down on you. I suspect he thinks +that you and I are about fit to black his boots. Be civil, of course, +but you needn't do it." + +"I'm sure I don't want," said the girl quietly; "and at that rate I +should hope he would come with them tolerably clean to-morrow." + +Mr. Hayes laughed suddenly, showing his teeth. + +"By Jove!" he said, "they were dirty enough this afternoon!" + +"In my service," said Barbara. "Now I come to think of it, it seems to +me that I ought to clean them." + +"Nonsense!" her uncle exclaimed, still smiling at the remembrance. "And +you saw him roll into the ditch?--Barbara, the poor fellow must hate you +like poison!" + +She looked down as she walked, drawing her delicate brows a little +together. + +"I dare say he does," she said softly, as if to herself. + + * * * * * + +Between ten and eleven that evening Mr. Reynold Harding sat by his +fireside, staring at the red coals as they faded drearily into ashes. +Being duly washed and brushed, he showed but slight traces of his +accident. The scratches on his face were not deep, and his torn hand was +mended with little strips of black plaster. Intently as he seemed to +think, his thoughts were not definite. Had he been questioned concerning +them he could have answered only "Mitchelhurst." Anger, tenderness, +curiosity, pride, and bitter self-contempt were mixed in silent strife +in the shadows of his soul. The memory of the Rothwells had drawn him on +his pilgrimage--a vain, hopeless, barren memory, and yet the best he +had. He had intended to wander about the village, to look from a +distance at the Rothwells' house, to stand by the Rothwells' graves in +the churchyard, and to laugh at his own folly as he did so. And now he +was to sleep under their roof, to know the very rooms where they had +lived and died, and for this he was to thank these strangers who played +at hospitality in the old home. He thought of the morrow with curious +alternations of distaste and eagerness. + +Mr Hayes, meanwhile, with the lamplight shining on his white hair, was +studying a paper in the Transactions of the County Archæological +Society, "On an Inscription in Mitchelhurst Church." Mr Hayes had a +theory of his own on the subject, and smiled over the vicar's view with +the tranquil enjoyment of unalloyed contempt. + +And Barbara, in the silence of her room, opposite a dimly-lighted +mirror, sat brushing her shadowy hair, whose waves seemed to melt into +the dusk about the pale reflection of her face. As she gazed at it she +was thinking of some one who was gone, and of some one who was to come. +Dwelling among the old memories of Mitchelhurst Place, her girlish +thoughts had turned to them for lack of other food, till the Rothwells +were real to her in a sense in which no other fancies ever could be +real. She was so conscious that her connection with the house was +accidental and temporary, that she felt as if it still belonged to its +old owners, and she was only their guest. They were always near, yet, +whimsically enough, in point of time they were nearest when they were +most remote. Barbara's phantoms mostly belonged to the last century, and +they faded and grew pale as they approached the present day, till the +latest owner of the Place was merely a name. The truth was that at the +end of their reign the Rothwells, impoverished and lonely, had simply +lived in the house as they found it, and were unable to set the stamp of +any individual tastes upon their surroundings. They were the Rothwells +of the good old times who left their autographs in the books in the +library, their patient needlework on quilts and bell-pulls, their +mouldering rose-leaves in great china jars, their pictures still hanging +on the walls, and traces of their preferences in the names of rooms and +paths. There were inscriptions under the bells that had summoned +servants long ago, which told of busy times and a full house. The +lettering only differed from anything in the present day by being subtly +and unobtrusively old-fashioned. "MR. GERALD" and "MR. THOMAS" had given +up ringing bells for many a long day, and if the one suspended above +MISS SARAH'S name sometimes tinkled through the stillness, it was only +because Barbara wanted some hot water. Miss Sarah was one of the most +distinct of the girl's phantoms. Rightly or wrongly, Barbara always +believed her to be the beautiful Miss Rothwell of whom an old man in +the village told her a tradition, told to him in his boyhood. It seemed +that a Rothwell of some uncertain date stood for the county ("and pretty +nigh ruined himself," said her informant, with a grim, yet admiring, +enjoyment of the extravagant folly of the contest), and in the very heat +of the election Miss Rothwell drove with four horses to the +polling-place, to show herself clothed from head to foot in a startling +splendour of yellow, her father's colour. + +"They said she was a rare sight to see," the old man concluded +meditatively. + +"And did Mr. Rothwell get in?" asked Barbara. + +"No, no!" he said, shaking his head. "No Rothwell ever got in for the +county, though they tried times. But he pretty nigh ruined himself." + +Had she cared to ask her uncle, Barbara might very possibly have +ascertained the precise date of the election, and identified the darkly +beautiful girl who was whirled by her four spirited horses into the +roaring, decorated town. But she was not inclined to talk of her fancies +to Mr. Hayes. So, assuming the heroine to be Miss Sarah, she remained in +utter ignorance concerning her after life. Did she ever wear the white +robes of a bride, or the blackness of widow's weeds? Barbara often +wondered. But at night, in her room, which was Sarah Rothwell's, she +could never picture her otherwise than superbly defiant in the +meteor-like glory of that one day. + +As she brushed her dusky cloud of hair that evening she called up the +splendour of her favourite vision, and then her thoughts fell sadly away +from it to Reynold Harding, the man who had kindred blood in his veins, +but no inheritance of name or land. Those iron horse-hoofs, long ago, +had thundered over the bit of road where Barbara gathered her autumn +nosegay, and where young Harding--oh, poor fellow!--slipped in the mire, +and scrambled awkwardly to his feet, a pitiful, sullen figure to put +beside the beautiful Miss Rothwell. + +Was she glad he was coming? She laid down her brush and mused, looking +into the depths of her mirror. Yes, she was glad. She did not think she +should like him. She felt that he was hostile, scornful, dissatisfied. +But Mitchelhurst was quiet--so few people ever came to it, and if they +_did_ come they went away without a word--and at eighteen quiet is +wearisome, and a spice of antagonism is refreshing. Did he hate her as +her uncle had said? Time would show. She took her little cross from the +dressing table, and looked at it with a new interest. No, she did not +like him. "But, after all," said Barbara to herself, "he is a Rothwell, +and my fairy godmother introduced us!" + +Many miles away a bunch of hips, scarlet and orange, lay by a scribbled +paper. They had had adventures since they were pulled from a +Mitchelhurst brier that afternoon. They had been lost and found, and +travelling by rail had nearly been lost again. A clumsy porter, +shouldering a load, had blundered against an absorbed young man, who was +just grasping a rhyme; and the red berries fell between them to the +dusty platform, and were barely saved from perils of hurrying feet. +Still, though a little bruised and spoilt, they glowed ruddily in the +candle-light, and the paper beside them said-- + + "_Speech was forbidden me; I could but stay, + Ambushed behind a leafless hawthorn screen, + And look upon her passing. She had been + To pluck red berries on that autumn day, + And Love, who from her side will never stray, + Stole some for pity, seeing me unseen, + And sighing, let them fall, that I might glean-- + 'Poor gift,' quoth he, 'that Time shall take away!' + Nay, but I mock at Time! It shall not be + That, fleet of foot, he robs me of my prize; + Her smile has kindled all the sullen skies, + Blessed the dull furrows, and the leafless tree, + And year by year the autumn, ere it dies, + Shall bring my rosy treasure back to me!_" + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +"WELCOME TO MITCHELHURST PLACE." + + +Mitchelhurst was, as Mr. Hayes had said, a dull little village, by no +means likely to attract visitors. It was merely a group of houses, for +the most part meanly built, set in a haphazard fashion on either side of +a wide road. Occasionally a shed would come to the front, or two or +three poplars, or a bit of garden fence. But the poplars were apt to be +mercilessly lopped, with just a tuft at the extreme tip, which gave each +unlucky tree a slight resemblance to a lion's tail, and the gardens, if +not full of cabbages, displayed melancholy rows of stumps where cabbages +had been. There was very little traffic through Mitchelhurst Street, as +this thoroughfare was usually called, yet it showed certain signs of +life. Fowls rambled aimlessly about it, with a dejected yet inquiring +air, which seemed to say that they would long ago have given up their +desultory pecking if they could have found anything else to do. A +windmill, standing on a slight eminence a little way from the road, +creaked as its sails revolved. Sounds of hammering came from the +blacksmith's forge. Children played on the foot-path, a little knot of +loungers might generally be seen in front of the "Rothwell Arms," and at +most of the doorways stood the Mitchelhurst women, talking loudly while +their busy fingers were plaiting straws. This miserably paid work was +much in vogue in the village, where generation after generation of +children learned it, and grew up into stunted, ill-fed girls, fond of +coarse gossip, and of their slatternly independence. + +At the western end of the village, beyond the alehouse, stood the +church, with two or three yews darkening the crowded graveyard. The +vicarage was close at hand, a sombre little house, with a flagged path +leading to its dusky porch. Mitchelhurst was not happy in its vicars. +The parish was too small to attract the heroic enthusiasts who are ready +to live and die for the unhealthy and ignorant crowds of our great +cities. And the house was too poor, and the neighbourhood too +uninteresting, for any kindly country gentleman, who chanced to have +"the Reverend" written before his name, to come and stable his horses, +and set up his liberal housekeeping, and preach his Sunday sermons +there. No one chose Mitchelhurst, so "those few sheep in the wilderness" +were left to those who had no choice, and the vicars were almost always +discontented elderly men. As a rule they died there, a vicar of +Mitchelhurst being seldom remembered by the givers of good livings. The +incumbent at this time was a feeble archæologist, who coughed drearily +in his damp little study, and looked vaguely out at the world from a +narrow and mildewed past. As he stepped from the shadowy porch, blinking +with tired eyes, he would pause on the path, which looked like a row of +flat unwritten tombstones, and glance doubtfully right and left. +Probably he had some vague idea of going into the village, but in nine +cases out of ten he turned aside to the graveyard, and sauntered +musingly in the shadow of the old yews, or disappeared into the church, +where there were two or three inscriptions just sufficiently defaced to +be interesting. He fancied he should decipher them one day, and leave +nothing for his successor to do, and he haunted them in that hope. + +When he went into the street he spoke kindly to the women at the doors, +with an obvious forgetfulness of names and circumstances which made him +an object of contemptuous pity. They could not conceive how any one in +his senses could make such foolish mistakes, and were inclined to look +on the Established Church as a convenient provision for weak-minded +gentlefolks. They grinned when he had gone by, and repeated his +well-meant inquiries, plaiting all the time. It was only natural that +the vicar should prefer his parishioners dead. They did not then indulge +in coarse laughter, they never described unpleasant ailments, and they +were neatly labelled with their names, or else altogether silent +concerning them. + +The vicar's shortcomings might have been less remarked had the tenants +of Mitchelhurst Place taken their proper position in the village. But +where, seventy or eighty years before, the great gates swung open for +carriages and horses, and busy servants, and tradesmen, there came now +down the mossy drive only an old man on foot, and a girl by his side, +with eyes like dark waters, and a sweet richness of carnation in her +cheeks. Mr. Hayes and his niece lived, as the later Rothwells had lived, +in a corner of the old house. It was queer that a man should choose to +hire a place so much too big for him, people said, but they had said it +for nineteen years, and they never seemed to get any further. Herbert +Hayes might be eccentric, but he was shrewd, he knew his own business, +and the villagers recognised the fact. He was not popular, there was +nothing to be got by begging at the Place, and he would not allow +Barbara to visit any of the cottages. But it was acknowledged that he +was not stingy in payment for work done. And if he lived in a corner he +knew how to make himself comfortable there, which was more than the last +Rothwell had been able to do. + +The church and vicarage were at one end of Mitchelhurst, and the Place, +which stood on slightly rising ground, was at the other. It was a white +house, and in a dim light it had a sad and spectral aspect, a pale +blankness as of a dead face. The Rothwell who built it intended to have +a stately avenue from the great ironwork gates to the principal +entrance, and planted his trees accordingly. But the site was cruelly +exposed, and the soil was sterile, and his avenue had become a vista of +warped and irregular shapes, leaning in grotesque attitudes, dwarfed and +yet massive with age. In the leafiness of summer much of this +singularity was lost, but when winter stripped the boughs it revealed a +double line of fantastic skeletons, a fit pathway for the strangest +dreams. + +The gardens, with the exception of a piece close to the house, had been +so long neglected that they seemed almost to have forgotten that they +had ever been cultivated. Almost, but not quite, for they had not the +innocence of the original wilderness. There were tokens of a contest. +The plants and grasses that possessed the soil were obviously weeds, and +the degraded survivals of a gentler growth lurked among them overborne +and half strangled. There was a suggestion of murderous triumph in the +coarse leaves of the mulleins and docks that had rooted themselves as in +a conquered inheritance, and the little undulations which marked the +borders and bits of rock-work of half a century earlier looked curiously +like neglected graves. + +It seemed to Barbara Strange, as she stood looking over it all, on the +day on which Mr. Harding was to come to Mitchelhurst, that there was +something novel in this aspect of desolation. She knew the place well, +for it was rather more than a year since she came, at her uncle's +invitation, to live there, and she had seen it with all the changes of +the seasons upon it. She knew it well, but she had never thought of it +as home. The little Devonshire vicarage which held father and mother, +and a swarm of young sisters and brothers--almost too many to be +contained within its walls--was home in the past and the present. And if +the girl had dreams of the future, shy dreams which hardly revealed +themselves even to her, they certainly never had Mitchelhurst Place for +a background. To her it was just a halting-place on her journey into the +unknown regions of life. It was like some great out-of-the-way ruinous +old inn, in which one might chance to sleep for a night or two. She had +merely been interested in it as a stranger, but on this October day she +looked at it curiously and critically for Mr. Harding's sake. She would +have liked it to welcome him, to show some signs of stately hospitality +to this son of the house who was coming home, and for the first time a +full sense of its dreariness and hopelessness crept into her soul. She +could do nothing, she felt absurdly small, the great house seemed to +cast a melancholy shadow over her, as she went to and fro in the bit of +ground that was still recognised as a garden, gathering the few blossoms +that autumn had spared. + +Barbara meant the flowers to brighten the rooms in which they lived, but +she looked a little doubtfully into her basket while she walked towards +the house. They were so colourless and frail, it seemed to her that they +were just fit to be emptied out over somebody's grave. "Oh," she said to +herself, "why didn't he come in the time of roses, or peonies, or tiger +lilies? If it had been in July there might have been some real sunshine +to warm the old place. Or earlier still, when the apple blossom was +out--why didn't he come then? It is so sad now." And she remembered +what some one had said, a few weeks before, loitering up that wide path +by her side: "An old house--yes, I like old houses, but this is like a +whited sepulchre, somehow. And not his own--I should not care to set up +housekeeping in a corner of somebody else's sepulchre." Barbara, as her +little lonely footsteps fell on the sodden earth, thought that he was +perfectly right. She threw back her head, and faced the wide, blind gaze +of its many-windowed front. Well, it _was_ Mr. Harding's own family +sepulchre, if that was any consolation. + +Her duty as a housekeeper took her to the blue room, which Mr. Hayes had +chosen for their guest, a large apartment at the side of the house, not +with the bleak northern aspect of the principal entrance, but looking +away towards the village, and commanding a wide prospect of meadow +land. The landscape in itself was not remarkable, but it had an +attraction as of swiftly varying moods. Under a midsummer sky it would +lie steeped in sunshine, and dappled with shadows of little, +lightly-flying clouds, content and at peace. Seen through slant lines of +grey rain it was beyond measure dreary and forlorn, burdening the +gazer's soul with its flat and unrelieved heaviness. One would have said +at such times that it was a veritable Land of Hopelessness. Then the +clouds would part, mass themselves, perhaps, into strange islands and +continents, and towering piles, and the sun would go down in wild +splendours of flame as of a burning world, and the level meadows would +become a marvellous plain, across which one might journey into the heart +of unspeakable things. Then would follow the pensive sadness of the +dusk, and the silvery enchantment of moonlight. And after all these +changes there would probably come a grey and commonplace morning, in +which it would appear as so many acres of very tolerable grazing land, +in no wise remarkable or interesting. + +Barbara did not trouble herself much about the prospect. She was anxious +to make sure that soap and towels had been put ready for Mr. Harding, +and candles in the brass candlesticks on the chimney-piece, and ink and +pens on the little old-fashioned writing-table. With a dainty instinct +of grace she arranged the heavy hangings of the bed, and, seeing that a +clumsy maid had left the pillow awry, she straightened and smoothed it +with soft touches of a slender brown hand, as if she could +sympathetically divine the sullen weariness of the head that should lie +there. Then, fixing an absent gaze upon the carpet, she debated a +perplexing question in her mind. + +Should she, or should she not, put some flowers in Mr. Harding's room? +She wanted to make him feel that he was welcome to Mitchelhurst Place, +and, to her shyness, it seemed easier to express that welcome in any +silent way than to put it into words. And why not? She might have done +it without thinking twice about it, but her uncle's little jests, and +her own loneliness, while they left her fearless in questions of right +and wrong, had made her uneasy about etiquette. As she leaned against +one of the carved pillars of the great bed, musing, with lips compressed +and anxious brow, she almost resolved that Mr. Reynold Harding should +have nothing beyond what was a matter of housewifely duty. Why should +she risk a blush or a doubt for him? But even with the half-formed +resolution came the remembrance of his unlucky humiliation in her +service, and Barbara started from her idle attitude, and went away, +singing softly to herself. + +When she came back she had a little bowl of blue and white china in her +hands, which she set on the writing-table near the window. It was filled +with the best she could find in her basket--a pale late rosebud, with +autumnal foliage red as rust (and the bud itself had lingered so long, +hoping for sunshine and warmth, that it would evidently die with its +secret of sweetness folded dead in its heart), a few heads of +mignonette, green and run to leaf, and rather reminding of fragrance +than actually breathing it; a handful of melancholy Michaelmas daisies, +and two or three white asters. The girl, with warm young life in her +veins, and a glow of ripe colour on her cheek stooped in smiling pity +and touched that central rosebud with her lips. No doubt remained, if +there had been any doubt till then--it was already withered at the core, +or it must have opened wide to answer that caress. + +"Don't tell me!" said Barbara to herself with a little nod. "If such a +drearily doleful bouquet isn't strictly proper, it ought to be!" + +It was late in the afternoon before the visitor came. There was mist +like a thin shroud over the face of the earth, and little sparks of +light were gleaming in the cottage windows. Reynold Harding held the +reins listlessly when the driver got down to open the great wrought-iron +gate, and then resigned his charge as absently as he had accepted it. He +stared straight before him while the dog-cart rattled up the avenue, and +suffered himself to sway idly as they bumped over mossy stones in the +drive. The trees, leaning overhead, dropped a dead leaf or two on his +passive hands, as if that were his share of the family property held in +trust for him till that moment. + +There was something coldly repellent in the stony house front, where was +no sign of greeting or even of life. The driver alighted again, pulled +a great bell which made a distant clangour, and then busied himself at +the back of the cart with Harding's portmanteau, while the horse stood +stretching its neck, and breathing audibly in the chilly stillness. +There was a brief pause, during which Harding, who had not uttered a +word since he started, confronted the old house with a face as neutral +as its own. + +Then the door flew open, a maid appeared, the luggage was carried into +the hall, and Mr. Hayes came hurrying out to meet his guest. "Welcome to +Mitchelhurst Place!" he exclaimed. That "Welcome to Mitchelhurst Place!" +had been in his thoughts for a couple of hours at least, and now that it +was uttered it seemed very quickly over. Harding, who was paying the +driver out of a handful of change, dropped a couple of coins, made a +hurried attempt to regain them, and finally shook hands confusedly with +Mr. Hayes, while the man and the maid pursued the rolling shillings +round their feet. "Thank you--you are very kind," he said, and then saw +Barbara in the background. She had paused on the threshold of a firelit +room, and behind her the warm radiance was glancing on a bit of +white-panelled wall. Reynold hastily got rid of his financial +difficulties and went forward. + +"Oh, what a cold drive you must have had!" she cried, when their hands +met. "You are like ice! Do come to the fire." + +"We thought you would have been here sooner," said Mr. Hayes. "The days +draw in now, and it gets to be very cold and damp sometimes when the sun +goes down." + +Harding murmured something about not having been able to get away +earlier. + +"This isn't the regular drawing-room, you know," his host explained. "I +like space, but there is a little too much of it in that great +room--you must have a look at it to-morrow. I don't care to sit by my +fireside and see Barbara at her piano across an acre or two of carpet. +To my mind this is big enough for two or three people." + +"Quite," said Reynold. + +"The yellow drawing-room they called this," the other continued. + +The young man glanced round. The room was lofty and large enough for +more than the two or three people of whom Mr. Hayes had spoken. But for +the ruddy firelight it might have looked cold, with its cream-white +walls, its rather scanty furniture, and the yellow of its curtains and +chairs faded to a dim tawny hue. But the liberal warmth and light of the +blazing pile on the hearth irradiated it to the furthest corner, and +filled it with wavering brightness. + +"It's all exactly as it was in your uncle's time," said Mr. Hayes. +"When he could not go on any longer, Croft took the whole thing just as +it stood, with all the old furniture. But for that I would not have come +here." + +"All the charm would have been lost, wouldn't it?" said Barbara. + +"The charm--yes. Besides, one had need be a millionnaire to do anything +with such a great empty shell. I suspect a millionnaire would find +plenty to do here as it is." + +"I suppose it had been neglected for a long while?" Reynold questioned +with his hard utterance. + +Mr. Hayes nodded, arching his brows. + +"Thirty or forty years. Everything allowed to go to rack and ruin. By +Jove, sir, your people must have built well, and furnished well, for +things to look as they do. Well, they shall stay as they are while I am +here; I'll keep the wind and the rain out of the old house, but I can +do no more, and I wouldn't if I could. And when I'm gone, Croft, or +whoever is master then, must see to it." + +"Yes," said the young man, still looking round. "I'm glad you've left it +as it used to be." + +"Just as your mother would remember it. Except, of course, one must make +oneself comfortable," Mr. Hayes explained apologetically. "Just a chair +for me, and a piano for Barbara, you see!" + +Reynold saw. There was a large eastern rug spread near the fire-place, +and on it stood an easy-chair, and a little table laden with books. A +shaded lamp cast its radiance on a freshly-cut page. By the fire was a +low seat, which was evidently Barbara's. + +"That's the way to enjoy old furniture," said Mr. Hayes. "Sit on a +modern chair and look at it--eh? There's an old piano in that further +corner; that's very good to look at too." + +"But not to hear?" said Harding. + +"You may try it." + +"That's more than I may do," said Barbara, demurely. + +"You tried it too much--you tried me too much," Mr. Hayes made answer. +"You did not begin in a fair spirit of investigation. You were +determined to find music in it." + +The girl laughed and looked down. + +"And I did," she murmured to herself. + +"Ah, you are looking at the portraits," Mr. Hayes went on. "There are +better ones than the two or three we have here. I believe your Uncle +John took away a few when he left. Your grandmother used to hang over +there by the fire-place. The one on the other side is good, I +think--Anthony Rothwell. You must come a little more this way to look at +it." + +Harding followed obediently, and made various attempts to find the right +position, but the picture was not placed so as to receive the full +firelight, and being above the lamp it remained in shadow. + +"Stay," said the old gentleman, "I'll light this candle." + +He struck a match as he spoke, and the sudden illumination revealed a +scornful face, and almost seemed to give it a momentary expression, as +if Anthony, of Mitchelhurst Place, recognised Reynold of nowhere. + +The younger man eyed the portrait coldly and deliberately. + +"Well," he said, "Mr. Anthony Rothwell, my grandfather, I suppose?" + +"Great-grandfather," Mr. Hayes corrected. + +"Oh, you are well acquainted with the family history. Well, then, I +should say that my great-grandfather was remarkably handsome, but----" + +"If it comes to that you are uncommonly like him," said his host, with +a little chuckle, as he looked from the painted face to the living one, +and back again. + +Reynold started and drew back. + +"Oh, thank you!" he said, with a short laugh. If he had been permitted +to continue his first remark, he would have said, "but as +unpleasant-tempered a gentleman as you could find in a day's journey." + +The words had been so literally on his lips that he could hardly realise +that they had not been uttered when Mr. Hayes spoke. + +For the moment the likeness had been complete. Then he saw how it was, +laughed, and said-- + +"Oh, thank you." + +But he flashed an uneasy glance at Barbara, who was lingering near. Was +he really like that pale, bitter-lipped portrait? He fancied that her +face would tell him, but she was looking fixedly at Anthony Rothwell. + +"Mind you are not late for dinner, Barbara," said her uncle quickly. + +She woke to radiant animation. + +"_I_ won't be," she said. "But if you are going to introduce Mr. Harding +to all the pictures first----" + +"I'm not going to do anything of the kind." + +"That's right. Mr. Harding's ancestors won't spoil if they are kept +waiting a little, but I can't answer for the fish." + +"Pray don't let any dead and gone Rothwells interfere with your dinner," +said Reynold. "If one's ancestors can't wait one's convenience, I don't +know who can." + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +DINNER AND A LITTLE MUSIC. + + +Barbara was the first to reappear in the yellow drawing-room. She had +gone away, laughing carelessly; she came back shyly, with flushed cheeks +and downcast eyes. She had put on a dress which was reserved for +important occasions, and she was conscious of her splendour. She felt +the strings of amber beads that were wound loosely round her throat, and +that rose and fell with her quickened breathing. Nay, she was conscious +to the utmost end of the folds of black drapery, that followed her with +a soft sound, as of a summer sea, when she crossed the pavement of the +hall. For Barbara's dress was black, and its special adornment was some +handsome black lace that her grandmother had given her. Something of +lighter hue and texture might have better suited her age, but there was +no questioning the fact that the dignified richness of her gown was +admirably becoming to the girl. One hardly knew whether to call her +childish or stately, and the perplexity was delightful. + +Her heart was beating fast, half in apprehension and half in defiance. +Over and over again while she waited she said to herself that she had +_not_ put on her best dress for Mr. Harding's sake, she had _not_. She +did not care what he thought of her. He might come and go, just as other +people might come and go. It did not matter to her. But his coming +seemed somehow to have brought all the Rothwells back to life, and to +have revealed the desolate pride of the old house. When she looked from +Reynold's face to Anthony's, she suddenly felt that she must put on her +best dress for their company. It was no matter of personal feeling, it +was an instinctive and imperative sense of what the circumstances +demanded. She had never been to such a dinner party in all her life. + +The feeling did her credit, but it was difficult to express. Feelings +are often difficult to express, and a woman has an especial difficulty +in conveying the finer shades of meaning. There is an easy masculine way +of accounting for her every action by supposing it aimed at men in +general, or some man in particular; and thus all manner of delicate +fancies and distinctions, shaped clearly in a woman's mind, may pass +through the distorting medium to reach a man's apprehension as sheer +coquetry. The knowledge of this possibility is apt to give even +innocence an air of hesitating consciousness. Barbara was by no means +certain that her uncle would understand this honour paid, not to any +living young man, but to the traditions of Mitchelhurst Place, and her +blushes betrayed her shame at his probable misreading of her meaning. +And what would Mr. Harding himself think? + +He came in with his languid, hesitating walk, looking very tall and +slender in his evening dress. He had telegraphed home for that dress +suit the day before. The fact that he was travelling for a week or two, +with no expectation of dining anywhere but in country inns, might +naturally have excused its absence, but the explanation would have been +an apology, and Harding could not apologise. He would have found it +easier to spend his last shilling. Perhaps, too, he had shared Barbara's +feeling as to the fitness of a touch of ceremony at Mitchelhurst. + +At any rate he shared her shyness. He crossed the room with evident +constraint, and halted near the fire without a word. Barbara's shyness +was palpitating and aflame; his was leaden and chill. She did not know +what to make of his silence; she waited, and still he did not speak; she +looked up and felt sure that his downcast eyes had been obliquely fixed +on her. + +"Uncle is last, you see," she said. "I knew he would be." + +"I was afraid I might be," he replied. "A clock struck before I expected +it. I suppose my watch loses, but I hadn't found it out." + +"Oh, I ought to have told you," she exclaimed penitently. "That is the +great clock in the hall, and it is always kept ten minutes fast. Uncle +likes it for a warning. So when it strikes, he says, 'That's the hall +clock; then there's plenty of time, plenty of time, I'll just finish +this.' And he goes on quite happily." + +"I fancied somehow that Mr. Hayes was a very punctual man." + +"Because he talks so much about it. I think he reminds other people for +fear they should remind him. When I first came he was always saying, +'Don't be late,' till I was quite frightened lest I should be. I +couldn't believe it when he said, 'Don't be late,' and then wasn't +ready." + +"You are not so particular now?" + +"Oh yes, I am," she answered very seriously. "It doesn't do to be late +if you are the housekeeper, you know." + +A faint gleam lighted Harding's face. + +"Of course not; but I never was," he replied, in a respectful tone. "How +long is it since you came here?" + +"I came with my mother to see uncle a great many years ago, but I only +came to live here last October. Uncle wanted somebody. He said it was +dull." + +"I should think it was. Isn't it dull for you?" + +"Sometimes," said Barbara. "It isn't at all like home. That's a little +house with a great many people in it--father and mother, and all my +brothers and sisters, and father's pupils. And this is a big house with +nobody in it." + +"Till you came," said Reynold, hesitating over the little bow or glance +which should have pointed his words. + +"Well, there's uncle," said Barbara with a smile, "he must count for +somebody. But _I_ feel exactly like nobody when I am going in and out of +all those empty rooms. You must see them to-morrow." + +The clock on the chimney-piece struck, and she turned her head to look +at it. "_That's_ five minutes slow," she said. + +"And the other was more than ten minutes fast." + +"Yes, it gains. Do you know," said Barbara, "I always feel as if the +great clock were _the_ time, so when it fairly runs away into the +future and I have to stop it, to let the world come up with it again, it +seems to me almost as if I stopped my own life too." + +"Some people would be uncommonly glad to do that," said Harding; "or +even to make time go backward for a while." + +"Well, I don't mind for a quarter of an hour. But I don't want it to go +back, really. Not back to pinafores and the schoolroom," said Barbara +with a laugh, which in some curious fashion turned to a deepening flush. +The swift, impulsive blood was always coming and going at a thought, a +fancy, a mere nothing. + +Harding smiled in his grim way. "I suppose it's just as well _not_ to +want time to run back," he said at last. + +"Uncle might find himself punctual for once if it did. Oh, here he +comes!" The door opened as she spoke, and Mr. Hayes appeared on the +threshold with an inquiring face. + +"Ah! you are down, Barbara! That's right. Dinner's ready, they tell me." + +Reynold looked at Barbara, hesitated, and then offered his arm. Mr. +Hayes stood back and eyed them as they passed--the tall young man, pale, +dark-browed, scowling a little, and the girl at his side radiantly +conscious of her dignity. Even when they had gone by he was obliged to +wait a moment. The sweeping folds of Barbara's dress demanded space and +respect. His glance ran up them to her shoulders, to the amber beads +about her neck, to the loose coils of her dusky hair, and he followed +meekly with a whimsical smile. + +They dined in the great dining-room, where a score of guests would have +seemed few. But they had a little table, with four candles on it, set +near a clear fire, and shut in by an overshadowing screen. "We are +driven out of this in the depth of winter," said Mr. Hayes. "It is too +cold--nothing seems to warm it, and it is such a terrible journey from +the drawing-room fire. But till the bitter weather comes I like it, and +I always come back as soon as the spring begins. We were here by March, +weren't we, Barbara?" + +The girl smiled assent, and Harding had a passing fancy of the windy +skies of March glancing through the tall windows, the upper part of +which he saw from his place. But his eyes came back to Barbara, who was +watching the progress of their meal with an evident sense of +responsibility. The crowning grace of an accomplished housekeeper is to +hide all need of management, but this was the pretty anxiety of a +beginner. "Mary, the currant jelly," said Miss Strange in an intense +undertone, and glanced eloquently at Reynold's plate. She was so +absorbed that she started when her uncle spoke. + +"Why do you wear those white things--asters, are they not? They don't +go well with your dress." + +Barbara looked down at the two colourless blossoms which she had +fastened among the folds of her black lace. "No, I know they don't, but +I couldn't find anything better in the garden to-day." + +"It wouldn't have mattered what it was," Mr. Hayes persisted, with his +head critically on one side. "Anything red or yellow--just a bit of +colour, you know." + +"But that was exactly what I couldn't find. All the red and yellow +things in the garden are dead." + +"Why not some of those scarlet hips you were gathering yesterday?" said +Reynold. + +"Oh! Those!" exclaimed Barbara, looking hurriedly away from the scratch +on the cheek nearest her, and then discovering that she had fixed her +eyes on his wounded hand. "Do you think they would have done? Well, yes, +I dare say they might." + +"I should think they would have done beautifully, but you know best. +Perhaps you did not care for them? You threw them away?" He was smiling +with a touch of malice, as if he had actually seen Barbara in her room, +gazing regretfully at a little brown pitcher which was full of autumn +leaves and clusters of red rose-fruit. + +"Of course they would have done," said Mr. Hayes. + +"Yes, perhaps they might. I must bear them in mind another time. Uncle, +Mr. Harding's plate is empty." And Barbara went on with her dinner, +feeling angry and aggrieved. "He might have let me think I had spared +his feelings by giving them up," she said to herself. "It would have +been kinder. And I should like to know what I was to do. If I had worn +them he would have looked at me to remind me. I can't think what made +uncle talk about the stupid things." + +During the rest of the meal conversation was somewhat fitful. The three, +in their sheltered, firelit nook, sat through pauses, in which it almost +seemed as if it would be only necessary to rise softly and glance round +the end of the screen to surprise some ghostly company gathered silently +at the long table. The wind made a cheerless noise outside, seeking +admission to the great hollow house, and died away in the hopelessness +of vain endeavour. At last Miss Strange prepared to leave the gentlemen +to their wine, but she lingered for a moment, darkly glowing against the +background of sombre brown and tarnished gold, to bid her uncle remember +that coffee would be ready in the drawing-room when they liked to come +for it. + +Mr. Hayes pushed the decanter to his guest. "Where is John Rothwell +now?" he asked. + +"I don't know," said Harding, listlessly. He was peeling a rough-coated +pear, and he watched the long, unbroken strip gliding downward in +lengthening curves. "Somewhere on the Continent--in one of those places +where people go to live shabbily." + +Mr. Hayes filled the pause with an inquiring "Yes?" and his bright eyes +dilated. + +"Yes," the other repeated. "Didn't you say he took some pictures away +with him? They must be all gone long ago--pawned or sold. How would you +raise money on family portraits? It would look rather queer going to the +pawnbroker's with an ancestor under your arm." + +"But there was his mother's portrait. He would not----" + +"Hm!" said Harding, cutting up his pear. "Well, perhaps not. Perhaps he +had to leave in a hurry some time or other. A miniature would have been +more convenient." + +"But this is very sad," said Mr. Hayes. He spoke in an abstract and +impersonal manner. + +Harding assented, also in a general way. + +"Very sad," the other repeated. Then, quickening to special +recollection--"And your uncle was always such a proud man. I never knew +a prouder man than John Rothwell five-and-twenty years ago. And to think +that he should come to this!" + +He leaned back in his chair and slowly sipped his wine, while he tried +to reconcile old memories with this new description. The wine was very +good, and Mr. Hayes seemed to enjoy it. Reynold Harding rested his elbow +on the table, and looked at the fire with a moody frown. + +"Some pride can't be carried about, I suppose," he said at last. "It's +as bad as a whole gallery of family portraits--worse, for you cannot +raise money on it." + +Mr. Hayes nodded. "I see. Rooted in the Mitchelhurst soil, you think? +Very possibly." He looked round, as far as the screens permitted. "And +so, when this went, all went. But how very sad!" + +The young man did not take the trouble to express his agreement a second +time. + +"And your other uncle," said Mr. Hayes briskly, after a pause. "How is +he?" + +"My other uncle?" + +"Yes, your uncle on your father's side--Mr. Harding." + +"Oh, he is very well--getting to be an old man now." + +"But as prosperous as ever?" + +"More so," said Harding in his rough voice. "His money gathers and grows +like a snowball. But he is beginning to think about enjoying it--he is +evidently growing old. He says it is time for him to have a holiday. He +never took one for some wonderful time--eighteen years I think it was; +but he has not worked quite so hard of late." + +"Well, he deserves a little pleasure now." + +"I don't know about that. If a man makes himself a slave to +money-getting I don't see that he deserves any pleasure. He deserves his +money." + +The old gentleman laughed. "Let the poor fellow amuse himself a +little--if he can. The question is whether he can, after a life of hard +work. What is his idea of pleasure?" + +"Yachting. He discovered quite lately that he wasn't sea-sick; he hadn't +leisure to find it out before. So he took to yachting. He can enjoy his +dinner as well on board a boat as anywhere else, he can talk about his +yacht, and he can spend any amount of money." + +"You haven't any sympathy with his hobby?" + +"I? I've no money to spend, and I _am_ sea-sick." + +"You are? I remember now," said Mr. Hayes, thoughtfully, "that your +grandfather and John Rothwell had a great dislike to the water." + +"Ah? It's a family peculiarity? A proud distinction?" Harding laughed +quietly, looking away. He was accustomed to laugh at himself and by +himself. "It's something to be able to invoke the Rothwell ancestry to +give dignity to one's qualms," he said. + +Mr. Hayes smiled a little unwillingly. He did not really require respect +for the Rothwell sea-sickness, but it hardly pleased him that the young +fellow should scoff at his ancestry, just when it had gained him +admission to Mitchelhurst Place. "Bad taste," he said to himself, and he +returned abruptly to the money-making uncle. "I suppose Mr. Harding has +a son to come after him?" + +"Yes, there's one son," Reynold replied, with a contemptuous intonation. + +"And does he take to the business?" + +"I don't know much about that. I fancy he wants to begin at the yachting +end, anyhow." + +"Only one son." Mr. Hayes glanced at young Harding as if a question were +on his lips; but the other's face did not invite it, and the subject +dropped. There was a pause, and then the elder man began to talk of some +Roman remains which had been discovered five miles from Mitchelhurst. +Reynold crossed his long legs, balanced himself idly, and listened with +dreary acquiescence. + +It was some time before the Roman remains were disposed of and they +rejoined Barbara. They startled her out of her uncle's big easy-chair, +where she was half-lying, half-sitting, with all her black draperies +about her, too much absorbed in a novel to hear their approach. +Harding, on the threshold, caught a glimpse of the nestling attitude, +the parted lips, the hand that propped her head, before Miss Strange was +on her feet and ready for her company. + +Mr. Hayes, stirring his coffee, demanded music. He liked it a little for +its own sake, but more just then because it would take his companion off +his hands. He was tired of entertaining this silent young man, who +stood, cup in hand, on the rug, frowning at the portraits of his +forefathers, and he sent Barbara to the piano with the certainty that +Harding would follow her. As soon as he saw them safely at the other end +of the room he dropped with a sigh of relief into the chair which she +had quitted, and took up his book. + +The girl, meanwhile, turned over her music and questioned Reynold. He +did not sing?--did not play? No; and he understood very little, but he +liked to listen. He turned the pages for her, once or twice too fast, +generally much too slowly, never at the right moment. Then Barbara began +to play something which she knew by heart, and he stood a little aside, +with his moody face softening, and his downward-glancing eyes following +her fingers over the keys, as if she were weaving the strands of some +delicate tissue. When she stopped, rested one hand on the music-stool on +which she sat, and turned from the piano to hear what her uncle wished +for next, he saw, as she leaned backward, the pure curve of her averted +cheek, and the black lace and amber beads about her softly-rounded +throat. + +"Oh, I know that by heart, too!" she exclaimed. + +He took up a sheet of music from the piano, and gazed vaguely at it +while she struck the first notes. He read the title without heeding it, +and then saw pencilled above it in a bold, but somewhat studied, hand, + + "ADRIAN SCARLETT." + +For a moment the name held his glance; and when he laid the paper down +he looked furtively over his shoulder. He knew that it was an absurd +fancy, but he felt as if some one had come into the room and was +standing behind Barbara. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +AN OLD LOVE STORY. + + +The next morning saw the three at breakfast in a little room adjoining +the drawing-room. The sky was overcast, and before the meal was over +Barbara turned her head quickly as the rain lashed the window in sudden +fury. She arched her brows, and looked at Mr. Harding with anxious +commiseration. + +"It's going to be a wet day," she said. + +He raised his eyes to the blurred prospect. + +"It looks like it, certainly." + +Her expression was comically aghast. + +"I never thought of its being wet!" + +"Yet such a thing does happen occasionally." + +"Yes, but it needn't have happened to-day. I thought you would want to +go out. What _will_ you do?" + +"Stay indoors, if you have no objection." + +"But there is nothing to amuse you. You will be so dull." + +"Less so than usual, I imagine," said Reynold. "Do you find it so +difficult to amuse yourself on a wet day?" + +"No, but I have a great deal to do. Besides, it is different. Don't men +always want to be amused more than women?" + +"Poor men!" said he. + +Mr. Hayes read his letters and seemed to take no heed of his niece's +trouble. But it appeared, when breakfast was finished, that he had +arranged how the morning should be spent. He announced his intention of +taking young Harding over the Place, and he carried it out with a +thoroughness which would have done honour to a professional guide, +showing all the pictures, mentioning the size of the rooms, and relating +the few family traditions--none of which, by the way, reflected any +especial credit on the Rothwells. He stopped with bright-eyed +appreciation before a cracked and discoloured map, where the +Mitchelhurst estate was shown in its widest extent. Reynold looked +silently at it, and then stalked after his host through all the chilly +faded splendour of the house, shivering sometimes, sneering sometimes, +but taking it all in with eager eyes, and glancing over the little man's +white head at the sombre shelves of the library or the portraits on the +walls. Mr. Hayes was fluent, precise, and cold. Only once did he +hesitate. They had come to a small sitting-room on the ground floor, +which, in spite of long disuse, still somehow conveyed the impression +that it had belonged to a young man. + +"This was John Rothwell's favourite room," he said. He looked round. "I +remember, yes, I remember, as if it were yesterday, how he used----" + +Harding waited, but he stood staring at the rusty grate, and left the +sentence unfinished. + +"And to think that now he should be living from hand to mouth on the +Continent!" he said at last, and compressed his lips significantly. + +He took the young man to the servants' hall, across which the giggling +voices of two or three maids echoed shrilly, till they were suddenly +silenced by the master's approach. Reynold followed him down long stone +passages, and thought, as he went, how icy and desolate they must be on +a black winter night. He was oppressed by the size and dreariness of the +place, and bewildered by the multiplicity of turnings. + +"I think," said Mr. Hayes suddenly, "that I have shown you all there is +to see indoors." + +And, as Reynold replied that he was much obliged, he pushed a door, and +motioned to his guest to precede him. Reynold stepped forward, and +discovered that he was in the entrance hall, facing Barbara, who had +just come down the broad white stairs, and still had her hand upon the +balustrade. It seemed to him as if he had come through the windings of +that stony labyrinth, the hollow rooms and pale corridors, to find a +richly-coloured blossom at the heart of all. + +"Oh, Barbara, I'll leave Mr. Harding to you now," said the old +gentleman. "I'm going to my study--I must write some letters." + +He crossed the black and white pavement with brisk, short steps, and +vanished through a doorway. + +"Has uncle shown you everything?" she asked. + +"I should think so." + +"It's a fine place, isn't it?" + +"Very fine, and very big," said Harding slowly. "Very empty, and +ghostly, and dead." + +"Oh, you don't like it! I thought it would be different to you. I +thought it would seem like home, since it belonged to your own people." + +"Home, sweet home!" he answered with a queer smile. "Well, it is a fine +place, as you say. And what have you been doing all the morning?" + +"Housekeeping," said Barbara. "And now"--she set down a small basket of +keys on the hall table, as if she were preparing for action--"now I am +going to set the clock right." + +"I'll stay for that if you'll allow me," said Reynold. "I remember what +you told me last night. It is _the_ time, and the world stands still +when it stops." + +"For me, not for you," the girl replied. "You have your watch--you don't +believe in the big clock." + +"Yes, I do. Here, in Mitchelhurst, what does one want with any but +Mitchelhurst time? What have I to do with Greenwich? But as for +Mitchelhurst, your uncle has talked to me till I feel as if I were all +the Rothwells who ever lived here. Why, what's this? Sunshine!" + +"Yes," said Barbara. "It's going to clear up." + +It could hardly be called actual sunlight, but there certainly was a +touch of pale autumn gold growing brighter about them as they stood. + +Harding was listening to the monotonous tick--tick--tick--tick. + +"I remember a man in some book," he said, "who didn't like to hear a +clock going--always counting out time in small change." + +"Oh, but that's a worrying idea! I should hate to think of my life doled +out to me like that!" + +"I'm afraid you must," he answered, with his little rough-edged laugh. +"It would be very delightful to take one's life in a lump, but how are +you going to have more than a moment in a moment? There are plenty of us +always trying to do it. If you could find out the way----" + +"How, trying?" said Barbara. + +"Trying to keep the past and grasp the future," Harding replied. +"Working and waiting for some moment which is to hold at least half a +lifetime--when it comes! Oh, I quite agree with you; I should like a +feast, and I am fed by spoonfuls!" + +She looked up at him a little doubtfully, and the clock went on +ticking. "I always thought it was like a heart beating," she said, +swerving from the idea he had presented as if it were distasteful. +"Now!" + +There was silence in the empty hall, as if, in very truth, she had laid +her brown young hand upon Time's flying pulse, and stilled it. + +"Talk of killing time!" said Harding. + +"No," Barbara answered, without turning her head. "Time's asleep--that's +all--asleep and dreaming. He'll soon wake up again." + +She had so played with the idle fancy that, quite unconsciously, she +spoke in a hushed voice, which deepened the impression of stillness. +Harding said no more, he simply watched her. His imagination had been +quickened by the sight of the Place; its traditional memories, its +pride, and its decay had touched him more deeply than he knew. Life, +with its hardness and its haste, its obscure and ugly miseries and +needs, had relaxed its grasp, and left him to himself for a little space +in the midst of that curious loneliness. He felt as if the wide, living, +wind-swept world beyond its walls were something altogether alien and +apart. Everything about him was pale and dim; the very sunlight was +faded, as if it were the faint reflection of a glory that was gone; +everything rested as if in the peace of something that was neither life +nor death. Everything was faded and dim, except the girl who stood, +softly breathing, a couple of steps away, and even she seemed to be held +by the enchantment of the place, and to wait in passive acquiescence. +Reynold's grey eyes dilated and deepened. + +But as she stood there, unconscious of his gaze, Barbara smiled. It was +just the slightest possible smile, as if she answered some smiling +memory; a curve of the lip, hardly more than hinted, which might +betoken nothing deeper than the recollection of some melodious scrap of +rhyme or music. Yet Reynold drew back as if it stung him. "That's not +for me!" he said to himself. + +The movement startled Barbara from her reverie. "Oh, how like you are to +that picture in the drawing-room!" she exclaimed, impulsively. + +He knew what she meant, and the innocent utterance was a second sting. +But he laughed. "What, the good-looking one?" + +It seemed to her that she could have found a light answer but for his +eyes upon her. As it was, he had the gratification of seeing her colour +and hesitate. "I--I wasn't thinking--I didn't mean--" she stammered, +shyly. "Oh, of course!" And then, angry with herself for her +unreadiness, she stepped forward, and, with a gesture of impatience, +set the pendulum swinging. + +"Time is to go on again?" said he. + +"Yes," Barbara replied, decidedly. "It would be tiresome if it stood +still long. It had better go on. Besides, I'm cold," and she turned away +with a pretty little shiver. "I want to go to the fire; I can't stay to +attend to it any longer." + +Harding lingered, and after an instant of irresolution she left him to a +world which had resumed its ordinary course. + +At luncheon there was the inevitable mention of the weather, and Mr. +Hayes, with his eyes fixed upon his plate, said, "Yes, it has cleared up +nicely. I suppose you are going into the village?" + +The young people hesitated, not knowing to whom the question was +addressed. Miss Strange waited for Mr. Harding, and Mr. Harding for Miss +Strange. Then they said "Yes" at the same moment, and felt themselves +pledged to go together. + +"I thought so," said Mr. Hayes, and began to remind his niece of this +thing and that which she was to be sure and show their visitor. "And the +sooner you go the better," he added when the meal was over. "The days +grow short." + +Barbara looked questioningly at Mr. Harding. "If you like to go----" + +"I shall be delighted, if you will allow me," said the young man, and a +few minutes later they went together down the avenue. + +"The days grow short," Mr. Hayes had said, and everything about them +seemed set to that sad autumnal burden. The boughs above their heads, +the ground under foot, were heavy with moisture, the bracken was +withered and brown, there were no more butterflies, but at every breath +the yellowing leaves took their uncertain flight to the wet earth. The +young people, each with a neatly furled umbrella, walked with something +of ceremonious self-consciousness, making little remarks about the +scenery, and Mr. Hayes, from his window, followed them with his eyes. + +"Rothwell, every inch of him," he said to himself, as Reynold turned and +looked backward at the Place. "I never knew one of the lot yet who +didn't think that particular family had a right to despise all the rest +of the world. The only difference I can see is that this fellow despises +the family too. Well, _let_ him! Why not? But, good Lord! what an end of +all his mother's hopes!" And Mr. Hayes went back to his fireside--_his_, +while John Rothwell was dodging his creditors on the Continent! There +was unutterable dreariness in the thought of such a destiny, but the +little old man regretted it with a complacent rubbing of his hands and a +remembrance of Rothwell's arrogance. There is a belief, engendered by +the moral stories of our childhood, that it is good for a man that his +unreasonable pride should be broken--a belief which takes no heed of the +chance that its downfall may hurl the whole fabric of life and conduct +into the foulness of the gutter. Mr. Hayes naturally took the moral +story view of a pride by which he had once been personally wounded; yet +he wore a deprecating air, as if Fate, in too amply avenging him, had +paid a compliment to his importance which was almost overpowering. + +It was more than a quarter of a century since Rothwell and he had been +antagonists, though they had not avowed the fact in so many words, and +Rothwell, with no honour or profit to himself, had baffled him. Herbert +Hayes was then over forty and unmarried. The Mitchelhurst gossips had +made up their minds that he would live and die a bachelor. But one +November Sunday he came, dapper, bright-eyed, and self-satisfied, to +Mitchelhurst church, gazed with the utmost propriety into his glossy +hat, stood up when the parson's dreary voice broke the silence with +"When the wicked man----" and, looking across at the Rothwells' great +pew, met his fate in a moment. + +The pew held its usual occupants--the old squire, grey, angular, and +scornful; young Rothwell, darker, taller, paler, less politely +contemptuous, and more lowering; Kate, erect and proud, sulkily +conscious of a beauty which the rustic congregation could not +understand. These three Hayes had often seen. But there was a fourth, a +frail, colourless girl, burdened rather than clothed with sombre +draperies of crape, pale to the very lips, and swaying languidly as she +stood, who unconsciously caught his glance and held it. She suffered her +head, with the little black bonnet set on the abundance of her pale +hair, to droop over her Prayer-book, and she slid downward when the +exhortation was ended as if she could stand no longer. The time seemed +interminable to him until she rose again. + +His instantaneous certainty that there was no drop of Rothwell blood in +her veins was confirmed by later inquiry. He learnt that she was +distantly related to the squire's wife, and had recently lost her +parents. Though she had not been left absolutely penniless, her little +pittance was not enough to keep her in idleness, and she was staying at +Mitchelhurst while the question of her future was debated. It was +difficult to see what Minnie Newton was to do in a hardworking world. +She could sink into helplessly graceful attitudes, she could watch you +with a softly troubled gaze, anxious to learn what she ought to think or +say; she was delicate, gentle, and very slightly educated. She had not +a thought of her own, and she was pure with the kind of purity which +cannot grasp the idea of evil, and fails to recognise it, unless indeed +vice is going in rags and dirt to the police-station, and using shocking +language by the way. Her simplicity was touching. She thought nothing of +herself; she would cling to the first hand that happened to be held out +to her. She might be saved by good luck, but nature had obviously +designed her for a victim. + +Miss Newton was polite to Mr. Hayes as to everybody else, but she was +the last person at Mitchelhurst Place to suspect the little gentleman's +passion. The very servants found it out, and wondered at her innocence. +John Rothwell laughed. + +"What a fool she is!" he said to his sister, as he stood by the window +one day, and saw Hayes coming up the avenue. + +"That's an undoubted fact," said the magnificent Kate. + +"And what a fool he is!" John continued. + +"Well, we won't quarrel about that either," she replied liberally. "They +will be all the better matched." + +"Matched?" said Rothwell. "No." + +She looked up hastily. + +"Eh?" she said. "Not matched? And why not?" + +Instead of answering, he deliberately lighted a cigarette and smoked, +gazing darkly at her. + +Kate shrugged her shoulders. + +"What difference can it possibly make to you?" + +He took his cigarette from his lips and looked at it. + +"It will make a difference to him," he said at last. + +The bell rang, and the knocker added its emphatic summons. One of +Rothwell's dogs began to bark. Kate had risen, and stood with her eyes +fixed on her brother's face. + +"It would be a very good thing for the girl," she remarked meditatively. +"I don't see what is to become of her, poor thing, unless she marries." + +"Damn him!" said Rothwell. + +The answer was not so irrelevant as it appeared. His gaze was as steady +as Kate's own, and seemed to prolong his words as a singer prolongs a +note. She drew her brows together, as if perplexed. + +"Well," she said, turning away, "I must go and look after our lovers!" + +"And I," he said. + +The dapper, contented little man had done Rothwell no harm, but the +young fellow cherished a black hatred, born of the dulness of his vacant +life. Hayes, without being rich, was very comfortably off, and he was +apt to betray the fact with innocent ostentation. A sovereign was less +to him than a shilling to John Rothwell, and it seemed to the latter +that he could always hear the gold chinking when Hayes talked. One could +do so much with a sovereign, and so little with a shilling. Rothwell was +hungry, with a hunger which only just fell short of being a literal +fact, and he had to stand by, with his hands in his empty pockets, while +Hayes could have good dinners, good wine, good clothes, good horses, +whatever he liked in the way of pleasure--and was "such a contemptible +little cad with it all," the young man snarled. His own poverty would +have been more bearable had it not been for his neighbour's ease and +security. And now, heaven be praised!--heaven?--the prosperous man had +set his heart on this whitefaced, fair-haired, foolish girl who was +under the roof of Mitchelhurst Place, and for once he should be baffled. + +Rothwell set to work with evil ingenuity--it seemed almost fiendish, +but, really, he had nothing else to do--to ruin Hayes's chance of +success. But for him it must have been almost a certainty. Kate was +inclined to favour the suitor. The old squire disliked him, perhaps with +a little of his son's feeling, but would have been very well satisfied +to see the girl provided for. And Minnie Newton was there for any man, +who had a will of his own, and was not absolutely repulsive, to take if +he pleased. The course of true love seemed about to run with perfect +smoothness till young Rothwell stepped in and troubled it. + +Mockery, not slander, was his weapon. As Miss Newton idled over her +embroidery he would lounge near her and make little jests about Hayes's +age, size, and manners. She listened with a troubled face. Of course Mr. +Rothwell was talking very cleverly, and she tried not to remember that +she had found Mr. Hayes very kind and pleasant when he called the day +before. Of course it was absurd that a man of that age should want to be +taken for five-and-twenty--yes, and he had a _very_ ridiculous way of +putting his head on one side like a bird--when Mr. Rothwell had +insisted on having her opinion, she had said, "Yes, it was _very_ +ridiculous"--and a gentleman, a real gentleman, would not talk so much +about his money, and what he could do with it--Mr. Rothwell said so, and +he certainly knew. And as she had agreed to it she supposed it was quite +right that he should repeat this at dinner-time, as if it were her own +remark, though she wished he wouldn't, because his father turned sharply +and looked at her. But, no doubt, Mr. Hayes did look absurdly small by +the side of John Rothwell, and there was something common in his +manners. Many people might think they were all very well, but a lady +would feel that there was something wanting. And so on, and so on, till +she began to ask herself what John Rothwell would say of her if, after +all this, she showed more than the coldest civility to Mr. Hayes. + +Kate perfectly understood the position of affairs, but did not choose +openly to oppose her brother. If Hayes would have come and carried +Minnie off, young Lochinvar fashion, she would have been secretly +pleased. As it was, she was contemptuously kind to the girl, and if the +little suitor met the two young women in the village, Miss Rothwell +shook hands and looked away. Once she found herself some business to do +at the Mitchelhurst shop, and sent Minnie home, lest she should be out +too long in the December cold. She had spied Herbert Hayes coming along +the street, and had rightly guessed that he would see and pursue the +slim, black-clothed figure. And, indeed, he used his walk with Miss +Newton to such good purpose that he might have won her promise then and +there if a tall young man had not suddenly sprung over a stile and +confronted them. Minnie fairly cowered in embarrassment as she met +Rothwell's meaning glance, which assumed that she would be delighted to +be rid of a bore, and she suffered him to give her his arm and to take +her home, leaving poor Hayes to feel very small indeed as he stood in +the middle of the road. He tried a letter, but it only called forth a +little feebly-penned word of refusal as faint as an echo. + +Hayes never suspected the young man's deliberate malice. He fancied the +old squire, if anybody, was his enemy; but he was more inclined to set +the difficulty down to the Rothwells' notorious pride than to any +special ill-will to himself. + +"No one is good enough for them, curse them!" he said over the little +note. "They won't give me a chance of winning her. I'm not beaten yet +though!" + +But he was. Early in January Minnie Newton took cold, drooped in the +chilly dreariness of the old house, and died before the spring came in. + +One day Kate Rothwell came upon Hayes as he lingered, a melancholy +little figure, by the girl's grave. + +"Ah, Miss Rothwell," he said, looking up at her, "I wanted to have had +the right to care for her and mourn her, but it was not to be!" + +"No," said Kate. "I'm sorry," she added, after a moment. It was just at +the time when she herself was about to defy all the barren traditions of +the Rothwells to marry Sidney Harding with his brilliant prospects of +wealth. Harding's half-brother, who had made the great business, was +pleased with the match, and promised Sidney a partnership in a couple +of years. Everything was bright for Kate, and she could afford a +regretful thought to poor Hayes. "I'm sorry," she said. + +Her voice was hard, but the slightest proffer of sympathy was enough. +"Ah! I knew you wished me well--God bless you!" said the little man, +"and help you as you would have helped me!" + +Perhaps Kate Rothwell felt that at that rate Providence would not take +any very active interest in her affairs. She turned aside impatiently. +"Pray keep your thanks for some one who deserves them, Mr. Hayes. I +don't." + +"You could not do anything, but I know you were good to _her_. She told +me, that afternoon----" He spoke in just the proper tone of emotion. + +"Nonsense!" Kate answered, sharply. "How could she? there was nothing to +tell." Mr. Hayes might well say, even a quarter of a century later, +that Miss Rothwell had an unpleasant manner. + +Nevertheless she held a place in that idealised picture of his love +which in his old age served him for a memory. In Sidney Harding's death, +within a year of the marriage, he saw a kindred stroke to that which had +robbed him of his own hope, and he never thought of Kate without a touch +of sentimental loyalty. When he met Kate's son that October afternoon, +with the familiar face and voice, on his way to Mitchelhurst, he had +felt that, Rothwell though he was, he must be welcomed for his mother's +sake. And yet it had almost seemed as if it were John Rothwell himself +come back to sneer in a new fashion. + +How came he to be so evidently poor while old Harding was rolling in +wealth? Mr. Hayes, sitting over the fire, wondered at this failure of +Kate's hopes. People had called it a fair exchange, her old name for +the Hardings' abundance of newly-coined gold. But where was the gold? +Plainly not in this young Harding's pockets. What did he do for a +living? Why was he not in his uncle's office, a man of business with the +world before him? There was no stamp of success about this listless, +long-legged fellow, who had come, as hopeless as any Rothwell, to linger +about that scene of slow decay. "He'll do no good," said Mr. Hayes to +himself, stirring up a cheerful blaze. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +REYNOLD'S RESOLUTION. + + +Meanwhile the young people had passed through the great gate and turned +to the right. "Do you mind which way you go?" Barbara asked, and Reynold +replied that he left it entirely to her. "Then," she said, "we will go +this way, and come back by the village; you will get a better view so." + +At first, however, it seemed that a view was the one thing which was +certainly not to be had in the road they had chosen. On their left was a +tangled hedge, on their right a dank and dripping plantation of firs. +The slim, straight stems, seen one beyond another, conveyed to Reynold +the impression of a melancholy crowd, pressing silently to the boundary +of the road on which he walked. It was one of those fantastic pictures +which reveal themselves in unfamiliar landscapes, and Barbara, who had +seen the wood under a score of varying aspects, took no especial heed of +this one, as she picked her way daintily by the young man's side. Indeed +she did not even note the moment when the trees were succeeded by a +turnip-field, lying wide and wet under the pale sky. But when in its +turn the field gave place to an open gateway and a drive full of deep +ruts, in which the water stood, she paused. "You see that house?" she +said. + +It was evident from its surroundings of soaked yard, miscellaneous +buildings, dirty tumbrils, and clustered stacks, that it was a +farmhouse. Harding looked at it and turned inquiringly to her. "It was +much larger once," said Barbara. "Part of it was pulled down a long +while ago. Your people lived here before they built Mitchelhurst Place." + +He pushed out his lower lip. "Well," he said, "I think they showed their +good taste in getting out of this." + +"But it was better then," said the girl. "And even now, sometimes in the +spring when I come here for cowslips----" + +She stopped short, for he was smiling. "Oh, no doubt! Everything looks +better then. But I have come too late." He had to step aside as he spoke +to let a manure cart go by, labouring along the miry way. "And what do +you call this house?" he asked. + +"Mitchelhurst Hall. I don't think there is anything much to see, but if +you would like to look over it or to walk round it----" + +"No, thank you; I am content." He took off his hat in mocking homage to +the home of the Rothwells, and turned to go. "And have you any more +decayed residences to show me, Miss Strange?" + +"Only some graves," she answered, simply. + +"Oh, they are all graves!" said Harding with his short laugh, swinging +his umbrella as they resumed their walk. Already Barbara had become +accustomed to that little jarring laugh, which had no merriment in it. +She did not like it, but she was curiously impressed by it. When the +young man was grave and stiff and shy she was sorry for him; she +remembered that he was only Mr. Reynold Harding, their guest for a week. +But when he was sufficiently at his ease to laugh she felt as if all the +Rothwells were mocking, and she were the interloper and inferior. + +"I suppose it does seem like that to you--as if they were all graves," +she said timidly, as she led the way across the road to a gate in the +tangled hedge; the field into which it led sloped steeply down. "That +is what people call the best view of Mitchelhurst," she explained. + +To the left was Mitchelhurst Place, gaunt and white among its warped and +weather-beaten trees. Before them lay the dotted line of Mitchelhurst +Street, and they looked down into the square cabbage-plots. The sails of +the windmill swung heavily round, and the smoke went up from the +blacksmith's forge. To the right was the church, with its thickset +tower, and the sun shining feebly on the wet surface of its leaden roof. +Barbara pointed out a small oblong patch of grass and evergreens as the +vicarage garden, while a bare building, of the rawest red brick, was the +Mitchelhurst workhouse. The view was remarkably comprehensive. +Mitchelhurst lay spread below them in small and melancholy completeness. + +"Yes, it's all there, right enough," said Reynold, leaning on the gate. +"An excellent view. All there, from the Place where my people spent +their money, to the workhouse, where----By Jove!" his voice dropped +suddenly, "I'm not Rothwell enough to have a right to be taken into the +Mitchelhurst workhouse! They'd send me on somewhere, I suppose. I wonder +which they would call my parish!" + +"Are you sorry?" Barbara asked, after a pause. + +"Sorry not to be in the workhouse?" indicating it with a slight movement +of his finger. "No, not particularly." + +"I didn't mean that," said the girl, a little shortly. "I meant, of +course, are you sorry you are not a Rothwell?" + +"I don't know." + +He spoke slowly, half reluctantly, and still leaned on the gate, with +his eyes wandering from point to point of the little landscape, which +was softened and saddened by the pale light and paler haze of October. +It was Barbara who finally broke the silence. "You didn't like the +house this morning, and you didn't like the old hall just now, so I +thought most likely you wouldn't care for this." + +"Well, it isn't beautiful," he replied, without turning his head. "Do +you care much about it, Miss Strange? Why should anybody care about it? +There are wonderful places in the world--beautiful places full of +sunshine. Why should we trouble ourselves about this little grey and +green island where we happened to be born? And what are these few acres +in it more than any other bit of ploughed land and meadow?" + +"I thought you didn't care for it," said Barbara, sagely. "I thought you +scorned it." + +"Scorn it--I can't scorn it! It isn't mine!" He turned away from it, as +if in a sudden movement of impatience, and lounged with his back to the +gate. "It's like my luck!" he said, kicking a stone in the road. + +Barbara was interested. Harding's tone revealed the strength and +bitterness of his feelings. He had never seemed to her so much of a +Rothwell as he did at that moment. "What is like your luck?" she +ventured to ask. + +He jerked his head in the direction of Mitchelhurst. "I may as well be +honest," he said. "Honest with myself--if I can! Look there--I have +mocked at that place all my life; for very shame's sake I have kept away +from it because I had vowed I didn't care whether one stone of it was +left upon another. What was it to me? I am not a Rothwell. I'm Reynold +Harding, son of Sidney Harding, son of Reynold Harding--there my +pedigree grows vague. My grandfather is an important man--we can't get +beyond him. He died while my father was in petticoats. He was a +pork-butcher in a small way. I believe he could write his name--_my_ +name--and that he always declared that his father was a Reynold too. But +we don't know anything about my great-grandfather--perhaps he was a +pork-butcher in a smaller way. My uncle Robert went to London as a boy +and made all the money, pensioned his father, and afterwards educated +his half-brother Sidney, who was twenty years younger than himself. He +would have made my father his partner if he had lived. If my father had +lived I might have been rich. As it is, I'm not rich, and I'm not a +Rothwell." + +"Well, you look like one!" said Barbara. She was not very wise. It +seemed to her a cruel thing that this earlier Reynold should have been a +pork-butcher--a misfortune on which she would not comment. She looked up +at the younger Reynold with the sincerest sympathy shining in her eyes, +and in an unreasoning fashion of her own took part with him and with the +old family, as if his grandfather were an unwarranted intruder who had +thrust himself into their superior society. "You look like one!" she +exclaimed, and Reynold smiled. + +"And after all," she said, pursuing her train of thought, "you are half +Rothwell, you know. As much Rothwell as Harding, are you not?" + +He was still smiling. "True. But that is a kind of thing which doesn't +do by halves." + +She assented with a sigh. She had never before talked to a man whose +grandfather was a pork-butcher, and she did not know what consolation to +offer. She could only look shyly and wistfully at Mr. Harding, as he +leaned against the gate with his back to the prospect, while she +resolved that she would never tell her uncle. She did not think her +companion less interesting after the revelation. This discord, this +irony of fate, this mixing of the blood of the Rothwells and the small +tradesman, seemed to her to explain much of young Harding's sullen +discontent. He was the last descendant of the old family of which she +had dreamed so often, and he was the victim of an unmerited wrong. She +wanted him to say more. "And you wouldn't come to Mitchelhurst before?" +she said, suggestively. + +"No; but the thought of the place was pulling at me all the time. I +couldn't get rid of it. And so--here I am! And I have seen the dream of +my life face to face--it's behind my back just at this minute, but I can +see it as well as if I were looking at it. I'm very grateful to you for +showing me this view, Miss Strange, but you'll excuse me if I don't turn +round while I speak of it?" + +"Oh, yes," said Barbara, wonderingly. + +He had his elbows on the top rail of the gate, and looked downward at +the muddy way, rough with the hoof marks of cattle. "You see," he +explained, "I want to say the kind of thing one says behind a--a +landscape's back." + +"I'm sorry to hear it," she answered. She had drawn a little to one +side, and had laid a small gloved hand on one of the gate posts. +Somebody, many years before, had deeply cut a clumsy M on the cracked +and roughened surface of the wood. The letter was as grey and as +weather-worn as the rest. Barbara touched it delicately with a +finger-tip, and followed its ungainly outline. Probably it was his own +initial that the rustic had hacked, standing where he stood, but she +recognised the possibility that the rough carving might be the utterance +of the great secret of joy and pain, and the touch was almost a caress. + +"Some people follow their dreams through life, and never get more than a +glimpse of them, even as dreams," said Harding, slowly. "Well, I have +seen mine. I have had a good look at it. I know what it is like. It is +dreary--it is narrow--cold--hideous." + +"Oh!" cried Barbara, as if his words hurt her. Then, recovering herself, +"I'm sorry you dislike it so much. Well, you must give it up, mustn't +you?" + +He laughed. "Life without a fancy, without a desire?" he said. + +"Find something else to wish for." + +"What? If there were anything else, should I care twopence for +Mitchelhurst? No, it is my dream still--a dream I'm never likely to +realise, but the only possible dream for me. Only now I know how poor +and dull my highest success would be." + +"You had better have stayed away," said the girl. + +He took his elbows off the gate, and bowed in acknowledgment of the +polite speech. "Oh, you know what I mean," she said hurriedly. + +"Yes, I know. And, except for the kindness of your fairy godmother, I +believe you are perfectly right. _That_, of course, is a different +question." + +Barbara would not answer what she fancied might be a sneer. "You see the +place at its worst," she said, "and there is nobody to care for it; +everything is neglected and going to ruin. Don't you think it would be +different if it belonged to some one who loved it? Why don't you make +your fortune," she exclaimed, with sanguine, bright-eyed directness, as +if the fortune were an easy certainty, "and come back and set everything +right? Don't you think you could care for Mitchelhurst if----" + +She would have finished her sentence readily enough, but Reynold caught +it up. + +"_If!_" he said, with a sudden startled significance in his tone. Then, +with an air of prompt deference, "Shall I go and make the fortune at +once, Miss Strange? Shall I? Yes, I think I could care for Mitchelhurst, +as you say, _if_--" He smiled. "One might do much with a fortune, no +doubt." + +"Make it then," said Barbara, conscious of a faint and undefined +embarrassment. + +"Must it be a very big one?" + +"Oh, I think it may as well be a tolerable size, while you are about it. +Hadn't we better be moving on?" + +Mr. Harding assented. "Where are we going now?" + +"To the church. That is, if you care to go there." + +"Oh, I like to go very much. I wonder what you would call a tolerable +fortune," he said in a meditative tone. + +"My opinion doesn't matter." + +"But you are going to wish me success while I am away making it?" + +"Oh, certainly." + +"That will be a help," he said gravely. "I shan't look for an omen in +the sky just now--do you see how threatening it is out yonder?" + +The clouds rolled heavily upwards, and massed themselves above their +heads as they hastened down a steep lane which brought them out by the +church. Barbara stopped at the clerk's cottage for a ponderous key, and +then led the way through a little creaking gate. The path along which +they went was like a narrow ditch, the mould, heaped high on either +side, seemed as if it were burdened with his imprisoned secrets. The +undulating graves, overgrown with coarse grasses, rose up, wave-like, +against the buttressed walls of the churchyard, high above the level of +the outer road. The church itself looked as if it had been dug out of +the sepulchral earth, so closely was it surrounded by these shapeless +mounds. Barbara, to whom the scene was nothing new, and who was eager to +escape the impending shower, flitted, alive, warm, and young, through +all this cold decay, and never heeded it. Harding followed her, looking +right and left. They passed under two dusky yew trees, and then she +thrust her big key into the lock of the south door. + +"Are my people buried in the churchyard?" he asked. + +"Oh, no!" she exclaimed reverentially. "Your people are all inside." + +He stepped in, but when he was about to close the door he stood for a +moment, gazing out through the low-browed arch. It framed a picture of +old-fashioned headstones fallen all aslant, nettles flourishing upon +forgotten graves, the trunks of the great yews, the weed-grown crest of +the churchyard wall, defined with singular clearness upon a wide band of +yellow sky. The gathered tempest hung above, and its deepening menace +intensified the pale tranquillity of the horizon. "I say," said Harding +as he turned away, "it's going to pour, you know!" + +"Well, we are under shelter," Barbara answered cheerfully, as she laid +her key on the edge of one of the pews. "If it clears up again so that +we get back in good time it won't matter a bit. And anyhow we've got +umbrellas. The font is very old, they say." + +Harding obediently inspected the font. + +"And there are two curious inscriptions on tablets on the north wall. +Mr. Pryor--he's the vicar--is always trying to read them. Do you know +much about such things?" + +"Nothing at all." + +"Oh!" in a tone of disappointment. "I'm afraid you wouldn't get on with +Mr. Pryor then." + +"I'm afraid not." + +"Perhaps you wouldn't care to look at them." + +"Oh, let us look, by all means." + +They walked together up the aisle. "_I_ don't care about them," said +Barbara, "but I suppose Mr. Pryor would die happy if he could make them +out." + +"Then I suspect he is happy meanwhile, though perhaps he doesn't know +it," Reynold replied, looking upward at the half effaced lettering. + +"He can read some of it," said the girl, "but nobody can make out the +interesting part." + +Harding laughed, under his breath. Their remarks had been softly uttered +ever since the closing of the door had shut them in to the imprisoned +silence. He moved noiselessly a few steps further, and looked round. + +Mitchelhurst Church, like Mitchelhurst Place, betrayed a long neglect. +The pavement was sunken and uneven, cobwebs hung from the sombre arches, +the walls, which had once been white, were stained and streaked, by damp +and time, to a blending of melancholy hues. The half light, which +struggled through small panes of greenish glass, fell on things +blighted, tarnished, faded, dim. The pews with their rush-matted seats +were worm-eaten, the crimson velvet of the pulpit was a dingy rag. There +was but one bit of vivid modern colouring in the whole building--a slim +lancet window at the west end, a discord sharply struck in the shadowy +harmony. "To the memory of the vicar before last," said Barbara, when +the young man's glance fell on it. Such gleams of sunlight as lingered +yet in the stormy sky without irradiated Michael, the church's patron +saint, in the act of triumphing over a small dragon. The contest +revealed itself as a mere struggle for existence; a Quaker, within such +narrow limits, must have fought for the upper hand as surely as an +archangel. Harding as he looked at it could not repress a sigh. He fully +appreciated the calmness of the saint, and the neatness with which the +little dragon was coiled, but it seemed to him a pity that the vicar +before last had happened to die; and he was glad to turn his back on the +battle, and follow Miss Strange to the north chancel aisle. "These are +all the Rothwell monuments," she said. "Their vault is just below. This +is their pew, where we sit on Sunday." + +Having said this she moved from his side, and left him gazing at the +simple tablets which recorded the later generations of the old house, +and the elaborate memorials of more prosperous days. More than one +recumbent figure slept there, each with upturned face supported on a +carven pillow; the bust of a Rothwell was set up in a dusty niche, with +lean features peering out of a forest of curling marble hair; carefully +graduated families of Rothwells, boys and girls, knelt behind their +kneeling parents; the little window, half blocked by the florid grandeur +of a grimy monument, had the Rothwell arms emblazoned on it in a dim +richness of colour. In this one spot the dreariness of the rest of the +building became a stately melancholy. Harding looked down. His foot was +resting on the inscribed stone which marked the entrance to that silent, +airless place of skeletons and shadows, compared to which even this dim +corner, with its mute assemblage, was yet the upper world of light and +life. If he worked, if fortune favoured him, if he succeeded beyond all +reasonable hope, if he were indeed predestined to triumph, that little +stone might one day be lifted for him. + +The windows darkened momentarily with the coming of the tempest. Through +the dim diamond panes the masses of the yew-trees were seen, and their +movement was like the stirring of vast black wings. The effigies of the +dead men frowned in the deepening gloom, and their young descendant +folded his arms, and leaned against the high pew, with a slant gleam of +light on his pale Rothwell face. Barbara went restlessly and yet +cautiously up and down the central aisle, and paused by the reading-desk +to turn the leaves of the great old-fashioned prayer-book which lay +there. When its cover was lifted it exhaled a faint odour, as of the +dead Sundays of a century and more. While she lingered, lightly +conscious of the lapse of vague years, reading petitions for the welfare +of "Thy servant _GEORGE_, our most gracious King and Governour," "her +Royal Highness the Princess Dowager of _Wales_, and all the Royal +Family," the page grew indistinct in the threatening twilight, as if it +would withdraw itself from her idle curiosity. She looked up with a +shiver, as overhead and around burst the multitudinous noises of the +storm, the rain gushing on the leaden roof, the water streaming drearily +from the gutters to beat on the earth below, and, in a few moments, the +quick, monotonous fall of drops through a leak close by. This lasted for +ten minutes or a quarter of an hour. Then the sky grew lighter, the +downpour slackened, a sense of overshadowing oppression seemed to pass +away, and St. Michael and his dragon brightened cheerfully. Barbara went +to the door and threw it open, and a breath of fresh air came in with a +chilly smell of rain. + +As she stood in the low archway she heard Harding's step on the +pavement behind her. It was more alert and decided than usual, and when +she turned he met her glance with a smile. + +"Well?" she said. "I didn't like to disturb you, you looked so serious." + +"I was thinking," he admitted. "And it was a rather serious occasion. My +people are not very cheerful company." + +"And now you have thought?" + +"Yes," he said, still smiling. "Yes, I have thought--seriously, with my +serious friends yonder." + +Barbara, as she stood, with her fingers closed on the heavy handle of +the door, and her face turned towards Harding, fixed her eyes intently +on his. + +"I know!" she exclaimed. "You have made up your mind to come back to +Mitchelhurst." + +"Who knows?" said he. "I'm not sanguine, but we'll see what time and +fortune have to say to it. At any rate my people are patient +enough--they'll wait for me!" + +To the girl, longing for a romance, the idea of the young man's +resolution was delightful. She looked at him with a little quivering +thrill of impatience, as if she would have had him do something towards +the great end that very moment. Her small, uplifted face was flushed, +and her eyes were like stars. The brightening light outside shone on the +soft brown velvet of her dress, and something in her eager, +lightly-poised attitude gave Reynold the impression of a dainty +brown-plumaged, bright-eyed bird, ready for instant flight. He almost +stretched an instinctive hand to grasp and detain her, lest she should +loose her hold of the iron ring and be gone. + +"I know you will succeed--you will come back!" she exclaimed. "How long +first, I wonder?" + +"_Shall_ I succeed?" said Reynold, half to himself, but +half-questioning her to win the sweet, unconscious assurance, which +meant so little, yet mocked so deep a meaning. + +"Yes!" she replied. "You will! You must be master here." + +Master! She might have put it in a dozen different ways, and found no +word to waken the swift, meaning flash in his eyes which that word did. +Her pulses did not quicken, she perfectly understood that he was +thinking of Mitchelhurst. She could not understand what mere dead earth +and stone Mitchelhurst was to the man at her side. + +"You will have to restore the church one of these days," she said. + +Harding nodded. + +"Certainly. But it will be very ugly, anyhow." + +"Well, at least you must have the roof mended. And now, please, will you +get the key? It is on the ledge of that pew just across the aisle. I +think we had better be going--it has almost left off raining." + +She stepped outside and put up her umbrella, while he locked up his +ancestors, smiling grimly. It seemed rather unnecessary to turn the key +on the family party in that dusty little corner. They were quiet folks, +and, as he had said, they would wait for him and his fortune not +impatiently. If he could have shut in the brightness of youth, the +warmth and life and sweetness which alone could make the fortune worth +having, if he could have come back in the hour of success to unfasten +the door and find all there--then indeed his big key would have been a +priceless talisman. Unfortunately one can shut nothing safely away that +is not dead. The old Rothwells were secure enough, but the rest was at +the mercy of time and change, and all the winds that blow. + +The pair were silent as they turned into Mitchelhurst Street. Reynold +looked at the small, shabby houses, and noted the swinging sign of the +"Rothwell Arms," though his deeper thoughts were full of other things. +But about half way through the village he awoke to a sudden +consciousness of eyes. Eyes peered through small-paned windows, stared +boldly from open doorways, met him inquisitively in the faces of +loiterers on the path, or were lifted from the dull task of mending the +road as he walked by with Barbara. He looked over his shoulder and found +that other people were looking over their shoulders, after which he felt +himself completely encompassed. + +"People here seem interested," he remarked to Miss Strange, while a +pale-faced, slatternly girl, with swiftly-plaiting fingers, leaned +forward to get a better view. + +"Why, of course they are interested. You are a stranger, you know. It +is quite an excitement for them." + +"You call that an excitement?" said he. + +"Yes. If you spent your life straw-plaiting in one of these cottages you +would be excited if a stranger went by. It would be kinder of you if you +did not walk so fast." + +"No, no," said Harding, quickening his steps. "I don't profess +philanthropy." + +"Besides, you are not altogether a stranger," she went on. "I dare say +they think you are one of the old family come to buy up the property." + +"Why should they think anything of the kind?" he demanded incredulously. + +"Well, they know you are staying at the Place. Every child in the street +knows that. And, you see, Mr. Harding, nobody comes to Mitchelhurst +without some special reason, so perhaps they have a right to be curious. +I remember how they stared a few months ago--it was at a gentleman who +was just walking down the road----" + +"Indeed," said Harding. "And what was _his_ special reason for coming? I +suppose," he added quickly, "I've as good a right to be curious as other +Mitchelhurst people." + +"Oh, I don't know. He was a friend of Uncle Herbert's--he came to see +him." + +"And did _he_ walk slowly from motives of pure kindness?" the young man +persisted. + +"Yes," said Barbara defiantly. "He stood stock still and looked at the +straw plaiting. I don't know about the kindness; perhaps he liked it." + +"Well, I don't like it." + +"But you needn't take such very long steps: these three cottages are the +last. Do you know I'm very nearly running?" + +Of course he slackened his pace and begged her pardon; but in so doing +he relapsed into the uneasy self-consciousness of their first +interview. When they reached the gate of the avenue he held it open for +her to pass, murmuring something about walking a bit further. Barbara +looked at him in surprise, and then, with a little smiling nod, went +away under the trees, wondering what was amiss. "I can't have offended +him--how could I?" she said to herself, and she made up her mind that +her new friend was certainly queer. It was the Rothwell temper, no +doubt, and yet his awkward muttering had been more like the manner of a +sullen schoolboy. A Rothwell should have been loftily superior, even if +he were disagreeable. It was true, as Barbara reflected, almost in spite +of herself, that Mr. Harding had no such hereditary obligation on the +pork-butcher side of his pedigree. + +Reynold had spoken out of the bitterness of his heart, and a bitter +frankness is the frankest of all. But perhaps he had not shown his +wisdom when he so quickly confided his grandfather to Miss Strange. +Because we may have tact enough to choose the mood in which our friend +shall listen to our secret, we are a little too apt to forget that the +secret, once uttered, remains with him in all his moods. In this case +the girl had been a sympathetic listener, but young Harding scarcely +intended that the elder Reynold should be so vividly realised. + +Later, when all outside the windows was growing blank and black, Barbara +went up to dress for dinner. She was nearly ready when there came a +knock at her door, and she hurried, candle in hand, to open it. In the +gloom of the passage stood the red-armed village girl who waited on her. + +"Please, miss, the gentleman told me to give you this," said the +messenger, awkwardly offering something which was only a formless mass +in the darkness. + +"What?" said Miss Strange, and turned the light upon it. The wavering +little illumination fell on a confusion of autumn leaves, rich with +their dying colours, and shining with rain. Among them, indistinctly, +were berries of various kinds, hips and haws, and poison clusters of a +deeper red, vanishing for a moment as the draught blew the candle flame +aside, and then reappearing. One might have fancied them blood drops +newly shed on the wet foliage. + +"Oh!" Barbara exclaimed in surprise, and after a moment's pause, "give +them to me." She gathered them up, despite some thorny stems, with her +disengaged hand, and went back into her room. So that was the meaning of +Mr. Harding's solitary walk! She stood by the table, delicately picking +out the most vivid clusters, and trying their effect against the soft +cloud of her hair, cloudier than ever in the dusk of her mirror. "I +hope he hasn't been slipping into any more ditches!" she said to +herself. + +With that she sighed, for the thought recalled to her the melancholy of +an autumnal landscape. She remembered an earlier gift, roses and myrtle, +a summer gift, the giver of which had gone when the summer waned. She +had seen him last on a hot September day. "We never said good-bye," +Barbara thought, and let her hand hang with the berries in it. "He said +he should not go till the beginning of October. When he came that +afternoon and I was out, and he only saw uncle, I was sure he would come +again. Well, I suppose he didn't care to. He could if he liked--a girl +can't; there are lots of things a girl can't do; but a man can call if +he pleases. Well, he must have gone away before now. And he didn't even +write a line, he only sent a message by uncle, his kind regards--Who +wants his kind regards?--and he was sorry not to see me. Very well, my +kind regards, and I'm sure I don't want to see him!" + +She ended her meditations with an emphatic little nod, but the girl in +the mirror who returned it had such a defiantly pouting face that she +quite took Barbara by surprise. + +"I'm not angry," Miss Strange declared to herself after a pause. "Not +the least in the world. The idea is perfectly absurd. It was just a bit +of the summer, and now the summer is gone." And so saying she put Mr. +Harding's autumn berries in her hair, and fastened them at her throat, +and, with her candle flickering dimly through the long dark passages, +swept down to the yellow drawing-room to thank him for his gift. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +A GAME AT CHESS. + + +When Kate Rothwell promised to be Sidney Harding's wife she was very +honestly in love with the handsome young fellow. But this happy frame of +mind had been preceded by a period of revolt and disgust when she did +not know him, and had resolved vaguely on a marriage--any +marriage--which should fulfil certain conditions. And that she should be +in love with the man she married was not one of them. In fact, the +conditions were almost all negative ones. She had decreed that her +husband should not be a conspicuous fool, should not be vicious, should +not be repulsively vulgar, and should not be an unendurable bore. On +the other hand he should be fairly well off. She did not demand a large +fortune, she was inclined to rate the gift and prospect of making money +as something more than the possession of a certain sum which its owner +could do nothing but guard. Given a fairly cultivated man, and she felt +that she would absolutely prefer that he should be engaged in some +business which might grow and expand, stimulating the hopes and energies +of all connected with it. The sterility and narrowness of life at +Mitchelhurst had sickened her very soul. She was conscious of a fund of +rebellious strength, and she demanded liberty to develop herself, +liberty to live. She knew very well how women fared among the Rothwells. +She had seen two of her father's sisters, faded spinsters, worshipping +the family pride which had blighted them. Nobody wanted them, their one +duty was to cost as little as possible. That they would not disgrace the +Rothwell name was taken for granted. Kate used to look at their pinched +and dreary faces, and recognise some remnants of beauty akin to her own. +She listened to their talk, which was full of details of the pettiest +economy, and remembered that these women had been intent on shillings +and half-pence all their lives, that neither of them had ever had a +five-pound note which she could spend as it pleased her. And their +penurious saving had been for--what? Had it been for husband or child it +would have been different, the half-pence would have been glorified. But +they paid this life-long penalty for the privilege of being the Misses +Rothwell of Mitchelhurst. Life with them was simply a careful picking of +their way along a downward slope to the family vault, and it was almost +a comfort to think that the poor ladies were safely housed there, with +their dignity intact, while Kate was yet in her teens. + +Later came the little episode of Minnie Newton and her admirer. Kate +perceived her brother's indifference to the girl's welfare, and the +brutality of his revenge on the man whose crime was his habit of +chinking the gold in his waistcoat pocket. Probably, with her finer +instincts, she perceived all this more clearly than did John Rothwell +himself. She did not actively intervene, because, in her contemptuous +strength, she felt very little pity for a couple whose fate was +ostensibly in their own hands. Minnie was not even in love with Hayes, +and Kate did not care to oppose her brother in order to force a pliant +fool to accept a fortunate chance. She let events take their course, but +she drew from them the lesson that her future depended on herself. And, +miserably as life at Mitchelhurst was maintained, she was, perhaps, the +first of the family to see that the time drew near when it would not be +possible to maintain it at all, partly from the natural tendency of all +embarrassments to increase, and partly from John Rothwell's character. +He could not be extravagant, but he had a dull impatience of his +father's minute supervision. Kate made up her mind that the crash would +come in her brother's reign. + +She had already looked round the neighbourhood of her home and found no +deliverer there. Had there been any one otherwise suitable the Rothwell +pride was so notorious that he would never have dreamed of approaching +her. An invitation from a girl who had been a school friend offered a +possible chance, and Kate coaxed the necessary funds from the old +squire, defied her brother's grudging glances, and went, with a secret, +passionate resolve to escape from Mitchelhurst for ever. She saw no +other way. She was not conscious of any special talent, and she said +frankly to herself that she was not sufficiently well educated to be a +governess. Moreover, the independence which achieves a scanty living was +not her ideal. She was cramped, she was half-starved, she wanted to +stretch herself in the warmth of the world, and take its good things +while she was young. + +Fate might have decreed that she should meet Mr. Robert Harding, a +successful man of business in the city, twenty years older than herself, +slightly bald, rather stout, keen in his narrow range, but with very +little perception of anything which lay right or left of the road by +which he was travelling to fortune. The beautiful Miss Rothwell would +have thanked Fate and set to work to win him. But it is not only our +good resolutions that are the sport of warring chances. Our unworthy +schemes do not always ripen into fact. Kate did not meet Mr. Robert +Harding, she met his brother Sidney, a tall, bright-eyed, red-lipped +young fellow, with the world before him, and the pair fell in love as +simply and freshly as if the croquet ground at Balaclava Lodge were the +Garden of Eden, or a glade in Arcady. In a week they were engaged to be +married, and were both honestly ready to swear that no other marriage +had ever been possible for either. To her he appeared with the golden +light of the future about his head; to him she came with all the charm +and shadowy romance of long descent, and of a poverty far statelier than +newly-won wealth. Friends reminded Sidney that with his liberal +allowance from his brother, and his prospect of a partnership at +twenty-five, he might have married a girl with money had he chosen. +Friends also mentioned to Kate, with bated breath, that the Hardings' +father, dead twenty years earlier, had been a pork-butcher. Sidney +laughed, and Kate turned away in scorn. She was absolutely glad that +she could make what the world considered a sacrifice for her darling. + +At Mitchelhurst her engagement, though not welcomed, was not strongly +opposed. John Rothwell sneered as much as he dared, but he knew his +sister's temper, and it was too like his own for him to care to trifle +with it. So he stood aside, very wisely, for there was a touch of the +lioness about Kate with this new love of hers, and he saw mischief in +the eyes that were so sweet while she was thinking about Sidney. It was +at that time that she spoke her word of half-scornful sympathy to +Herbert Hayes. + +And in a year her married life, with all its tender and softening +influences, was over. An accident had killed Sidney Harding before he +was twenty-five, before his child was born, and Kate was left alone in +comparatively straitened circumstances. For her child's sake she endured +her sorrow, demanding almost fiercely of God that He would give her a +son to grow up like his dead father, and when the boy was born she +called him Reynold. Sidney was too sacred a name; there could be but one +Sidney Harding for her, but she remembered that he had once said that he +wished he had been called Reynold, after his father. + +It was pathetic to see her dark eyes fixed upon the baby features, +trying to trace something of Sidney in them, trying hard not to realise +that it was her own likeness that was stamped upon her child. "He is +darker, of course," she used to say, "but--" He could not be utterly +unlike his father, this child of her heart's desire! It was not +possible--it must not be--it would be too monstrous a cruelty. But month +by month, and year by year, the little one grew into her remembrance of +her brother's solitary boyhood, and faced her with a moody temper that +mocked her own. No one knew how long she waited for a tone or a glance +which should remind her of her dead love, remind her of anything but the +old days that she hated. None ever came. The boy grew tall and slim, +handsome after the Rothwell type, with a curious instinctive avidity for +any details connected with Mitchelhurst and his mother's people. He +would not confess his interest, but she divined it and disliked it. And +Reynold, on his side, unconsciously resented her eternal unspoken demand +for something which he could not give. He would scowl at her over his +shoulder, irritated by his certainty that her unsatisfied eyes were upon +him. Mother and son were so fatally alike that they chafed each other +continually. Every outbreak of temper was a pitched battle, the +combatants knew the ground on which they fought, and every barbed speech +was scientifically planted where it would rankle most. + +A crisis came when it was decided that Reynold should leave school and +go into his uncle's office. The boy did not oppose it by so much as a +word; but as he stood, erect and silent, while Mr. Harding enlarged on +his prospects, he looked aside for a moment, and Kate's keener eyes +caught his contemptuous glance. To her it was an oblique ray, revealing +his soul. He despised the Hardings; he was ashamed of his father's name. +She did not speak, but in that moment with a pang of furious anguish she +chose once and for ever between her husband and her son, and sealed up +all her tenderness in Sidney's grave. + +Reynold's stay in Robert Harding's office was short, but it was not +unsatisfactory while it lasted. He never professed to like his work, but +he went resignedly through the daily routine. He was not bright or +interested, but he was intelligent. What was explained to him he +understood, what was told him he remembered, as a mere matter of +course. He acquiesced in his life in a city counting-house, as his +grandfather at Mitchelhurst had acquiesced in his narrow existence +there. It seemed as if the men of the family were apathetic and weary by +nature, and only Kate had had energy enough to revolt. + +An unexpected chance, the freak of a rich old man who had business +relations with Robert Harding, and who remembered Sidney, made Reynold +the possessor of a small legacy a few months after he had entered his +uncle's service. He at once announced his intention of going to Oxford. +Of course, as he said, without his mother's consent he could not go till +he was of age, and if she chose to refuse it he must wait. Kate +hesitated, but Mr. Harding, who was full of schemes for the advancement +of his own son, did not care for an unwilling recruit, and the young +fellow was coldly permitted to have his way. His mother, in spite of +her disapproval, watched his course with an interest which she would +never acknowledge. Was he really going to achieve success in his own +fashion, perhaps to make the name she loved illustrious? + +Nothing was ever more commonplace and unnoticeable than Reynold's +university career. He spent his legacy, and came back as little changed +as possible. It seemed as if he had felt that he owed himself the +education of a gentleman, and had paid the debt, as a mere matter of +course, as soon as he had the means. "What do you propose to do now?" +Kate inquired. He answered listlessly that he had secured a situation as +under-master in a school. And for three or four years he had maintained +himself thus, making use of his mother's house in holiday time, or in +any interval between two engagements, but never taking anything in the +shape of actual coin from her. She suspected that he hated his +drudgery, but he never spoke of it. + +Thus matters might have remained if it had not been for Robert Harding's +son. The old man, whose dream had been to found a great house of +business which should bear his name when he was gone, was unlucky enough +to have an idle fool for his heir. Reynold's record was not brilliant, +but it showed blamelessly by the side of his cousin's folly and +extravagance. Mr. Harding hinted more than once that his nephew might +come back if he would, but his hints did not seem to be understood. +Little by little it became a fixed idea with him that Reynold alone +could save the name of Harding, and keep his cousin from utter ruin. He +recognised a kind of scornful probity in his nephew, which would secure +Gerald's safety in his hands, and perhaps he exaggerated the promise of +Reynold's boyhood. At last he stooped to actual solicitation. Kate gave +the letter to her son, silently, but with a breathless question in her +eyes. + +The old man offered terms which were almost absurdly liberal, but he +tried to mask his humiliation by clothing the proposal in dictatorial +speech. He gave Reynold a clear week in which to consider his reply, and +almost commanded him to take that week. But Mr. Harding wrote, if in ten +days he had not signified his acceptance, the situation would be filled +up. He should give it, with the promise of the partnership, to a distant +connection of his wife's. "Understand," said the final sentence, "that I +speak of this matter for the first and last time." + +"I think," said Reynold, looking round for writing materials, "that I +had better answer this at once." + +"Not to say 'No!'" cried Kate. "You shall not!" She stood before him, +darkly imperious, with outstretched hand. It seemed to her as if the +whole house of Harding appealed to her son for help. He was asked to do +the work that Sidney would have done if he had lived. "You shall not +insult him by refusing his offer without a moment's thought--I forbid +it!" she exclaimed. + +"Very well," said Reynold. "I will wait." He turned aside to the +fire-place, and stood gazing at the dull red coals. + +His mother followed him with her glance, and after a moment's silence +she made an effort to speak more gently. "He is your father's brother," +she said. + +"Yes," Reynold replied, in an absent tone. "Such an offer couldn't come +from the other side." + +The words were a simple statement of fact, the utterance was absolutely +expressionless, but a sudden flame leapt into Kate's eyes. "Answer when +and as you please!" she cried. Her son said nothing. + +He was waiting at the time to hear about a tutorship which had been +mentioned to him. The matter was not likely to be settled immediately, +and the next morning he appeared with his bag in his hand, and announced +that he was going into the country for a few days, and would send his +address. In due time the letter came with "Mitchelhurst" stamped boldly +on it, like a defiance. + +When Barbara Strange bade young Harding go and make his fortune, she did +not know the curious potency of her advice. The words fell, like a gleam +of summer sunshine, across a world of stony antagonisms and smouldering +fires. And, with all the bright unconsciousness of sunshine, they +transformed it into a place of life and hope. She had called her little +cross her talisman, but Harding's talisman--for there are such +things--was the folded letter in his pocketbook. As she stood beside +him, flushed, eager, radiant, pleading with him, "Could not you care for +Mitchelhurst, _if_--" she awakened a sudden craving for action, a sudden +desire of possession in his ice-bound heart. To any other woman he could +have been only Reynold Harding, a penniless tutor, recognised, perhaps, +as a kind of degenerate offshoot of the Rothwell tree. But to Barbara he +was the one remaining hope of the old family of which she had thought so +much; he was the king who was to enjoy his own again, and her shining +glances bade him go and conquer his kingdom without delay. And in +Mitchelhurst Church, as he stood among his dead people, with the rain +beating heavily on-- + + "The lichen-crusted leads above," + +he had made up his mind. He would cast in his lot with the Hardings till +he should have earned the right to come back to the Rothwells' +inheritance. He would do it, but not for the Rothwells' sake--for a +sweeter sake--breathing and moving beside him in that place of tombs. He +looked up at the marble countenance of his wigged ancestor, considering +it thoughtfully, yet not asking himself if that dignified personage +would have approved of his resolution. Reynold, as he stared at the +aquiline features, wondered idly whether the lean-faced gentleman had +ever known and loved a Barbara Strange, and whether he had kissed her +with those thin, curved lips of his. Of course they were not as grimy +and pale in real life as in their sculptured likeness. And yet it was +difficult to picture him alive, with blood in his veins, stooping to +anything as warm and sweet as Barbara's damask-rose mouth. It seemed to +Reynold that only he and Barbara, in all the world, were truly alive, +and he only since he had known her. + +When he went back into the lanes alone, after leaving her at the gate, +the full meaning of the decision which had swiftly and strangely +reversed the whole drift of his life rushed upon him and bewildered him. +He hastened away like one in a dream. It was as if he had broken through +an encircling wall into light and air. Ever since his boyhood he had +held his fancy tightly curbed, he had reminded himself by night and day +that he had nothing, was nothing, would be nothing; in his fierce +rejection of empty dreams he had chosen always to turn his eyes from the +wonderful labyrinthine world about him, and to fix them on the dull grey +thread of his hopeless life. Now for the first time in his remembrance +he relaxed his grasp, and his fancy, freed from all control, flashed +forward to visions of love and wealth. He let it go--why should he +hinder it, since he had resolved to follow where it led? In this sudden +exaltation his resolution seemed half realised in its very conception, +and as he gathered the berries from the darkening hedgerows he felt as +if they were his own, the first-fruits of his inheritance. He hurried +from briar to briar under the pale evening sky, tearing the rain-washed +sprays from their stems, hardly recognising himself in the man who was +so defiantly exultant in his self-abandonment. Nothing seemed out of +reach, nothing seemed impossible. When the darkness overtook him he went +back with a triumphant rhythm in his swinging stride, feeling as if he +could have gathered the very stars out of the sky for Barbara. + +This towering mood did not last. It was in the nature of things that +such loftiness should be insecure, and indeed Reynold could hardly have +made a successful man of business had it been permanent. It would not do +to add up Barbara and the stars in every column of figures. But the +very fact of passing from the open heavens to the shelter of a roof had +a sobering effect, the process of dressing for dinner recalled all the +commonplace necessities of life, and in his haste he had a difficulty +with his white necktie, which was distinctly a disenchantment. The +shyness and reserve which were the growth of years could not be shaken +off in a moment of passion. They closed round him more oppressively than +ever when he found himself in the yellow drawing-room, face to face with +Mr. Hayes, and, being questioned about his walk, he answered stiffly and +coldly, and then was silent. Yet enough of the exaltation remained to +kindle his eyes, though his lips were speechless, when he caught sight +of Barbara standing by the fireside, with a cluster of blood-red berries +in her hair, and another nestling in the dusky folds of lace close to +her white throat. The vivid points of colour held his fascinated gaze, +and seemed to him like glowing kisses. + +He had a game of chess with his host after dinner. As a rule he was a +slow and meditative player, scanning the pieces doubtfully, and +suspecting a snare in every promising chance. But that evening he played +as if by instinct, without hesitation. Everything was clear to him, and +he pressed his adversary closely. Mr. Hayes frowned over his +calculations, apprehending defeat, though the game as yet had taken no +decisive turn. Presently Barbara came softly sweeping towards them in +her black draperies, set down her uncle's coffee-cup at his elbow, and +paused by Harding's side to watch the contest. Her presence sent a +thrill through him which disturbed his clear perception of the game. It +made a bright confusion in his mind, such as a ripple makes in lucid +waters. He put out his hand mechanically towards the pawn which he had +previously determined to move. + +"Dear me!" said Barbara, strong in the traditional superiority of the +looker-on, "why don't you move your bishop?" + +Reynold moved his bishop. + +Quick as lightning Mr. Hayes made his answering move, and, when it was +an accomplished fact, he said-- + +"Thank you, Barbara." + +Reynold and Barbara looked at each other. The aspect of affairs was +entirely changed. A white knight occupied a previously guarded square, +and simply offered a ruinous choice of calamities. + +"Oh, what have I done?" the girl exclaimed. + +Reynold laughed his little rough-edged laugh. + +"Nothing," he said. "Don't blame yourself, Miss Strange. You only asked +me why I didn't move my bishop. I ought to have explained why I +_didn't_. Instead of which--I _did_. It certainly wasn't your fault." + +Barbara lingered and bit her under-lip as she gazed at the board. + +"I've spoilt your game," she said remorsefully. "I think I'd better go +now I've done the mischief." + +"No, don't go!" Harding exclaimed, and Mr. Hayes, rubbing his hands, +chimed in with a mocking-- + +"No, don't go, Barbara!" + +The girl looked down with an angry spark in her eyes. + +"Well, I'll give you some coffee," she said to the young man; "you +haven't had any yet." + +"And then come back, Barbara!" her uncle persisted. + +She did come back, flushed and defiant, determined to fight the battle +to the last. But for her obstinacy Mr. Hayes would have had an easy +triumph, for young Harding's defence collapsed utterly. Apparently he +could not play a losing game, and a single knock-down blow discouraged +him once for all. Barbara, taking her place by his side, showed twice +his spirit, and at one time seemed almost as if she were about to +retrieve his fallen fortunes. Mr. Hayes ceased to taunt her, and sat +with a puckered forehead considering his moves. He kept his advantage, +however, in spite of all she could do, and presently unclosed his lips +to say "Check!" at intervals. But it was not till he had uttered the +fatal "Mate!" that his face relaxed. Then he got up, and made his niece +a little bow. + +"Thank you, Barbara!" he said, and walked away to the fire-place. + +The young people remained where he had left them. Barbara trifled with +the chessmen, moving them capriciously here and there. Reynold, with his +head on his hand, did not lift his eyes above the level of the board, +but watched her slim fingers as they slipped from piece to piece, or +lingered on the red-stained ivory. She brought back all their slain +combatants, and set them up upon the battle-field. + +"I wish I hadn't meddled!" she said suddenly. "I spoilt your game." + +She spoke in a low voice, and Reynold answered in the same tone, + +"What _did_ it matter?" + +"No, but I hate to be beaten. I wanted you to win." + +"Well," said he, still with his head down, "you set me to play a bigger +game to-day." + +"Ah!" said Barbara, decidedly. "I won't meddle with that!" + +"No?" he said, looking up with a half-hinted smile. Her cheeks were +still burning with the excitement of her long struggle, and her bright +eyes met his questioning glance. + +"Perhaps you think I can't help meddling?" she suggested. + +"Perhaps you can't. You are superstitious, aren't you? You believe in +amulets and that kind of thing--or half believe. Perhaps you are +foredoomed to meddle, and destiny won't let you set me down to the game +and go quietly away." + +Barbara was holding the king between her fingers. She replaced it on its +square so absently, while she looked at Reynold, that it fell. His words +seemed to trouble her. + +"Well, if this game is an omen, you had better not _let_ me meddle," she +said at last. + +"How am I to help it?" + +"Thank you!" she exclaimed resentfully; "I'm not so eager to interfere +in your affairs as you seem to take for granted!" + +"Indeed I thought nothing of the kind. I thought we were talking of +destiny. And, you see, you were good enough to take a little interest +this afternoon." + +She uttered a half-reluctant "Yes." She had a dim feeling that she was, +in some inexplicable way, becoming involved in young Harding's fortunes. + +The notion half-frightened, half-fascinated her. When they began their +low-voiced talk she had unconsciously leaned a little towards him. Now +she did not precisely withdraw, but she lifted her face, and there was a +touch of shy defiance in the poise of her head. + +Mr. Hayes, as he stood by the fire, was warming first one little +polished shoe, and then the other, and contemplating the blazing logs. + +"Barbara," he said suddenly, "did we have this wood from Jackson? It +burns much better than the last." + +Barbara was the little housekeeper again in a moment. She crossed the +room, and explained that it was not Jackson's wood, but some of a load +which Mr. Green had asked them to take. "You said I could do as I +pleased," she added, "and I thought they looked very nice logs when they +came." + +"Green--ah! Jacob Green knows what he's about. Made you pay, I dare say. +No, no matter." The girl's eyes had gone to a little table, where an +account-book peeped out from under a bit of coloured embroidery. "I'm +not complaining; I don't care about a few extra shillings, if things are +good. Get Green to send you some more when this is burnt out." + +Reynold had risen when Barbara left him, and after lingering for a +moment, a tall black and white figure, in the lamplight by the +chessboard, he followed her, and took up his position on the rug. The +interruption to their talk had been unwelcome, but it was not, in +itself, unpleasant. He liked to see Barbara playing the part of the +lady of the Place. It was a sweet foreshadowing of the home, the dear +home, that should one day be. There should be logs enough on the hearths +of Mitchelhurst in October nights to come, and, though the fields and +copses round might be wet and chill, the old house should be filled to +overflowing with brightness and warmth and love. Some wayfarer, plodding +along the dark road, would pause and look up the avenue, and see the +lights shining in the windows beyond the leafless trees. Reynold +pictured this, and pictured the man's feelings as he gazed. It was +curious how, by a kind of instinct, he put himself in the outsider's +place. He did not know that he always did so, but in truth he had never +dreamed anything for himself till Barbara taught him, and his old way of +looking at life was not to be unlearnt in a day. Still he was happy +enough as he stood there, staring at the fire, and thinking of those +illuminated windows. + +He could not sleep when he went to bed that night. The head which he +laid on the chilly softness of his pillow was full of a joyous riot of +waking visions, and he closed his eyes on the shadows only to see a +girl's shining glances and rose-flushed cheeks. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +BARBARA'S TUNE. + + +Harding fell asleep towards morning, and woke from his slumber with a +vague sense that the world had somehow expanded into a wide and pleasant +place, and that he had inherited a share of it. And though the facts +were not quite so splendid when he emerged from his drowsy reverie, +enough remained of possibilities, golden or rosy, to colour and brighten +that Saturday. It is something to wake to a conviction that one's feet +are set on the way to love and wealth. + +While he dressed, he thought of the letter he had to write, and then of +its consequences. How long would it be before he would have the right +to come and say to Barbara, "I have begun the fortune you ordered. I am +not rich yet, but I have fairly started on the road to riches and +Mitchelhurst--will you wait for me there?" Or might he not say, "Will +you travel the rest of the way with me?" How long must it be before he +could say that? Two years? Surely in two years he might unclose his +lips; for he would work--it would be no wearisome task. A longing, new +and strange, to labour for his love flooded the inmost recesses of his +soul. The man's whole nature was suddenly broken up, and flowing forth +as a stream in a springtide thaw. It seemed to him that he could give +himself utterly to the most distasteful occupations; in fact, that he +would reject and scorn any remnant of himself that had not toiled for +Barbara. + +The girl herself woke up, a room or two away, and lay with her eyes +fixed on the tester of the great shadowy bed. It was early, she need not +get up for a few minutes more. The pale autumn morning stole in between +the faded curtains, and lighted her vivid little face, a little face +which might have been framed in a couple of encircling hands. And yet, +small as it was, where it rested, with a cloud of dusky hair tossed +round it over the pillow, it was the centre and the soul of that +melancholy high-walled room. She had dreamed confusedly of Reynold +Harding, and hardly knew where her dream ended and her waking thought +began--perhaps because there was not much more reality in the one than +in the other. + +Girls have an ideal which they call First Love. It is rather a +troublesome ideal, involving them in a thousand little perplexities, +self-deceits, half-conscious falsehoods; but they adore it through them +all. First Love is the treasure which must be given to the man they +promise to marry; the bloom would be off the fruit, the dewdrop dried +from the flower, if they could not assure him that the love they feel +for him was the earliest that ever stirred within their hearts. The +utmost fire of passion must have the freshness of shy spring blossoms. +Love, in his supreme triumphant flight from soul to soul, must swear he +never tried his wings before. + +But, to be honest, how often can a girl speak confidently of her first +love? She reads poems and stories, and the young fellows who come about +her, while she is yet in her teens, are hardly more than incarnate +chapters of her novels. How did she begin? She loved Hector, it may be, +and King Arthur, and Roland, and the Cid. Then perhaps she had a tender +passion for Amyas Leigh, for the Heir of Redclyffe, or for Guy +Livingstone; and the curate, or the squire's son, just home with his +regiment from India, carries on the romance. This she assures herself +is the mystic first love; but the curate goes to another parish, or the +lieutenant's leave comes to an end, and the living novel is forgotten +with the others. She will order more books from Mudie's and take an +interest in them, and in the hero of some private theatricals at a +country house close by. She will meet the young man who lives on the +other side of the county, but who dances so perfectly and talks so well, +at the bachelors' ball. She will think a while first of one, then of the +other; and afterwards, when the time comes to make that assurance of +first love, she will, half unconsciously efface all these memories, and +vow, with innocent, smiling lips, that her very dreams have held no +shape till then. + +Miss Strange was intent on the change in her little world of coloured +shadows. Adrian Scarlett and Reynold Harding rose before her eyes as +pictures, more life-like than she could find in her books, but pictures +nevertheless, figures seen only in one aspect. Adrian, a facile, +warmly-tinted sketch of a summer poet; Reynold, a sombre study in black +and grey--what _could_ the little girl by any possibility know of these +young men more than this? Reynold's romance, with its fuller +development, its melancholy background, its hints of passion and effort, +might well absorb the larger share of her thoughts. Her part was marked +out in it; she was startled to see how a word of hers had awakened a +dormant resolution. She was flattered, and, though she was frightened +too, she felt that she could not draw back; she had inspired young +Harding with ambition, and she must encourage him and believe in him in +his coming fight with fortune. Barbara found herself the heroine of a +drama, and for the sake of her new character she began to rearrange her +first impressions of the hero, to dwell on the pathos of his story, to +deepen the ditch into which he had slipped in her service, till it would +hardly have known itself from a precipice, to soften the chilly +repulsion which she had felt at their meeting into the simple effect of +his proud reserve. She lay gazing upward, with a smile on her lips, +picturing his final home-coming, grouping all the incidents of that +triumphant day about the tall, dark figure with the Rothwell features, +who was just the puppet of her pretty fancies. The vision of his future, +expanding like a soap-bubble, rose from the dull earth, and caught the +gay colours of Barbara's sunny hopes. Everything would go well, +everything must go well; he should make his fortune while he was yet +young, and come back to the flowery arches and clashing bells of +rejoicing Mitchelhurst. Beyond that day her fancy hardly went. Of course +he would have to take the name of Rothwell, the name which, for the +perfection of her romance, should have been his by right. At that +remembrance she paused dissatisfied--the pork-butcher was the one strong +touch of reality in the whole story. In fact the mere thought of him +brought her back to everyday life, and to the certainty that she must +waste no more time in dreams. + +Reynold, consulting his uncle's letter, found with some surprise that he +had pushed silence to its utmost limit, and that another day's delay +would have overstepped the boundary which Mr. Harding had so imperiously +set. The discovery was a shock; it took away his breath for a moment, +and then sent the blood coursing through his veins with a tingling +exhilaration, the sense of a peril narrowly escaped. He was glad--glad +in a defiant, unreasonable fashion--that he had not yielded till the +last day, though at the same time he was uneasy till his answer should +be despatched. He went up to his room immediately after breakfast, and +sat down to his task at the writing-table which faced the great window. + +After one or two unsatisfactory beginnings he ended with the simplest +possible note of acceptance, to which he added a postscript, informing +his uncle that he should remain two or three days longer at Mitchelhurst +Place, and hoped to receive his instructions there. He wrote a few lines +to end the question of the tutorship for which he had been waiting, +addressed the two envelopes, and leaned back in his chair to read his +letters over before folding them. + +As he did so he looked out over the far-spreading landscape. The +sunshine broke through the veil of misty cloud and widened slowly over +the land, catching here the sails of a windmill, idle in the autumn +calm, there a church spire, or a bit of white road, or a group of +poplars, or the red wall of an old farmhouse. The silver grey gave place +to vaporous gold, and a pale brightness illumined the paper in his hand +on which those fateful lines were written. One would have said +Mitchelhurst was smiling broadly at his resolution. Reynold stretched +himself and returned the smile as if the landscape were an old friend +who greeted him, and tilting his chair backward he thrust his letter +into the directed cover. + +"When I come back," he said to himself, "I will take this room for +mine." + +Writing his acceptance of his uncle's offer had not been pleasant, yet +now that it was done he contemplated the superscription, + + "_R. Harding, Esq._," + +with grave satisfaction. Finally, he took up the pen once more, +hesitated, balanced it between his fingers, and then let it fall. "Why +should I write to her?" said he, while a sullen shadow crossed his +face. "She will hear it soon enough. Since she is to have her own way +about my career for the rest of my life, she may well wait a day or two +to know it. Besides, I can't explain in a letter why I have given in. +No, I won't write to-day." He shut up his blotting-case with an +impatient gesture, and there was nothing for Mrs. Sidney Harding by that +afternoon's post. + +He went down the great stone stairs with his letters, and laid them on +the hall table, as Barbara had told him to do. Then, pausing for a +moment to study the weather-glass, a note or two, uncertainly struck, +attracted his attention. The door of the yellow drawing-room was partly +open, and Mr. Hayes was presumably out, for Barbara was at the old +piano. When Harding turned his head he could see her from where he +stood. The light from the south window fell on the simple folds of her +soft woollen dress, and brightened them to a brownish gold. She sat +with her head slightly bent, touching the keys questioningly and +tentatively, till she found a little snatch of melody, which she played +more than once as if she were eagerly listening to it. The piano was +worn out, of that there could be no doubt, yet Reynold found enchantment +in the shallow tinkling sounds. He could not have uttered his feelings +in any words at his command, but that mattered the less since Mr. Adrian +Scarlett had enjoyed _his_ feelings in the summer time, and, touching +them up a little, had arranged them in verse. It was surely honour +enough for that poor little tune that its record was destined to appear +one day in the young fellow's volume of poems. + + _AT HER PIANO._ + + _It chanced I loitered through a room, + Dusk with a shaded, sultry gloom, + And full of memories of old, times-- + I lingered, shaping into rhymes + My visions of those earlier days + 'Mid their neglected waifs and strays + A yellowing keyboard caught my gaze, + And straight I fancied, as I stood + Resting my hand on polished wood, + Letting my eyes, contented, trace + The daintiness of inlaid grace, + That Music's ghost, outworn and spent, + Dreamed, near her antique instrument._ + + _But when I broke its silence, fain + To call an echo back again + Of some old-fashioned, tender strain, + Played once by player long since dead-- + I found my dream of music fled! + The chords I wakened could but speak + In jangled utterance, thin and weak, + In shallow discords, as when age + Reaches its last decrepit stage, + In feeble notes that seemed to chide-- + This was the end! I stepped aside, + In my impatient weariness, + Into the window's draped recess. + Without, was all the joy of June; + Within, a piano out of tune!_ + + _But while, half hidden, thus I stayed, + There came in one who lightly laid + White hands upon the yellow keys + To seek their lingering harmonies. + I think she sighed--I know she smiled-- + And straightway Music was beguiled, + And all the faded bygone years, + With all their bygone hopes and fears, + Their long-forgotten smiles and tears, + Their empty dreams that meant so much, + Began to sing beneath her touch._ + + _The notes that time had taught to fret, + Racked with a querulous regret, + Forsook their burden of complaint, + For melodies more sweetly faint + Than lovers ever dreamed in sleep-- + Than rippling murmurs of the deep-- + Than whispered hope of endless peace-- + Ah, let her play or let her cease, + For still that sound is in the air, + And still I see her seated there!_ + + _Yet, even as her fingers ranged, + I knew those jangled notes unchanged, + My soul had heard, in ear's despite, + And Love had made the music right._ + +So had Master Adrian written, after a good deal of work with note-book +and pencil, during a long summer afternoon, and then had carried his +rhymes away to polish them at his leisure. Reynold Harding merely stood +listening in the hall, as motionless as if he were the ghost of some +tall young Rothwell, called back and held entranced by the sound of the +familiar instrument. Barbara knew no more of his silent presence than +she did of Adrian's verses. When she paused he stepped lightly away +without disturbing her. He was very ignorant of music; he had no idea +what it was that she had played; to him it was just Barbara's tune, and +he felt that, when he left Mitchelhurst, he should carry it in his +heart, to sing softly to him on his way. + +He passed into the garden and loitered there, recalling the notes after +a tuneless fashion of his own. The neglected grounds, which had seemed +so sodden and sad when first he looked out upon them, had a pale, +shining beauty as he walked to and fro, keeping time to the memory of +Barbara's music. The eye did not dwell on their desolation, but passed +through the leafless boughs to bright misty distances of earth and +cloudland. Reynold halted at last by the old sun-dial. The softly +diffused radiance marked no passing hour upon it, but rather seemed to +tell of measureless rest and peace. There was a slight autumnal +fragrance in the air, but the young man perceived a sweeter breath, and +stooping to the black earth, he found two or three violets half hidden +in their clustering leaves. He hardly knew why they gave him the +pleasure they did; he was not accustomed to find such delicate pleasure +in such things. Perhaps if he had analysed his feelings he might have +seen that, for a man who had just pledged himself to a life of hurrying +toil, there was a subtle charm in the very stillness and decay and +indolent content of Mitchelhurst, breathing its odours of box and yew +into the damp, windless air. It was a curious little pause before the +final plunge. Reynold felt it even if he did not altogether understand, +as he stood by the sun-dial which recorded nothing, with the violets at +his feet, and the rooks sailing overhead across the faintly-tinted sky. +A clump of overgrown dock-leaves stirred suddenly, Barbara's cat pushed +its way through them and came to rub itself against him. He bent down +and caressed it. "I'll come again--I'll come home," he said softly, as +he stroked its arching back. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +OF MAGIC LANTERNS. + + +It was fortunate that young Harding demanded little in the way of gaiety +from Mitchelhurst. Such as it could give, however, it gave that evening, +when the vicar, and a country squire who had a small place five or six +miles away, came to dinner. The clergyman was a pallid, undersized man, +who blinked, and twitched his lips when he was not speaking, and had a +nervous trick of assenting to every proposition with an emphatic "Yes, +yes." After the utterance of this formula his conscience usually awoke, +and compelled him to protest, for he considered most things that were +said or done in the world as at any rate slightly reprehensible. This +might happen ten times in one conversation, but the assent did not fail +to come as readily the tenth time as the first. It would only have been +necessary to say, with a sufficient air of conviction, "You see, don't +you, Mr. Pryor, that under these circumstances I was perfectly justified +in cutting my grandmother's throat with a blunt knife?" to secure a +fervent "Yes, yes!" in reply. + +The squire was not half an inch taller, a little beardless man with +withered red cheeks, and brown hair which was curiously like a wig. +Barbara had doubted through two or three interviews whether it was a wig +or not, and she had been pleased when he talked to her, because it gave +her an excuse for looking fixedly in the direction of his head. At last +he arrived one day with his hair very badly cut, and a bit of plaster +on his ear, where the village barber had snipped it, after which she +took no further interest in him. Happily her previous attention had +given him a very high opinion of her intelligence and good taste, and +Mr. Masters remained her loyal admirer. "A very sensible girl, Miss +Strange," he would say, and Mr. Pryor would reply "Yes, yes," and then +add doubtfully that he feared she was rather flighty, and that her +indifference to serious questions was much to be regretted. This meant +that Barbara would not take a class in the Sunday-school, and cared +nothing about old books and tombstones. + +The dinner was not a conversational success. Mr. Masters, on being +introduced to Reynold Harding, was amazed at the likeness to the old +family, and repeatedly exclaimed, "God bless my soul! How very +remarkable!" Harding looked self-conscious and uncomfortable, and the +vicar said "Yes, exactly so." The little squire's eyes kept wandering +from the young man's face to the wall and back again, as if he were +referring him to all the family portraits. By the time they had finished +their fish the resemblance was singularly heightened. Reynold was +scowling blackly, and answering in the fewest possible words, which +seemed to grate against each other as he uttered them. Mr. Hayes, who +did not care twopence for his young guest's feelings, looked on with +indifferent eyes, and would not interfere, while Barbara made a gallant +little attempt to divert attention from Reynold's ill-temper by talking +with incoherent liveliness to the clergyman. As ill-luck would have it, +Mr. Masters, who had more than once addressed his new acquaintance as +"Mr. Rothwell," suddenly grasped the fact that he was not Rothwell at +all, but Harding, and began to take an unnecessary interest in the +Harding pedigree. He was so eager in his investigation that he did not +see the young man's silent fury, but went on recalling different +Hardings he had known or heard of. "That might be about your +grandfather's time," he reckoned. + +"You never knew my Hardings!" said Reynold abruptly, in so unmistakable +a tone that Mr. Masters stopped short, and looked wonderingly at him, +while Barbara faltered in the middle of a sentence. At that moment the +remembrance of his grandfather was an intolerable humiliation to the +poor fellow, tenfold worse because Barbara would understand. The dark +blood had risen to his face and swollen the veins on his forehead, and +his glance met hers. She coloured, and he took it as a confession that +he had divined her thoughts. In truth she was startled and frightened at +her hero of romance under his new aspect. + +"Pryor," said Mr. Hayes sharply, "you are all wrong about that +inscription in the church. Masters and I have been talking it over--eh, +Masters?--and we have made up our minds that your theory won't do." + +"Yes," said the vicar, and Mr. Masters chimed in, following his host's +lead almost mechanically. The worthy little squire concluded that he +must have said something dreadful, and wondered, as he talked, what +these Hardings could have done. "I suppose some of 'em were hanged," he +said to himself, and stole a glance of commiseration at Reynold, who was +gloomily intent upon his plate. "People ought to let one know beforehand +when there's anything disagreeable like that--why, one might talk about +ropes! I shall speak to Hayes, though perhaps he doesn't know. A +deucedly unpleasant young fellow, but so was John Rothwell, and it must +be uncommonly uncomfortable to have anything of that kind in one's +family. God bless my soul! he looked as if he were going to murder me!" + +Barbara breathed again when the inscription was mentioned, recognising a +safe and familiar topic, warranted to wear well. They had not ended the +discussion when she left them to their wine. Mr. Masters was quicker +than Reynold, and held the door open for her to pass, with a little +old-fashioned bow, but he exclaimed over his shoulder as he closed it, +"No, no, Pryor, you are begging the question of the date," and she went +away with those encouraging words in her ears. Mr. Masters and Mr. Pryor +might disagree as much as they pleased. They would never come to any +harm. + +Still, as she waited alone till the gentlemen should come, she could not +help feeling depressed. The yellow drawing-room was more brilliantly +lighted than usual, and the portrait of Anthony Rothwell chanced to be +especially illuminated. Barbara sat down on a low chair, and took a +book, but she turned the leaves idly, and whenever she lifted her eyes +she met the painted gaze of the face that was so like Reynold. By nature +she was happy enough, but her lonely life in the desolate old place, the +lack of sympathy, which threw her back entirely on her own thoughts, the +desires and dreams which she did not herself understand, but which +sprang up and budded in the twilight of her innocent soul, had all +combined to make her unnaturally imaginative. A little careless +irresponsibility, a little healthy fun and excitement, would have cured +her directly. But, meanwhile, the silence and decay of the great hollow +house impressed her as it would not have impressed a heavier nature. She +was like a butterfly in that wilderness of stone, brightening the spot +on which she alighted, but failing to find the sunlight that she +sought. Her moods would vary from one moment to the next, answering the +subtle influences which a breath of wholesome air from the outer world +would have blown away. As she sat there that evening she wished she +could escape from Mitchelhurst and Mr. Harding. His angry glance had +printed itself upon her memory, and it haunted her. She had been playing +with his hopes, trying to awaken his ambition, thinking lightly of the +Rothwell temper as a mere item in the romantic likeness, and suddenly +she had caught sight of something menacing and cruel, beyond all +strength of hers. She lifted her head, and Anthony Rothwell looked as if +he were smiling in malicious enjoyment at her trouble. The very effort +she made to keep her eyes from the picture drew them to it more +certainly, till the firelit room seemed to contract about the portrait +and herself, leaving no chance of escape from the ghostly _tête-à-tête_. + +The sound of steps broke the spell. She threw down her book as the door +opened, and could scarcely help laughing at the queer little company, +the three small elderly men, and the tall young fellow who towered over +them. A covert glance told her that Reynold was as pale, or paler, than +usual, and she noticed that he answered in a constrained but studiously +polite manner when the good-natured little squire made some remark on +the chilliness of the autumn evenings. After a moment he came across to +her, and stood with his elbow on the chimney-piece, looking at the +blazing logs, while Anthony Rothwell smiled over his shoulder. + +Barbara wondered what she should say to the pair of them, and she +tormented her little lace-edged handkerchief in her embarrassment. +Finally she let it fall. Young Harding stooped for it, and as he gave +it back their eyes met, and he smiled. + +"Are you going to play to us?" he asked. + +"I wish Miss Strange would play for me at my entertainment at the +schools next week," said Mr. Pryor plaintively. "Won't you be persuaded, +Miss Strange?" + +"I'll play for you now if you like," she answered, "but you know my +uncle won't let me play at the penny readings. And really it is no loss, +I am nothing of a musician." + +The vicar sighed and looked across at Mr. Hayes. "I wish he would!" he +said. "Couldn't you persuade him? I can't get the programme arranged +properly." + +"Why, haven't you got the usual people?" + +"Yes, yes, I have got the usual people. But perhaps," said Mr. Pryor, +not unreasonably, "it would be as well to have something a little +different--a little new, you know. It is extremely kind of them, but +the audience, the back benches, don't you know?--Well, I suppose they +like variety." + +Barbara looked gravely sympathetic. + +"And it's rather awkward," Mr. Pryor continued, "young Dickson at the +mill has some engagement that evening, and won't be able to sing 'Simon +the Cellarer,' unless I put it the first thing." + +"Why, he sings nothing else!" Miss Strange exclaimed. + +"Yes, he _does_ know two other songs, I believe, but they are, in my +opinion, too broadly comic for such an entertainment as this. He hummed +a little bit of one in my study one evening, in a _very_ subdued manner, +of course, just to give me an idea. I saw at once that it would never +do. I stopped him directly, but I found myself singing the very +objectionable words about the parish for days. Not _aloud_, you know, +not _aloud_!" + +Mr. Pryor looked sternly over the top of Miss Strange's head, and +pressed his lips so tightly together that she was quite sure he was +singing Mr. Harry Dickson's objectionable song to himself at that very +moment. + +"But why shouldn't he sing 'Simon the Cellarer' at the beginning just as +well as at the end?" she questioned. + +"Yes," said the vicar, "but there is my little reading, of course that +must come in early--my position as the clergyman of the parish, you see. +And I thought of something a little improving, a short reading out of a +volume of selections I happen to have, 'Simon the Cyrenian'." + +"Why, you read that before," Barbara began, and then stopped and +coloured. + +"Yes, yes," said Mr. Pryor, "I did, but I don't think they paid much +attention, the back benches were rather noisy that evening, and it is a +nice length, and seems very suitable. But the difficulty is how to keep +'Simon the Cellarer' and 'Simon the Cyrenian' apart on the programme. I +don't know how it is to be managed, I'm sure. I thought perhaps you +would play us something appropriate between the song and the reading. +I'm afraid some of the audience may smile." + +Reynold took his arm from the chimney-piece. "Appropriate to both +Simons?" he inquired. + +"Yes, just so, to both Simons. At least, not exactly that, but something +by way of a transition, I suppose." + +"I wonder what that would be like," Barbara speculated. "I'm really very +sorry I can't help you, Mr. Pryor." + +"Oh never mind," said the clergyman. "I did tell Dickson he might change +the name in his song, but he wouldn't, in fact he answered rather +flippantly. Well, I suppose I must find another reading, but it's a +pity, when I knew of this one. Such a suitable length! Unless," he +looked at Reynold, "unless your friend--" + +Reynold's "No!" was charged with intense astonishment and horror. "I +can't play a note," he added. + +"But you could recite something," Mr. Pryor persisted. "Now that would +really be very kind. Something like the 'Charge of the Light +Brigade'--'Into the valley of death,' don't you know, 'Rode the six +hundred'--that pleases an audience. We had a young man from Manchester +once who did that very well, a _little_ too much action, perhaps, but +remarkably well. Or something American--American humour. If it isn't +flippant I see no objection to it; one should not be too particular, I +think. And it is very popular. Not flippant, and not too broad--but I +needn't say that--I feel very safe with you. I'm sure you would not +select anything broad." + +Harding had recoiled a step or two, and stood with a stony gaze of +unspeakable scorn. "It's out of the question," he said, "I couldn't +think of such a thing. It's utterly impossible. Besides, I shall be +gone." + +"Well, I'm very sorry," said the vicar, "I only thought perhaps you +might." He turned to Barbara, "Your other friend was so very kind at our +little harvest home. Mr.--I forget his name--but it was very good of +him." + +"Mr. Scarlett," said Barbara. She had her hand up, guarding her eyes +from the flickering brightness of a log which had just burst into flame, +and Reynold, looking down at her, questioned within himself whether +there were not a faint reflection of the name upon her cheek. But it +might be his jealous fancy. + +"Yes, yes, Scarlett, so it was. A very amusing young man." + +This soothed the sullen bystander a little, though he hardly knew why, +unless it might be that he fancied that Barbara would not like to hear +Mr. Scarlett described as a very amusing young man. But when she +answered "Very amusing," with a certain slight crispness of tone, it +struck him that he would have preferred that she should be indifferent. + +The vicar took his leave a little later, mentioning the duties of the +next day as a reason for his early departure. "Must be prepared, you +know," he said as he shook hands with the squire. + +Mr. Hayes came back from the door, smiling his little contemptuous +smile. "That means that he has to open a drawer, and take out an old +sermon," he said, turning to Mr. Masters. "Well, as I was saying----" + +"Does he always preach old sermons?" Reynold asked Barbara. + +"I think so. They always look very yellow, and they always seem old." + +"Always preaches old sermons, and has the same old penny readings--do +you go?" + +"Oh yes, we always go. Uncle thinks we ought to go, only he won't let me +do anything." + +"Do you _want_ to do anything?" + +"No," said the girl. It was a truthful answer, but her consciousness of +the intense scorn in Harding's voice made it doubly prompt. + +"But do you like going?" + +She hesitated. "Oh yes, sometimes. I liked going to the harvest home +entertainment." + +"Oh!" A pause. "Did Mr. Scarlett sing 'Simon the Cellarer'?" + +"No, he did not." After a moment she went on. "They are not always penny +readings; a little while ago we had a magic lantern and some sacred +music. They were views of the Holy Land, you know, that was why we had +sacred music." + +"Oh!" said Reynold again. "And did you enjoy the views of the Holy +Land?" + +"Well, not so very much," she owned. "They didn't get the light right at +first, and they were not very distinct, so he told us all about +Bethlehem, and then found out that they had put in the wrong slide, and +it was the woman at the well, so they had to change her, and then he +told us all about Bethlehem over again. Joppa was the best; a fly got in +somewhere and ran about over the roofs of the houses--it looked as big +as a cat. I shall always remember about Joppa now. Poor Mr. Pryor began +quite gravely--" Barbara paused, turned her head to see that her uncle +was sufficiently absorbed, and then softly mimicked the clergyman's +manner. "'Joppa, or Jaffa, may be considered the port of Jerusalem. It +is built on a conical eminence overhanging the sea'--and then he saw us +all whispering and laughing and the fly running about. He told us it +wasn't reverent; he was dreadfully cross about it. He stopped while they +took Joppa out, and, I suppose, they caught the fly. Anyhow it never got +in any more. Oh yes, it was rather amusing altogether." + +"Was it?" + +She threw her head back and looked up at him. "You are laughing at me," +she said in a low voice, "but it isn't always so very amusing at home." + +His face softened instantly. "I oughtn't to have laughed," he said. "I +ought to know--" He could picture Barbara shut up with her smiling, +selfish, unsympathetic little uncle, in the black winter evenings that +were coming, all the fancies and dreams of eighteen pent within those +white-panelled walls, and exhaling sadly in little sighs of weariness +over book or needlework. + +But he saw another picture too, a dull London sitting-room whose +dreariness seemed intensely concentrated on the face of a disappointed +woman. Life had held little more for him than for Barbara, but he had +rejected even its dreams, and had spent his musing hours in distilling +the bitterness of scorn from its sordid realities. He would not have +been cheered by a magnified fly. "You are wiser than I am, Miss +Strange," he said abruptly. + +"What do you mean?" + +"You take what you can get." + +She considered for a moment. "You mean that I go to Mr. Pryor's +entertainments, and hear 'Simon the----'" + +"Cyrenian! Yes, and see Joppa in a magic lantern. That is very wise when +the real Joppa is out of reach." + +"I don't know," said Barbara hesitatingly, "that I ever very +particularly wanted to go to Joppa." + +"Nor I," said Harding, "but being some way off it will serve for all the +unattainable places where we do want to be. 'Joppa may be considered +the port of Jerusalem'--wasn't that what Mr. Pryor said?" He repeated it +slowly as if the words pleased him. "And where do you really want to +go?" + +"To Paris," said Barbara, with a world of longing in the word. "To +Paris, and then to Italy. And then--oh, anywhere! But to Paris first." + +"Paris!" Harding seemed to be recording her choice. "Well, that sounds +possible enough. Surely you may count on Paris one of these days, Miss +Strange; and meanwhile you can have a look at it with the help of the +magic lantern." + +She laughed. "Not Mr. Pryor's." + +"Oh no, not Mr. Pryor's. I shouldn't fancy there were any Parisian +slides in his. But I suspect you have a magic lantern of your own which +shows it to you whenever you please." + +"Pretty often," she confessed. + +The dialogue was interrupted by a tardy request for some music from Mr. +Masters. Barbara went obediently to the piano, and Reynold followed her. +She would rather he had stayed by the fireside; his conscientious +attempts to turn the leaf at the right time confused her dreadfully, and +she dared not say to him, as she might have done to another man, "I like +to turn the pages for myself, please." Suppose he should be hurt or +vexed? She was learning to look upon him as a kind of thundercloud, out +of which, without a moment's warning, came flashes of passion, of +feeling, of resolution, of fury, of scorn. She did not know what drew +them down. So she accepted his attentions, and smiled her gratitude. If +only ("Yes, please!" in answer to an inquiring glance)--if only he would +always be too soon, or always a little too late! Instead of which he +arrived at a tolerable average by virtue of the variety of his +failures. Worst of all was a terrible moment of uncertainty, when, +having turned too soon, he thought of turning back. "No, no!" cried +Barbara. + +"I'm very stupid," said Harding, "I'm afraid I put you out." "No, no," +again from Barbara, while her busy fingers worked unceasingly. "Couldn't +you give me just a little nod when it's time?" A brief pause, during +which his eyes are fixed with agonised intensity on her head, a fact of +which she is painfully conscious, though her own are riveted on the page +before her. She nods spasmodically, and Reynold turns the leaf so +hurriedly that it comes sliding down upon the flying hands, and has to +be caught and replaced. As usual, displeasure at his own clumsiness +makes him sullen and silent, and he stands back without a word when the +performance is over. Mr. Masters thanks, applauds, talks a little in +the style which for the last forty years or so he has considered +appropriate to the young ladies of his acquaintance, and finally says +good night, and bows himself out of the room. + +Mr. Hayes stands on the rug, and hides a little yawn behind his little +hand. "Is Masters trying to make himself agreeable?" he asks. "Let me +know if I am to look out for another housekeeper, Barbara." + +Barbara has no brilliant reply ready. The hackneyed joke displeases her. +As her uncle speaks, she can actually see Littlemere, the village where +the small squire lives; a three-cornered green, tufted with rushy grass, +with a cow and half-a-dozen geese on it; a few cottages, with their +week's wash hung out to dry; a round pond, green with duckweed; a small +alehouse; a couple of white, treeless roads, leading away into the +world, but apparently serving only for the labourers who plod out in +the morning and home at night; an ugly little school-house of red brick +and slate; and Littlemere Hall, square, white, and bare, set down like a +large box in the middle of a dreary garden. She cannot help picturing +herself there, with Mr. Masters, caught and prisoned; the idea is +utterly absurd, but it is hideous, as hateful as if an actual hand were +laid on her. She shrinks back and frowns. "You needn't get anybody just +yet," she says. + +"Very good," her uncle replies. "Give me a month's warning, that's all I +ask." He yawns again, and looks at his watch. Reynold takes the hint, +and his candle, and goes. + +"Good riddance!" says the little man on the rug. "Of all the +ill-mannered, cross-grained fellows I ever met, there goes the worst! A +Rothwell! He's worse than any Rothwell, and not the genuine thing +either! Can't he behave decently to my friends at my own table? What +does he mean by his confounded rudeness? Masters is a better man than +ever he will be!" + +Barbara shuts the piano, and lays her music straight. Poor little +Barbara, trying with little soft speeches and judicious silences to +steer her light-winged course among these angry men, is sorely perplexed +sometimes. Now as Mr. Hayes mutters something about "an unlicked cub," +she thinks it best to say, "Well, uncle, it isn't for very long. Mr. +Harding will soon be going away." + +"Yes, he'll soon be going away, and for good too! Never will _he_ set +foot inside Mitchelhurst Place again--I can tell him that! When he +crosses the threshold he crosses it once for all. Never again--never +again!" + +This time Barbara, who is looking to the fastenings of the windows, is +in no haste to speak. She feels as if she had been conspiring with +Harding, and, remembering their schemes for his return, her uncle's +reiterated assurances ring oddly and mockingly in her ears. "When he +crosses the threshold, he crosses it once for all." No, he does not! He +is going away to work, he will come back and buy the Place of Mr. Croft, +he will be living there for years and years when poor Uncle Hayes is +dead and gone. And she, Barbara, has done it all. With a word and a look +she has given a master to Mitchelhurst. + +But, being a prudent girl, she merely says "Good night." + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +AN AFTER-DINNER DISCUSSION. + + +Mr. Pryor, aloft in his pulpit in Mitchelhurst church, with a +sounding-board suspended above his head, was preaching about the +Amalekites to a small afternoon congregation. The Amalekites had +happened to come out of that drawer in his writing-table of which Mr. +Hayes had spoken, and perhaps did as well as anything else he could have +found there. He was getting over the ground at a tolerable pace, in +spite of an occasional stumble, and was too much absorbed in his +manuscript to be disturbed by an active trade in marbles which was going +on in the front row of the Sunday scholars. Indeed, to Mr. Pryor's +short-sighted eyes, his listeners were very nearly as remote as the +Amalekites themselves. + +Some of the straw-plaiting girls, whose fingers seemed restless during +their Sunday idleness, were nudging and pulling each other, or turning +the leaves of their hymnbooks, or smoothing their dresses. A labourer +here and there sat staring straight before him with a vacant gaze. A +farmer's wife devoted the leisure moments to thinking out one or two +practical matters, over which she frowned a little. The clerk, in his +desk, attended officially to the Amalekites, but that was all. + +Barbara and Reynold were apart from all the rest in the square, +red-lined pew which had always belonged to the Rothwells. When they +stood up their heads and Reynold's shoulders were visible, but during +the sermon no one could see the occupants of the little inclosure except +the preacher. + +Reynold had established himself in a corner, with his head slightly +thrown back and his long legs stretched out. Barbara, a little way off, +had her daintily-gloved hands folded on her lap, and sat with a demurely +respectful expression while the voice above them sent a thin thread of +denunciation through the drowsy atmosphere. Harding did not dislike it. +Anything newer, more real, more living, would have seemed unsuited to +the dusty marble figures which were the principal part of the +congregation in that corner of the church. He had knelt down and stood +up during the service, always with a sense of union between his own few +years of life and the many years of which those monuments were memories; +and the old prayers, the "Lighten our darkness, we beseech Thee, O +Lord," had fallen softly on his ears. Perils and dangers seemed so far +from that sleepy little haven where he hoped to live his later days, and +to come as a grey-haired man, when all the storms and struggles were +over, and hear those words Sunday after Sunday in that very pew. +Barbara, from under her long lashes, stole a meditative, questioning +glance at him while he was musing thus, and the glance lingered. The +young fellow's head rested against the faded red baize, his eyes were +half closed, his brows had relaxed, his mouth almost hinted a smile. He +was not conscious of her scrutiny, and, seeing his face for the first +time as a mere mask, she suddenly awoke to a perception of its beauty. + +Overhead, it appeared that the Amalekites typified many evil things, and +were by no means so utterly destroyed as they should have been. Mr. +Pryor intended his warnings to be as emphatic as those of the fierce old +prophet, and he drew a limp white finger down the faded page lest he +should lose his place in the middle. Time had made the manuscript a +little unfamiliar. "My brethren," said the plaintive voice from beneath +the sounding-board, "we must make terms--ahem!--we must _never_ make +terms with these relentless enemies who lie in wait for us as for the +Israelites of old. Remember"--he turned a leaf and felt the next to +ascertain if it were the last. It was not, and he hurried his +exhortation a little, finding it long, yet afraid to venture on leaving +anything out. Meanwhile a weary Sunday-school teacher awoke to sudden +energy, plunged into the midst of the boys, and captured more marbles +than he could hold, so that two or three escaped him and rolled down the +aisle, amid a general manifestation of interest. The luckless teacher +was young and bashful, and the rolling marbles seemed to him to fill the +universe with reverberating echoes. + +The vicar reached the goal at last, and gave out a hymn. Then the young +people in the red-lined pew appeared once more, Miss Strange singing, +Reynold looking round to deepen and assure his recollection of that +afternoon. When he found himself in the churchyard, passing under the +black-boughed yews with Barbara, he broke the silence. "I shall be far +enough away next Sunday." + +It was so strange to think that by the next Sunday his work would have +begun, the work which he so loathed and so desired. He had directed his +letter to his uncle at his place a few miles out of town, where Mr. +Harding always went from Saturday to Monday, and he remembered as he +spoke that the old gentleman would have received it that morning. +Reynold pictured a little triumph over his surrender, but he did not +care. Something--it could hardly be Mr. Pryor's sermon--had sweetened +his bitter soul, and he did not care. He felt as if that little corner +of Mitchelhurst church had become an inalienable possession of his, and +he could enter into it at any time wherever he might chance to be. + +Barbara was sympathetic, but slightly pre-occupied. If young Harding had +understood women a little better he would certainly have perceived the +pre-occupation, but as it was he only saw the sympathy. When they got +back to the Place she delayed him in the garden, as if she too felt the +charm of that peaceful afternoon and regretted its departure. They +loitered to and fro on the wide gravel path, where grass and weeds +encroached creepingly from the borders, and paused from time to time +watching the sun as it went down. At last, when there was only a band of +sulphur-coloured light on the horizon, Barbara turned away with a sigh. + +Reynold did not understand her reluctance to go in. In truth she was +uneasy at the thought of the long evening which her uncle and he must +spend in the same room. Mr. Hayes had come down in a dangerous mood +that morning, not showing any special remembrance of Harding's offence +of the night before, but seeming impartially displeased with everything +and everybody. If ill-temper were actual fire, his conversation would +have been all snaps and flashes like a fifth of November. Letters +absorbed his attention at breakfast, but Barbara perceived that they +only made him crosser than before. Happily, however, since a storm of +rain hindered the morning's church-going, he went to his study to write +his answers, and was seen no more till lunch-time, after which the +weather cleared, and the young people walked off together to hear about +the Amalekites. Reynold had no idea how anxiously Barbara had been +sheltering him all day under her little wing, but now the sun was down, +there was no help for it, they must go in and face the worst. She had +paused and looked up at him as if she were about to say something before +they left the garden, but nothing came except the little sigh which he +had heard. + +Even when they went in, fate seemed a little to postpone the evil +moment. Harding, coming down-stairs, saw a light shining through the +door of a small room--the book-room, as it was sometimes called. A +glance as he passed showed Barbara, with an arm raised above her head, +taking a volume from the shelf. "Can I help you?" he asked, pausing in +the doorway. + +"Oh, thank you, but I think this is right." She examined the title-page. +The window shutters were closed, the room was dusky with its lining of +old brown leather bindings, and Barbara's candle was just a glow-worm +glimmer of brightness in it. "You might put those others back for me if +you would. I can manage to take them down, but it isn't so easy to put +them up again." + +Tall Reynold rendered the required service quickly enough, while she +laid the book she had chosen with some others already on the table, and +began to dust them. It was an old-fashioned writing-table, with a +multitude of little brass-handled drawers. The young man took hold of +one of these brass handles, and noticed its rather elaborate +workmanship. "Look inside," said the girl, as she laid her duster down. + +The drawer was full of yellowing papers, old bills, and miscellaneous +scraps of various kinds. She pulled out a few, and they turned them over +in the gleam of candle-light. "Butcher, Christmas, 1811," said Barbara, +"and here is a glazier's bill. What have you got?" + +"To sinking and bricking new well, 32 ft. deep," Reynold replied. "It is +in 1816. To making new pump, 38 ft. long." + +"Why, that must be the old pump by the stables," said Barbara. "Look at +this receipt, 'for work Don accorden to Bill?'" + +"There seem to be plenty of them. Are the other drawers full too?" + +"Yes, I think so. You had better take one as a souvenir." + +"No, thank you." He smiled as he thrust the bills he held down among the +dusty bundles in the drawer, and brushed his finger tips fastidiously. +"Souvenirs ought to be characteristic. A receipted bill would be a very +respectable souvenir, but I'm afraid it would convey a false impression +of the Rothwells." + +She looked away, a little perplexed and dissatisfied. It seemed to her +that the future master of Mitchelhurst should not talk in that fashion +of his own people, and she did not understand that the slight bitterness +of speech was merely the outcome of a life of discontent. He hardly knew +how to speak otherwise. "I suppose they would have paid everybody if +they hadn't had misfortunes," she said. + +"No doubt. We would most of us pay our bills if we had nothing else to +do with the money." + +"Well," Barbara declared with a blush, "the next Rothwell will pay _his_ +bills, I know." + +"We'll hope so." His smile apparently emboldened her, for she looked up +at him. "Mr. Harding," she began. + +"Well?" + +She put her hand to her mouth with an irresolute gesture, softly +touching her red lips. "Oh--nothing!" she said. + +"Nothing?" he questioned. But at that moment there was a call. "Barbara! +Barbara! are you stopping to _write_ those books?" + +She turned swiftly, caught them up and was gone, sending an answering +cry of "Coming, uncle--coming!" before her. + +Reynold lingered a little before he followed her, to wonder what that +something was that was nothing. + +When he went in he found Mr. Hayes and Barbara both industriously +occupied with their reading, after the fashion of a quiet Sunday in the +country. He took up the first volume that came to hand, threw himself +into a chair, and remained for a considerable time frowning and musing +over the unread page. Mr. Hayes turned his pages with wearisome +regularity, but after a while Barbara laid her _Good Words_ on her lap +and gazed fixedly at the window, where little could be seen but the +reflection of the lamp in the outer darkness. The silence of the room +seeming to have become accustomed to this change of attitude, the +slightest possible movement of her head brought Reynold within range. He +moved, and she was looking at the window, from which she turned quite +naturally, and met his glance. Her fingers were playing restlessly with +her little gold cross, and Harding said, "Your talisman!" + +No word had been spoken for so long that the brief utterance came with a +kind of startling distinctness. + +"My talisman still, thanks to you," Barbara replied. + +The absurdity of his misfortune was a little forgotten, and the fact of +his service remained, so Harding almost smiled as he rejoined-- + +"I say 'thanks to it' for my introduction." + +Mr. Hayes knitted his brows, and looked from one to the other with +bright, bead-like eyes. When, a minute later, a maid came to the door, +and asked to speak to Miss Strange, he waited till his niece was gone, +and then sharply demanded-- + +"What was that about a talisman?" + +"That little cross Miss Strange wears. She calls that her talisman." + +"Indeed! Why that particular cross?" + +"It belonged to her godmother, I believe," said Harding. + +The old gentleman stared, and then considered a little. + +"Her godmother, eh? Why," he began to laugh, "her godmother--what does +Barbara know about her?" + +"I think she said she was named after her----" + +"So she was." + +"And that her mother told her she was the most beautiful woman she ever +knew----" + +"That's true enough. She _was_ beautiful, and clever, and accomplished, +no doubt about that. One ought to speak kindly of the dead, they say. +Well, she was beautiful, and if ever there was a selfish, heartless +coquette----" + +"Hey!" said Reynold, opening his eyes. "Is that speaking kindly of the +dead?" + +"Very kindly," with emphasis. + +"But Miss Strange's mother----" + +"Well, I should think she must have begun to find her friend out before +she died. I don't know, though; Mrs. Strange isn't over wise, she may +contrive to believe in her still. I wonder what Strange would say, if he +ever said anything! So that is Barbara's talisman! Not much _virtue_ in +it, anyhow; but I dare say it will do just as well. There have been some +queer folks canonised before now." + +He ended with a chuckling little laugh. Evidently he knew enough of the +earlier Barbara to see something irresistibly comic in the girl's +tenderness for this little relic of the past. + +Harding was grimly silent. Barbara's fancy might be foolish, but since +she cherished it, he hated to hear this ugly little mockery of her +treasure, and he had found a half-acknowledged satisfaction in the +remembrance that the little cross was a link between himself and her. +Now, when she came into the room again, and Mr. Hayes compressed his +lips, and glanced from the little ornament to his visitor, and then to +his book again, in stealthy enjoyment of his joke, the other felt as if +there were something sinister in the token. He wished Barbara would not +caress it as she stood by the fire. He would have liked to throw it down +and tread it under foot. + +There might have been some malignant influence in the air that day, for +Barbara will wonder as long as she lives what made her two companions +insist on talking politics at dinner. She did not like people to talk +politics. She had never looked out the word in the dictionary, and +perhaps she might not have objected to a lofty discussion of "the +science of government, that part of ethics which consists in the +regulation and government of a nation or state." She looked upon talking +politics as a masculine diversion, which consisted in bandying violent +assertions about Mr. Gladstone. It never led, of course, to any change +of opinion, but it generally made people raise their voices, and +interrupt one another, and get red in the face. As far as her +opportunities of observation went, Barbara had judged pretty correctly. + +Her uncle held what he called his political creed solely as a means of +enjoyable argument. He considered himself an advanced Liberal, but he +had so many whims and hobbies that he was the most uncertain of +supporters. No one held his views, and if, by some inconceivable chance, +he had convinced an adversary, he would have been very uncomfortable. He +would have felt himself crowded out of his position, and would have +retired immediately to less accessible ground, and defied his disciple +to climb up after him. When he had arranged his opinions he was obliged +to find ingenious methods of escaping their consequences. For instance, +with some whimsical recollection of the one passion of his life, he +chose to hold advanced views about Woman's Rights, which disgusted his +country neighbours. Woman was, in every respect but physical strength, +the natural equal of man. She was to be emancipated, to vote, to take +her place in Church and State--when Mr. Hayes was dead. At present she +was evidently dwarfed and degraded by long ages of man's oppressive +rule, and needed careful education, and a considerable lapse of time, to +raise her to the position that was hers by right. Meanwhile she must be +governed, not as an inferior, on that point he spoke very strongly +indeed, but as a minor not yet qualified to enter into possession of her +inheritance, and he exerted himself, in rather a high-handed fashion, to +keep her in the proper path. The woman of the future was to do exactly +what she pleased, but the woman of the present--Barbara--was to do as +she was told, and not talk about what she did not understand. By this +arrangement Mr. Hayes was able to rule his womankind, and to deny the +superiority of his masculine acquaintances. + +It was precisely this question that came up at dinner-time. Harding had +no real views on political matters; he was simply a Conservative by +nature. He had none of the daring energy which snatches chances in +periods of change; his instinct was that of self-defence, to hold rather +than to gain; to gather even the rags of the past about him, with the +full consciousness that they were but rags, rather than to throw himself +into the battle of the present. It was true that he was going to work +for Mitchelhurst and Barbara, but the double impulse had been needed to +conquer his shrinking pride. That a man should be hustled by a mixed and +disorderly crowd was bad enough, but that a woman should step down into +it, should demand work, should make speeches, and push her way to the +polling-booth, was in Harding's eyes something hideously degrading and +indecent. As to the equality of the sexes, that was rubbish. Man was to +rule, and woman to maintain an ideal of purity and sweetness. Education, +beyond the simple old-fashioned limits, tended only to unsex her. + +He would have opposed Mr. Hayes's theories at any time, but they cut him +to the quick just then, when he had felt the grace of womanhood, when a +woman had passed into his life and transformed it. The old man was +airily disposing of the destinies of the race in centuries to come, the +young man was fighting for his own little future. He could not rule the +world. Let it roar and hurry as it would, but never dare to touch his +wife and home. What did the man mean by uttering his hateful doctrines +in Barbara's hearing? Her bright eyes came and went between the +speakers, and Reynold longed to order her away, to shut her up in some +safe place apart, where only he might approach her. + +He need not have been anxious. There was no touch of ambition in the +girl's tender feminine nature to respond to her uncle's arguments. She +did not want to vote, and wondered why women should ever wish to be +doctors or--or--anything. Her eager glances betokened uneasiness rather +than interest. Indeed the inferior being, scenting danger, had tried to +turn the conversation before the terrible question of Woman's Rights had +been mentioned at all. She had endeavoured to talk about a lawn-tennis +ground rather than the aspect of Irish affairs. Harding did not know +much about lawn-tennis, but he was quite ready to talk about it, just as +he would have talked about crewel-work, if she had seemed to wish it. +Mr. Hayes, however, pooh-poohed the little attempt at peace. + +"What is the good of planning the ground now?" he said. "And who cares +for lawn-tennis?" + +"I do," said the girl. "It's much more amusing than talking about Mr. +Gladstone and Mr. Parnell." + +"That's all you know about it," her uncle retorted. "Now if you had been +educated--" + +"Oh yes, of course," she replied, with desperate pertness. "You are +always talking about the woman of the future--I dare say she will _like_ +to see people make themselves hot and disagreeable, arguing about +Ireland." She made a droll little face of disgust. "Well, she may, but I +don't!" + +"Perhaps the woman of the future will be hot and disagreeable too," +Harding suggested. + +"_You_ might not find her agreeable," said Mr. Hayes drily. "She would +be able to expose the fallacy of your views pretty clearly, I fancy." + +"Well," Barbara struck in hurriedly, amazed at her own boldness, "we get +hot enough over tennis sometimes, but nobody is ever so cross over that, +as men are when they argue." + +"Good heavens!" said Mr. Hayes. "To think that women, who rightfully +should share man's most advanced attainments and aspirations--" and off +he went at a canter over the beaten ground of many previous discussions. + +Barbara looked from him to young Harding. His dark eyes were ominous, he +was only waiting, breathlessly, till Mr. Hayes should be compelled to +pause for breath. "I hope you don't mean to imply, sir--" he began, and +Barbara perceived that not only had she failed to avert a collision, but +that, by her thoughtless mention of the woman of the future, she had +introduced the precise subject on which the two men were most furiously +at variance. Thenceforward she merely glanced from one to the other as +the noisy battle raged, watching in dumb suspense as one might watch the +rising of a tide. Mr. Hayes had been thoroughly cross all day, and had +not forgiven Reynold's rudeness of the evening before. Under cover of +his argument he was saying all the irritating things he could think of, +while Harding's harsher voice broke through his shrill-toned talk with +rough contradictions. + +After a time Barbara was obliged to leave them, and she went back to the +drawing-room with a sinking heart. She had been uneasy the night before, +but that was nothing to this. How earnestly she wished Mr. Pryor back +again! She was pitiless, she would have flung the gentle flaccid little +clergyman between the angry combatants without a moment's hesitation, if +she could only have brought him there by the force of her desire. +Happily for Mr. Pryor, however, he was safe in his study, putting away +the Amalekites at the bottom of the drawer, till their turn should come +again. + +At last when Barbara was in despair at the lateness of the hour, she +sent one of the maids to tell the gentlemen that coffee was ready, and +crept into the hall behind her messenger to hear the result. At the +opening of the door there was a stormy clamour, and then a sudden +silence. It was closed again, and the maid returned. "Master says, Miss, +will you send it in?" The last hope was gone, she could do nothing more +but pour out the coffee, and wish with all her heart it were an opiate. + +She was as firmly convinced as Reynold himself of the vast superiority +of men, but these intellectual exercises of theirs upset her dreadfully. +If only it had been Mr. Scarlett! He had a light laughing way of holding +her uncle at arm's length, avowing himself a Conservative simply as a +matter of taste, and fighting for the old fashions which Mr. Hayes +denounced, because he wanted something left that he could make verses +about. Barbara, as she stood pensively on the rug, recalled one occasion +when Adrian Scarlett put forward his plea. He was sitting on the sill of +the open window, with the evening sky behind his head, and while he +talked he drew down a long, blossomed spray of pale French honeysuckle. +"Oh yes, I'm a Conservative," he said; "there are lots of things I want +to conserve--all the picturesqueness, old streets, and signs, and +manor-houses, old customs, village greens, fairs, thatched cottages, +little courtesying maidens, old servants, and men with scythes and +flails, instead of your new machines." She remembered how Mr. Hayes had +interrupted him with a contemptuous inquiry whether there was not as +much poetry to be found on one side as on the other. "Oh yes," he had +assented, idly swinging his foot, "as fine on your side no doubt, or +finer. You have the Marseillaise style of thing to quicken one's pulses. +Yes, and I came across a bit the other day, declaring-- + + '_Que la Liberté sainte est la seule déesse, + Que l'on n'adore que debout._'" + +The words, uttered in the sudden fulness of his clear, rounded tones, +seemed to send a great wave of impulse through the quiet room. Barbara +could recall the sharp "Well, then?" with which Mr. Hayes received it. + +"Ah, but not for me," young Scarlett had answered. "You don't expect me +to write that kind of thing? It isn't in me. No, I want to rhyme about +some little picture in an old-fashioned setting--Pamela, or Dorothy, +or--or Ursula, walking between clipped hedges, or looking at an old +sun-dial, or stopping by a basin rimmed with mossy stone to feed the +gold fish. Or dreaming--and she must not be a Girton young woman--I +couldn't imagine a Girton young woman's dreams!" + +And so the argument ended in laughter. If only it could have been Adrian +Scarlett instead of Reynold Harding in the dining-room that night! +Barbara's apprehensions would all have vanished in a moment. But Mr. +Scarlett was gone, ("He _might_ have said good-bye," thought Barbara,) +and the pleasant time was gone with him. The window was closed and +shuttered, and the honeysuckle, a tangle of grey stalks, shivered in the +wind outside. + +She tried to amuse herself with _Good Words_ again, but failed. Then she +went to the piano, but had no better success there. She was listening +with such strained attention, that to her ears the music was only +distracting and importunate noise. As a last resource she bethought her +of a half-finished novel which she had left in her bed-room. She had not +intended to go on with it till Monday, but she _would_, and she ran +up-stairs with guilty eagerness to fetch it. + +She was coming back along the passage with the book in her hand, when +she heard the opening and shutting of doors below, and the quick fall of +steps. In another moment Reynold Harding came springing up the wide +stairs to where she stood. There was a lamp at the head of the +staircase, and as he passed out of the dusk into its light, she could +see his angry eyes, and she knew the veins which stood out upon his +forehead, looking as if the blood in them were black. + +He saw her just before he reached the top, and stopped short. For a +moment neither spoke, then he drew a long breath, and laid his hand upon +the balustrade. + +"Miss Strange," he said, "I'm going away." + +Barbara hardly knew what she had expected or feared, but this took her +by surprise. + +"Going? Not now?" she exclaimed in amazement. + +"Not to-night--it is too late. I _must_ stop for the night. I can't help +myself. But the first thing to-morrow morning." + +"Oh, why?" + +"I can't stay under the roof of a man who has insulted me as your uncle +has done. It is impossible that we should meet again," said Reynold. His +speech seemed to escape in fierce little jets of repressed wrath. "I'm +not accustomed--I ought never to have come here!" + +"Oh!" cried Barbara, in a tone of pained reproach. + +He was silent, looking fixedly at her. The meaning of what he had said, +and the fatal meaning of what he had done, came upon him, arresting him +in the midst of his passion. All his fire seemed suddenly to die down +to grey ashes. What madness had possessed him? + +They faced each other in the pale circle of lamplight, which trembled a +little on the broad, white stairs. Reynold, stricken and dumb, grasped +the balustrade with tightening fingers. Barbara leaned against the +white-panelled wall. She was the first to speak. + +"Oh!" she said in a low voice. "That _you_ should be driven out of +Mitchelhurst!" + +"Don't!" cried he. "God! it was my own fault!" + +"What was it? What did you quarrel about?" + +"Do I know?" Reynold demanded. "Ask him! Perhaps he can remember some of +the idiotic jangling. Why did we begin? Why did we go on? I don't +believe hell itself could be more wearisome. I was sick to death of it, +and yet something seemed to goad me on--I couldn't give in! It was my +infernal temper, I suppose." + +"Oh I am so sorry!" Barbara whispered. + +"He shouldn't have spoken to me as he did, when I was his guest at his +own table," young Harding continued. "But after all, he is an old man, I +ought to have remembered that. Well, it's too late; it's all over now!" + +"But is it too late? Can't anything be done?" + +He almost smiled at the feminine failure to realise that the night's +work was more than a tiff which might be made up and forgotten. + +"Kiss and make friends--eh?" he said. "Will you run and fetch your +uncle?" + +The leaden little jest was uttered so miserably that Barbara only sighed +in answer. + +"No," said the young man, "it's all over. Even if I could apologise--and +I can't--I couldn't sit at his table again. It wouldn't be possible. No, +I must go!" + +"And you are sorry you ever came!" + +"Don't remind me of that! I'm just as sorry I came here as that I ever +came into the world at all." + +The old clock in the dusky hall below struck ten slow strokes. + +"This will be good-night and good-bye," said Harding. "I shall be gone +before you are down in the morning." + +Even as he spoke he was thinking how completely his bitter folly had +exiled him from her presence. + +"You are going home?" + +"Home? Well, yes, I suppose so. By the way, I don't know that I shall go +home to-morrow. I may have to stay another day in Mitchelhurst. That +depends--I shall see when the morning comes. Your uncle's jurisdiction +doesn't extend beyond the grounds of the Place, I suppose. I won't +trespass, he may be very sure of that, and I won't stay in the +neighbourhood any longer than I can help. Only, you see, this is rather +a sudden change of plans." + +"I am so sorry," the girl repeated. "I hate to think of your going away +like this. I'm ashamed!" + +"No! no! I'm rightly served, though you needn't tell Mr. Hayes I said +so. I was fool enough to let my temper get the upper hand, and I must +pay the penalty. How I _could_ be such an inconceivable idiot--but +that's neither here nor there. It was my own fault, and the less said +about it the better." + +Barbara shook her head. + +"No, it was my fault." + +This time Harding really smiled, drearily enough, but still it was a +smile. + +"Yours?" he said. "That never occurred to me. How do you make it out?" + +"Well," she said, looking down, and tracing a joint of the stone with +the tip of her little embroidered slipper, "it was partly my fault, +anyhow." + +This "partly" seemed to point to something definite. + +"How do you mean?" he asked, looking curiously at her. + +"I knew he was cross," she said. "I knew it this morning as soon as he +came down, and he generally gets worse and worse all day. He isn't often +out of temper like that--only now and then. I dare say he will be all +right to-morrow, or perhaps the day after." + +"That's a little late for me!" said Harding. + +"So you see it _was_ my fault. I ought to have told you." + +"Well, perhaps if you had, I might have been a trifle more on my guard. +I don't know, I'm sure. Yes, I wish you had happened to warn me! But you +mustn't reproach yourself, Miss Strange, it wasn't your fault. You +didn't know what I was, you couldn't be expected to think of it." + +"But I _did_ think of it!" Barbara cried remorsefully. + +"You did?" + +"Yes, I was thinking of it all day. Oh how I _wish_ I had done it! But I +wasn't sure you would like it--I didn't know. I thought perhaps it might +seem"--she faltered--"might seem as if I thought that you----" + +"I see!" Reynold answered in his harshest voice. "I needn't have told +you just now that I had a devil of a temper!" + +Barbara drew herself up against the wall with her head thrown back, and +gazed blankly at him. + +"Oh, don't be afraid!" he said with a laugh. "I'm not going to _hit_ +you!" + +"Don't talk like that!" she cried. "Oh! there's uncle coming!" and +turning she fled back to her own room. Harding heard the steps below, +and he also went off, not quite so hurriedly, but with long strides, +and vanished into the shadows. The innocent cause of this alarm crossed +the hall, from the drawing-room to the study, banging the doors after +him, and the lamplight fell on the deserted stairs. + +Harding struck a light and flung himself into a chair. Barbara's words +and his own mocking laughter seemed still to be in the air about him. +The silence and loneliness bewildered him, he could not realise that his +chance of speech had escaped him, and that Barbara's entreaty must +remain unanswered. Her timid self-reproach had stabbed him to the heart. +That the poor little girl should have trembled and been silent, lest he +should speak harshly, and then that she should blame herself so bitterly +for her cowardice--it was a sudden revelation to Reynold of the ugliness +of those black moods of his. One might have pictured the evil power +broken by the shock of this discovery and leaving shame-stricken +patience in its place, or, at least, one might have imagined strenuous +resolutions for the days to come. But Reynold's very tenderness was +mixed with wrath; he cursed the something in himself, yet not himself, +which had frightened Barbara, he could not feel that _he_ was +answerable. That she, of all the world, should judge him so, filled his +soul with a burning sense of wrong. + +"How _could_ you think it?" he pleaded with her in his thoughts, "my +dear, how _could_ you think it?" And yet he did not blame her. Ah God! +what a bitter, miserable wretch he had been his whole life through! Why +had no woman ever taught him how to be gentle and good? He blamed +neither Barbara nor himself, but a cruel fate. + +It was not till late, when he had collected his things, and made all +ready for his departure in the morning, that he remembered that he would +not see her again, that he absolutely could not so much as speak a word +to make amends. He must cross the threshold of the old house as early as +he possibly could, his angry pride would not allow him a moment's delay, +and what chance was there that she would be up and dressed by then? It +was maddening to think of the long slow hours which they would pass +under the same roof, each hour gliding away with its many minutes. And +in one minute he could say so much, if but one minute were granted him! +"But it won't be," he said sullenly, as he lay down till the dawn should +come, "it isn't likely." And he ground his teeth together at the +remembrance of the many minutes spent in wrangling with Mr. Hayes, while +Barbara waited alone. + + + END OF VOL. I. + + + + +MESSRS. MACMILLAN & CO.'S NEW NOVELS. + + +=JILL.= By E. A. DILLWYN. 2 vols. Globe 8vo. 12_s._ + + "A very lively and spirited story, written with a good deal of the + realism of such authors as Defoe, and describing the experiences of + a young lady.... Extremely entertaining and life like. It will be + seen from this that Miss Dillwyn has hit perfectly the tone of + sincere biography."--_The Spectator._ + + "A very original autobiographical narrative, so cynically frank and + so delightfully piquant, that it is quite a marvel. Read with + understanding, the narrative is not uninstructive; it is certainly + well worth reading for entertainment only."--_The St. James's + Gazette._ + + +=A ROMAN SINGER.= By F. MARION CRAWFORD. Author of "Mr. Isaacs," "Doctor +Claudius." Crown 8vo. 6_s._ + + "We are not making use of conventionalities of criticism when we + call this a masterpiece of narrative.... In Mr. Crawford's skilful + hands it is unlike any other romance in English literature.... The + characters in the novel possess strong individuality, brought out + simply by the native stress of the story."--_The Times._ + + "Mr. Crawford's new book is in its way as much a success as his + previous productions.... This charming novel."--_Morning Post._ + + "Mr. Crawford's new book is likely to be popular.... He is much + stronger with character and emotion, and in these matters 'A Roman + Singer' leaves little to be desired.... The story is full of + exciting interest, is told with remarkable directness and + vigour."--_The Athenæum._ + + +BY THE AUTHOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." + +=MISS TOMMY: A MEDIÆVAL ROMANCE.= By the Author of "John Halifax, +Gentleman." Crown 8vo. 6_s._ + + "The book has what the author would call a 'mediæval' charm of its + own, and reading it is like smelling at a china bowl of last year's + roses."--_St. James's Gazette._ + + +BY CHARLOTTE M. YONGE. + +=THE ARMOURER'S PRENTICES.= By CHARLOTTE M. YONGE. Author of "The Heir +of Redclyffe." 2 vols. Crown 8vo. 12_s._ + + "An excellent representation of London life in the beginning of the + sixteenth century.... The author has consulted all the best + authorities upon citizen life in the early Tudor days, and the + result is in every way satisfactory."--_Academy._ + + +MR. WILLIAM BLACK'S NEW NOVEL. + +=JUDITH SHAKESPEARE.= By WILLIAM BLACK, Author of "Yolande," "A Princess +of Thule," "Madcap Violet," &c. 3 Vols. Crown 8vo. 31_s._ 6_d._ + + +MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON. + + + + +MESSRS. MACMILLAN & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. + + +LORD TENNYSON'S WORKS. + +=THE WORKS OF ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.= + +A new Collected Edition in Seven Volumes. Extra fcap. 8vo. 5_s._ each +Volume. + + A limited number of copies are printed on best Hand-made Paper. + Orders for this Edition will be taken _for Sets only_, at the rate + of 10_s._ 6_d._ per Volume. The Volumes will be published as + follows:-- + + Vol. I. EARLY POEMS. + Vol. II. LUCRETIUS: and other poems. + Vol. III. IDYLLS OF THE KING. + Vol. IV. THE PRINCESS: and MAUD. + Vol. V. ENOCH ARDEN: and IN MEMORIAM. + Vol. VI. QUEEN MARY: and HAROLD. + Vol. VII. 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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: Mitchelhurst Place, Vol. I (of 2) + A Novel + +Author: Margaret Veley + +Release Date: April 2, 2012 [EBook #39345] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MITCHELHURST PLACE, VOL. I (OF 2) *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Paula Franzini and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by The Internet Archive) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + + + + +<h1>MITCHELHURST PLACE</h1> + +<p class="likeh2">A Novel</p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="likeh4">BY</p> +<p class="author">MARGARET VELEY</p> + +<p class="likeh5">AUTHOR OF "FOR PERCIVAL"</p> +<p> </p> + +<p class="likeh4">"Que voulez-vous? Hélas! notre mère Nature,<br /> +Comme toute autre mère, a ses enfants gâtés,<br /> +Et pour les malvenus elle est avare et dure!"<br /></p> +<p> </p> + +<p class="likeh3">IN TWO VOLUMES</p> + +<p class="likeh3">VOL. I.</p> +<p> </p> + +<p class="likeh2nb">London<br /> +MACMILLAN AND CO.<br /> +1884</p> + +<p class="likeh4"><i>The Right of Translation and Reproduction is Reserved.</i> +</p> +<hr class="chap" /> + + + + +<p class="likeh3">Bungay:</p> +<p class="likeh5">CLAY AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS.</p> +<hr class="chap" /> + + + + +<p class="likeh4"> +TO<br /> +BARBARA'S BEST FRIEND</p> +<p class="likeh3"><i>ELFRIDA IONIDES</i></p> +<p class="likeh4"> +HER STORY IS MOST AFFECTIONATELY<br /> +AND GRATEFULLY INSCRIBED. +</p> +<hr class="chap" /> + + +<h2><a name="Contents" id="Contents">CONTENTS OF VOL. I.</a></h2> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="contents"> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='right'><small><small>PAGE</small></small></td></tr> +<tr><td colspan='2' align='center'>CHAPTER I.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><small>TREASURES DROPPED AND PICKED UP</small></td><td align='right'><a href="#chapter_i">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td colspan='3'><small> </small></td></tr> +<tr><td colspan='2' align='center'>CHAPTER II.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><small>AN UNEXPECTED INVITATION</small></td><td align='right'><a href="#chapter_ii">19</a></td></tr> +<tr><td colspan='3'><small> </small></td></tr> +<tr><td colspan='2' align='center'>CHAPTER III.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><small>"WELCOME TO MITCHELHURST PLACE"</small></td><td align='right'><a href="#chapter_iii">48</a></td></tr> +<tr><td colspan='3'><small> </small></td></tr> +<tr><td colspan='2' align='center'>CHAPTER IV.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><small>DINNER AND A LITTLE MUSIC</small></td><td align='right'><a href="#chapter_iv">73</a></td></tr> +<tr><td colspan='3'><small> </small></td></tr> +<tr><td colspan='2' align='center'>CHAPTER V.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><small>AN OLD LOVE STORY</small></td><td align='right'><a href="#chapter_v">95</a></td></tr> +<tr><td colspan='3'><small> </small></td></tr> +<tr><td colspan='2' align='center'>CHAPTER VI.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><small>REYNOLD'S RESOLUTION</small><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_viii" id="page_viii">[viii]</a></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#chapter_vi">124</a></td></tr> +<tr><td colspan='3'><small> </small></td></tr> +<tr><td colspan='2' align='center'>CHAPTER VII.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><small>A GAME AT CHESS</small></td><td align='right'><a href="#chapter_vii">160</a></td></tr> +<tr><td colspan='3'><small> </small></td></tr> +<tr><td colspan='2' align='center'>CHAPTER VIII.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><small>AN UNEXPECTED INVITATION</small></td><td align='right'><a href="#chapter_viii">192</a></td></tr> +<tr><td colspan='3'><small> </small></td></tr> +<tr><td colspan='2' align='center'>CHAPTER IX.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><small>OF MAGIC LANTERNS </small></td><td align='right'><a href="#chapter_ix">209</a></td></tr> +<tr><td colspan='3'><small> </small></td></tr> +<tr><td colspan='2' align='center'>CHAPTER X.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><small>AN AFTER-DINNER DISCUSSION</small></td><td align='right'><a href="#chapter_x">237</a></td></tr> +<tr><td colspan='3'><small> </small></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<p class="likeh2">MITCHELHURST PLACE</p> + + +<p> </p> + +<h2><a name="chapter_i" id="chapter_i">CHAPTER I.</a><br /><small>TREASURES DROPPED AND PICKED UP.</small></h2> + +<p class="poem2"> +"Dans l'air pâle, émanant ses tranquilles lumières<br /> +<span style="margin-left: .3em;">Rayonnait l'astre d'or de l'arrière-saison."</span><br /> +</p> + + +<p>There was nothing remarkable in the scene. It was just a bit of country +lane, cut deeply into the side of a hill, and seamed with little pebbly +courses, made by the streams of rain which had poured across it on their +downward way. The hill-side faced the west, and, standing on this ledge +as on a balcony, one might look down into a valley where cattle were +feeding in the pastures, and where a full and softly-flowing<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_2" id="page_2">[2]</a></span> river +turned the wheel of a distant mill, and slipped quietly under the arched +bridge of the lower road. Sometimes in summer the water lay gleaming, +like a curved blade, in the midst of the warm green meadows, but on this +late October day it was misty and wan, and light vapours veiled the pale +globe of the declining sun. Looking upward from the valley, a broad +slope of ploughed land rose above the road, and the prospect ended in a +hedge, a gate, through whose bars one saw the sky, and a thin line of +dusky, red-trunked firs. But from the road itself there was nothing to +be seen in this direction except a steep bank. This bank was crowned +with hawthorn bushes, and here and there a stubborn stunted oak, which +held its dry brown leaves persistently, as some oaks do. With every +passing breath of wind there was a crisp rustling overhead.</p> + +<p>This bit of road lay deserted in the faint yellow gleams. But for a wisp +of straw,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_3" id="page_3">[3]</a></span> caught on an overhanging twig, and some cart-tracks, which +marked the passage of a load, one might have fancied that the pale sun +had risen, and now was about to set, without having seen a single +wayfarer upon it. But there were four coming towards it, and, slowly as +two of them might travel, they would yet reach it while the sunlight +lasted. The little stage was to have its actors that afternoon.</p> + +<p>First there appeared a man's figure on the crest of the hill. He swung +himself over the gate, and came with eager strides down the field, till +he reached the hedge which divided it from the road. There he stopped, +consulted his watch, and sheltering himself behind one of the little +oaks, he rested one knee on a mossy stump, and thus, half-standing, +half-kneeling, he waited. The attitude was picturesque, and so was the +man. He had bright grey-blue eyes, hair and moustache brown, with a +touch of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_4" id="page_4">[4]</a></span> reddish gold, a quick, animated face, and a smiling mouth. It +was easy to see that he was sanguine and fearless, and on admirable +terms with himself and the world in general. He was young, and he was +pleasant to look at, and, though he could hardly have dressed with a +view to occupying that precise position, his brown velvet coat was +undeniably in the happiest harmony with the tree against which he +leaned, and the withered foliage above his head.</p> + +<p>To wait there, with his eyes fixed on that unfrequented way, hardly +seemed a promising pastime. But the young fellow was either lucky or +wise. He had not been there more than five minutes by his watch, when a +girl turned the corner, and came, with down-bent head, slowly sauntering +along the road below him. His clasping hand on the rough oak-bark +shifted slightly, to allow him to lean a little further and gain a wider +range, though he was careful<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_5" id="page_5">[5]</a></span> to keep in the shelter of his tree and the +hawthorn hedge. A few steps brought the girl exactly opposite his +hiding-place. There she paused.</p> + +<p>She sauntered because her hands and eyes were occupied, and she took no +heed of the way she went. She paused because her occupation became so +engrossing that she forgot to take another step. She wore long, loose +gloves, to guard her hands and wrists, and as she came she had pulled +autumn leaves of briony and bramble, and brier sprays with their bunches +of glowing hips. These she was gathering together and arranging, partly +that they might be easier to carry, and partly to justify her pleasure +in their beauty by setting it off to the best advantage. As she +completed her task, a tuft of yellow leaves on the bank beside her +caught her eye. She stretched her hand to gather it, and the man above +looked straight down into her unconscious upturned face.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_6" id="page_6">[6]</a></span></p> + +<p>She was not more than eighteen or nineteen, and by a touch of innocent +shyness in her glances and movements she might have been judged to be +still younger. She was slight and dark, with a soft loose cloud of dusky +hair, and a face, not flower-like in its charm, but with a healthful +beauty more akin to her own autumn berries—ripe, clear-skinned, and +sweet. As she looked up, with red lips parted, it was hardly wonderful +that the lips of the man in ambush, breathlessly silent though he was, +made answer with a smile. She plucked the yellow leaves and turned away, +and he suffered his breath to escape softly in a sigh. Yet he was +smiling still at the pretty picture of that innocent face held up to +him.</p> + +<p>It was all over in a minute. She had come and gone, and he stood up, +still cautiously, lest she should return, and looked at the broad brown +slope down<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_7" id="page_7">[7]</a></span> which he had come so eagerly. Every step of that +lightly-trodden way must be retraced, and time was short. But even as he +faced it he turned for one last glance at the spot where she had stood. +And there, like coloured jewels on the dull earth, lay a bunch of hips, +orange and glowing scarlet, which she had unawares let fall. In a moment +he was down on the road, had caught up his prize, and almost as quickly +had pulled himself up again, and was standing behind the sheltering tree +while he fastened it in his coat. And when he had secured it, it seemed, +after all, as if he had needed just that touch of soft bright colour, +and would not have been completely himself without it.</p> + +<p>"Barbara's gift," he said to himself, looking down at it. "I'll tell her +of it one of these days, when the poor things are dead and dry! No, that +they never shall be!" He quickened his pace. "They<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_8" id="page_8">[8]</a></span> shall live, at any +rate, for me. It would not be amiss for a sonnet. <i>Love's +Gleaning</i>—yes, or <i>Love's Alms</i>," and before the young fellow's eyes +rose the dainty vision of a creamy, faintly-ribbed page, with strong yet +delicately-cut Roman type and slim italics. Though not a line of it was +written, he could vaguely see that sonnet in which his rosy spoil should +be enshrined. He could even see Barbara reading it, on some future day, +while he added the commentary, which was not for the world in general, +but for Barbara. It became clearer to him as he hurried on, striking +across the fields to reach his destination more directly. Snatches of +musical words floated on the evening air, and he quickened his pace +unconsciously as if in actual pursuit. To the east the sky grew cold and +blue, and the moon, pearl white, but as yet not luminous, swam above him +as he walked.</p> + +<p>So the poet went in quest of rhymes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_9" id="page_9">[9]</a></span> and Barbara, strolling onward, +looked for leaves and berries. She had not gone far when she spied some +more, better, of course, than any she had already gathered. This time +they were on the lower bank which sloped steeply downward to a muddy +ditch. Barbara looked at them longingly, decided that they were +attainable, and put her nosegay down on the damp grass that she might +have both hands free for her enterprise.</p> + +<p>She was certain she could get them. She leaned forward, her finger-tips +almost brushed them, when a man's footsteps, close beside her, startled +her into consciousness of an undignified position, and she sprang back +to firmer ground. But a thin chain she wore had caught on a thorny +spray. It snapped, and a little gold cross dropped from it, and lay, +rather more than half-way down, among the briers and withered leaves. +She snatched at the dangling chain, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_10" id="page_10">[10]</a></span> stood, flushed and +disconcerted, trying to appear absorbed in the landscape, and +unconscious of the passer-by who had done the mischief. If only he +<i>would</i> pass by as quickly as possible, and leave her to regain her +treasure and gather her berries!</p> + +<p>But the steps hesitated, halted, and there was a pause—an immense +pause—during which Barbara kept her eyes fixed on a particular spot in +the meadow below. It appeared to her that the eyes of the unknown man +were fixed on the back of her head, and the sensation was intolerable. +After a moment, however, he spoke, and broke the spell. It was a +gentleman's voice, she perceived, but a little forced and hard, as if +the words cost him something of an effort.</p> + +<p>"I—I beg your pardon, but can I be of any service? I think you dropped +something—ah! a little cross." He came to her side. "Will you allow me +to get it for you?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_11" id="page_11">[11]</a></span></p> + +<p>Barbara went through the form of glancing at him, but she did not meet +his eyes. "Thank you," she said, "but I needn't trouble you, really." +And she returned to her pensive contemplation of that spot where the +meadow grass grew somewhat more rankly tufted.</p> + +<p>He paused again before speaking. It seemed to Barbara that this young +man did nothing but pause. "I don't think you can get it," he said, +looking at the brambles. "I really don't think you can."</p> + +<p>If Barbara had frankly uttered her inmost sentiments she would have +said, "Great idiot—no—not if you don't go away!" But, as it was, she +coloured yet more in her shyness, and stooped to pick up her nosegay +from the ground. He had been within an inch of treading on it.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I beg your pardon!" he exclaimed, starting back. "How clumsy of +me!"</p> + +<p>Something in his tone disarmed her. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_12" id="page_12">[12]</a></span> feared that she had been +ungracious, and moreover she was a little doubtful whether she would not +find it difficult to regain her trinket without his help. "You haven't +done any harm," she said. Then, glancing downward, "Well, if you will be +so kind."</p> + +<p>The new-comer surveyed the situation so intently that Barbara took the +opportunity of surveying him.</p> + +<p>She was familiar, in novels, with heroes and heroines who were not +precisely beautiful, yet possessed a nameless and all-conquering charm. +Perhaps for that very reason she was slow to recognize good looks where +this charm was absent. The tall young fellow who stood a few steps away, +gazing with knitted brows at the little wilderness of briers, was really +very handsome, but he was not certain of the fact. Beauty should not be +self-conscious, but it should not despondently question its own +existence. This man seemed to be accustomed to a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_13" id="page_13">[13]</a></span> chilly, ungenial +atmosphere, to be numbed and repressed, to lack fire. Barbara fancied +that if he touched her his hand would be cold.</p> + +<p>In point of actual features he was decidedly the superior of the young +fellow who was climbing the hill-side, but the pleasant colour and grace +were altogether wanting. Yet he was not exactly awkward. Neither was he +ill-dressed, though his clothes did not seem to express his +individuality, except perhaps by the fact that they were black and grey. +Any attempt at description falls naturally into cold negatives, and the +scarlet autumn berries which were just a jewel-like brightness in the +first picture would have been a strange and vivid contrast in the +second.</p> + +<p>His momentary hesitation on the brink of his venture was not in reality +indecision, but the watchful distrust produced by a conviction that +circumstances were hostile. He wished to take them all into account.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_14" id="page_14">[14]</a></span> +Having briefly considered the position of the cross, and the steepness +of the bank, he stepped boldly down. In less than half a second the +treacherous earth had betrayed him; his foot slipped, he fell on his +back, and slid down the short incline to the muddy ditch at the bottom, +losing his hat by the way.</p> + +<p>Barbara, above him, uttered a silvery little "Oh!" of dismay and +surprise. She was not accustomed to a man who failed in what he +undertook.</p> + +<p>The victim of the little accident was grimly silent. With a scrambling +effort he recovered his footing and lost it again. A second attempt was +more successful; he secured the cross, clambered up, and restored it to +its owner, turning away from her thanks to pick up his hat, which +luckily lay within easy reach. Barbara did not know which way to look. +She was painfully, burningly conscious of his evil plight.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_15" id="page_15">[15]</a></span> His boots +were coated with mire, his face was darkly flushed and seamed with a +couple of brier scratches, a bit of dead leaf was sticking in his hair, +and "Oh," thought Barbara, "he cannot possibly know how muddy his back +is!"</p> + +<p>She stood, turning the little cross in her fingers. "Thank you very +much," she said nervously. "I should never have got it for myself."</p> + +<p>"Are you quite sure?" he asked, with bitter distinctness. "I think you +would have managed it much better."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I would rather not try." She dared not raise her eyes to his +face, but she saw that he wore no glove, and that the thorns had torn +his hand. He was winding his handkerchief round it, and the blood +started through the white folds. "Oh, you have hurt yourself!" she +exclaimed. He answered only with an impatient gesture of negation.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_16" id="page_16">[16]</a></span></p> + +<p>"How am I to thank you?" she asked despairingly.</p> + +<p>"Don't you think the less said the better, at any rate for me?" he +replied, picking a piece of bramble from his sleeve, and glancing aside, +as if to permit her to go her way with no more words.</p> + +<p>But Barbara held her ground. "I should have been sorry to lose that +cross. I—I prize it very much."</p> + +<p>"Then I am sorry to have given you an absurd association with it."</p> + +<p>"Please don't talk like that. I shall remember your kindness," said the +girl hurriedly. She felt as if she must add something more. "I always +fancy my cross is a kind of—what do they call those things that bring +good luck?"</p> + +<p>"Amulet? Talisman?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, a talisman," she repeated, with a little nod. "It belonged to my +godmother. I was named after her. She died before I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_17" id="page_17">[17]</a></span> was a year old, but +I have heard my mother say she was the most beautiful woman she ever +saw. Oh, I should hate to lose it!"</p> + +<p>"Would your luck go with it?" He smiled as he asked the question, and +the smile was like a momentary illumination, revealing the habitual +melancholy of his mouth.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," said Barbara.</p> + +<p>"Well, you would not have lost it this afternoon, as it was quite +conspicuously visible," he rejoined.</p> + +<p>By this time he had brushed his hat, and, passing his hand over his +short waves of dark hair, had found and removed the bit of leaf which +had distressed Barbara. She advanced a step, perhaps emboldened a little +by that passing smile. "Oh, I beg your pardon," she said, "but when you +slipped you got some earth on your coat." (She fancied that "earth" +sounded a little more dignified than "mud" or "dirt," and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_18" id="page_18">[18]</a></span> that he might +not mind it quite so much.) "Please let me brush it off for you." She +looked up at him with a pleading glance and produced a filmy little +feminine handkerchief.</p> + +<p>He eyed her, drawing back. "No!" he ejaculated; and then, more mildly, +"No, thank you. I can manage. No, thank you."</p> + +<p>"I wish——" Barbara began, but she said no more, for the expression of +his face changed so suddenly that she looked over her shoulder to +discover the cause.</p> + +<p>A gentleman stood a few steps away, gazing at them in unconcealed +surprise. A small, neat, black-clothed gentleman, with bright grey eyes +and white hair and whiskers, who wore a very tall hat and carried a +smart little cane.</p> + +<p>"Uncle!" the girl exclaimed, and her uplifted hand dropped loosely by +her side.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_19" id="page_19">[19]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="chapter_ii" id="chapter_ii">CHAPTER II.</a><br /><small>AN UNEXPECTED INVITATION.</small></h2> + + +<p>The old gentleman's face would have been a mere note of interrogation, +but for a hint of chilly displeasure in its questioning. The young +people answered with blushes. The word was the same for both, but the +fact was curiously different. The colour that sprang to Barbara's cheek +was light and swift as flame, while the man at her side reddened slowly, +as if with the rising of a dark and sullen tide, till the lines across +his face were angrily swollen. The bandage, loosely wound round his +hand, showed the wet stains, and the new-comer's bright gaze, travelling +downwards, rested<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_20" id="page_20">[20]</a></span> on it for a moment, and then passed on to the muddy +boots and trousers.</p> + +<p>"Uncle," said Barbara, "I dropped my gold cross, and this gentleman was +so kind as to get it back for me."</p> + +<p>"It was nothing—I was very glad to be of any service, but it isn't +worth mentioning," the stranger protested, again with a rough edge of +effort in his tone.</p> + +<p>"On the contrary," said the old gentleman, "I fear my niece has given +you a great deal of trouble. I am sure we are both of us exceedingly +obliged to you for your kindness." He emphasised his thanks with a neat +little bow. To the young man's angry fancy it seemed that his glance +swept the landscape, as if he sought some perilous precipice, which +might account for the display of mud and wounds.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Barbara, quickly, "the bank is so slippery, and there are +such horrid brambles—look, uncle! I came to meet<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_21" id="page_21">[21]</a></span> you, and I was +gathering some leaves, and my chain caught and snapped."</p> + +<p>"Ah! that bank! Yes, a very disagreeable place," he assented, looking up +at the stranger. "I am really very sorry that you should have received +such——" he hesitated for a word, and then finished, "such injuries."</p> + +<p>"The bank is nothing. I was clumsy," was the reply.</p> + +<p>"I think, Barbara, we must be going home," her uncle suggested. The +young man stood aside to let them pass, with a certain awkwardness and +irresolution, for their road was the same as his own.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," he said, abruptly, "but perhaps, if you are going +that way, you can tell me how far it is to Mitchelhurst."</p> + +<p>They both looked surprised. "About a mile and a half. Were you going to +Mitchelhurst?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but if you know it——"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_22" id="page_22">[22]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We live there," said Barbara.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you could tell me what I want to know. I would just as soon not +go on this afternoon. Is there a decent inn, or, better still, could one +be tolerably sure of getting lodgings in the place, without securing +them beforehand?"</p> + +<p>"You want lodgings there?"</p> + +<p>"Only for a few days. I came by train a couple of hours ago"—he named a +neighbouring town—"and they told me at the hotel that it was uncertain +whether I should find accommodation at Mitchelhurst; so I left my +luggage there, and walked over to make inquiries."</p> + +<p>"I do not think that I can recommend the inn," said the other, +doubtfully. "I fear you would find it beery, and smoky, and noisy—the +village alehouse, you understand. Sanded floors, and rustics with long +clay pipes—that's the kind of thing at the 'Rothwell Arms.'"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_23" id="page_23">[23]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ah! the 'Rothwell Arms'!"</p> + +<p>"And as for lodgings," the old man continued, with something alert and +watchful in his manner, "the fact is people <i>don't</i> care to lodge in +Mitchelhurst. They live there, a few of them—myself for instance—but +there is nothing in the place to attract ordinary visitors."</p> + +<p>He paused, but the only comment was—</p> + +<p>"Indeed?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing whatever," he affirmed. "A little, out-of-the-way, +uninteresting village—but you are anxious to stay here?"</p> + +<p>The stranger was re-arranging the loosened handkerchief with slender, +unskilful fingers.</p> + +<p>"For a few days—yes," he repeated, half absently, as he tried to tuck +away a hanging end.</p> + +<p>"Uncle," said Barbara, with timid eagerness, "doesn't Mrs. Simmonds let +lodgings? When that man came surveying, or something,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_24" id="page_24">[24]</a></span> last summer, +didn't he have rooms in her house? I'm very nearly sure he did."</p> + +<p>Her uncle intercepted, as it were, the stranger's glance of inquiry.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps. But I don't think Mrs. Simmonds will do on this occasion."</p> + +<p>"Why not?" the other demanded. "I don't suppose I'm more particular than +the man who came surveying. If the place is decently clean, why not?"</p> + +<p>"Because your name is Harding. I don't know what his might happen to +be."</p> + +<p>The young man drew himself up, almost as if he repelled an accusation. +Then he seemed to recollect himself.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "it is. How did you know that?"</p> + +<p>The little Mitchelhurst gentleman found such pleasure in his own +acuteness that it gave a momentary air of cordiality to his manner.</p> + +<p>"My dear sir," he replied, looking critically<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_25" id="page_25">[25]</a></span> at Harding's scratched +face, "I knew the Rothwells well. I recognise the Rothwell features."</p> + +<p>"You must be a keen observer," said the other curtly.</p> + +<p>"Voice too," the little man continued. "Especially when you repeated the +name of the inn—the Rothwell Arms."</p> + +<p>Harding laughed.</p> + +<p>"Upon my word! The Rothwells have left me more of the family property +than I was aware of."</p> + +<p>"Then there was your destination. Who but a Rothwell would ever want to +stay at Mitchelhurst?"</p> + +<p>"I see. I appear to have betrayed myself in a variety of ways." The +discovery of his name seemed to have given him a little more ease of +manner of a defiant and half-mocking kind. "What, is there something +more?" he inquired, as his new acquaintance recommenced, "And then——"</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_26" id="page_26">[26]</a></span></p> +<p>"Yes, enough to make me very sure. You wear a ring on your little finger +which your mother gave you. She used to wear it thirty years ago."</p> + +<p>"True!" said Harding, in a tone of surprise. "You knew my mother then?"</p> + +<p>"As I say—thirty years ago. She is still living, is she not? And in +good health, I trust?"</p> + +<p>"Yes." The young man looked at his ring. "You have a good memory," he +said, with an inflection which seemed to convey that he would have ended +the sentence with a name, had he known one.</p> + +<p>The little gentleman took the hint.</p> + +<p>"My name is Herbert Hayes." He spoke with careful precision, it was +impossible to mistake the words, yet there was something tentative and +questioning in their utterance. The young man's face betrayed a puzzled +half-recognition.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_27" id="page_27">[27]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I've heard my mother speak of you," he said.</p> + +<p>"But you don't remember what she said?"</p> + +<p>"Not much, I'm afraid. It is very stupid of me. But that I have heard +her speak of you I'm certain. I know your name well."</p> + +<p>"There was nothing much to say. We were very good friends thirty years +ago. Mrs. Harding might naturally mention my name if she were speaking +of Mitchelhurst. Does she often talk of old days?"</p> + +<p>"Not often. I shall tell her I met you."</p> + +<p>Barbara stood by, wondering and interested, glancing to and fro as they +spoke. At this moment she caught her uncle's eye.</p> + +<p>"By the way," he said, "I have not introduced you to my niece—my +great-niece, to be strictly accurate—Miss Barbara Strange."</p> + +<p>Harding bowed ceremoniously, and yet<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_28" id="page_28">[28]</a></span> with a touch of self-contemptuous +amusement. He bowed, but he remembered that she had seen him slide down +a muddy bank on his back by way of an earlier introduction.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Rothwell Harding, I suppose I should say?" the old man inquired.</p> + +<p>"No. I'm not named Rothwell. I'm Reynold Harding."</p> + +<p>"Reynold?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. It's an old name in my father's family. That is," he concluded, in +the dead level of an expressionless tone, "as old a name as there is in +my father's family, I believe."</p> + +<p>"I suppose his grandfather was named Reynold," said Mr. Hayes to +himself. Aloud he replied, "Indeed. How about Adam?"</p> + +<p>Harding constrained himself to smile, but he did it with such an ill +grace that Mr. Hayes perceived that he was a stupid<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_29" id="page_29">[29]</a></span> prig, who could not +take a joke, and gave himself airs.</p> + +<p>"About these lodgings?" the young man persisted, returning to the point. +"If Miss Strange knows of some, why won't they do for me?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Hayes gulped down his displeasure.</p> + +<p>"There is only one roof that can shelter you in Mitchelhurst," he said +magnificently, "and that is the roof of Mitchelhurst Place."</p> + +<p>"Of Mitchelhurst Place?" Reynold was taken by surprise. He made a little +step backward, and Barbara, needlessly alarmed, cried, "Mind the ditch!" +Her impulsive little scream nearly startled him into it, but he +recovered himself on the brink, and they both coloured again, he +angrily, she in vexation at having reminded him of his mishap. "How can +I go to Mitchelhurst Place?" he demanded in his harshly hurried voice.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_30" id="page_30">[30]</a></span></p> + +<p>"As my guest," said Mr. Hayes. "I am Mr. Croft's tenant. I live +there—with my niece."</p> + +<p>The young man's eyes went from one to the other. Barbara's face was +hardly less amazed than his own.</p> + +<p>"Oh thank you!" he said at last. "It's exceedingly good of you, but I +couldn't think of troubling you—I really couldn't. The lodgings Miss +Strange mentioned will do very well for me, I am sure, or I could manage +for a day or two at the inn."</p> + +<p>"Indeed—" Mr. Hayes began.</p> + +<p>"But I am not particular," said Harding with his most defiant air and in +his bitterest tone, "I assure you I am not. I have never been able to +afford it. I shall be all right. Pray do not give the matter another +thought. I'm very much obliged to you for your kindness, but it's quite +out of the question, really."</p> + +<p>"No," said Mr. Hayes, resting his little<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_31" id="page_31">[31]</a></span> black kid hands on the top of +his stick and looking up at the tall young man, "it is out of the +question that you should go anywhere else. Pray do not suggest it. You +intended to go back to your hotel this evening and to come on to +Mitchelhurst to-morrow? Then let us have the pleasure of seeing you +to-morrow as early as you like to come."</p> + +<p>"Indeed—indeed," protested Harding, "I could not think of intruding."</p> + +<p>The little gentleman laughed.</p> + +<p>"My dear sir, who is the intruder at Mitchelhurst Place? Answer me that! +No," he said, growing suddenly serious, "you cannot go to the pot +house—you—your mother's son—while I live in the Rothwells' old home. +It is impossible—I cannot suffer it. I should be for ever ashamed and +humiliated if you refused a few days' shelter under the old roof. I +should indeed."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_32" id="page_32">[32]</a></span></p> + +<p>"If you put it so——"</p> + +<p>"There is no other way to put it."</p> + +<p>"I can say no more. I can only thank you for your kindness. I will +come," said Reynold Harding, slowly. Urgent as the invitation was, and +simply as it was accepted, there was yet a curious want of friendliness +about it. Circumstances constrained these two men, not any touch of +mutual liking. One would have said that Mr. Hayes was bound to insist +and Harding to yield.</p> + +<p>"That is settled then," said the elder man, "and we shall see you +to-morrow. I am a good deal engaged myself, but Barbara is quite at home +in Mitchelhurst, and can show you all the Rothwell memorials—the +Rothwells are the romance of Mitchelhurst, you know. She'll be delighted +to do the honours, eh, Barbara?"</p> + +<p>The girl murmured a shy answer.</p> + +<p>"Oh, if I trespass on your kindness I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_33" id="page_33">[33]</a></span> think that's enough; I needn't +victimise Miss Strange," said the young man, and he laughed a little, +not altogether pleasantly. "And I can't claim any of the romance. My +name isn't Rothwell."</p> + +<p>"The name isn't everything," said Mr. Hayes. "Come, Barbara, it's +getting late, and I want my dinner. Till to-morrow, then," and he held +out his hand to their new acquaintance.</p> + +<p>Young Harding bowed stiffly to Barbara. "Till to-morrow afternoon."</p> + +<p>The old man and the girl walked away, he with an elderly sprightliness +of bearing which seemed to say, "See how active I still am!" she moving +by his side with dreamy, unconscious grace. They came to a curve in the +road, and she turned her head and looked back before she passed it. Mr. +Reynold Harding had taken but a couple of steps from the spot where they +had left him. He had apparently arranged<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_34" id="page_34">[34]</a></span> his bandage to his +satisfaction at last, and was pulling at the knot with his teeth and his +other hand, but his face was towards them, and Barbara knew that he saw +that backward glance. She quickened her steps in hot confusion, and +looked straight before her for at least five minutes.</p> + +<p>During that time it was her uncle who was the hero of her thoughts. His +dramatic recognition of Harding and Harding's ring, his absolute refusal +to permit the young man to go to any house in Mitchelhurst but the +Place, something in the tone of his voice when he uttered his "thirty +years ago," hinted a romance to Barbara. The conjecture might or might +not be correct, but at any rate it was natural. Girls who do not +understand love are apt to use it to explain all the other things they +do not understand. She waited till her cheeks were cool, and her +thoughts clear, and then she spoke.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_35" id="page_35">[35]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I didn't know you knew the Rothwells so well, uncle."</p> + +<p>"My dear," said her uncle, "how should you?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose you might have talked about them."</p> + +<p>"I might," said Mr. Hayes. "Now you mention it, I might, certainly. But +I haven't any especial fancy for the gossip of the last generation."</p> + +<p>"Well, I have," said the girl. And after a moment she went on. "How long +is it since they left the Place?"</p> + +<p>Her uncle put his head on one side with a quick, birdlike movement, and +apparently referred to a cloud in the western sky before he made answer.</p> + +<p>"Nineteen years last Midsummer."</p> + +<p>"And when did you take it?"</p> + +<p>"A year later."</p> + +<p>The two walked a little way in silence, and then Barbara recommenced.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_36" id="page_36">[36]</a></span></p> + +<p>"This Mr. Harding—he is like the Rothwells, then?"</p> + +<p>"Rothwell from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot. The old +people, who knew the family, will find him out as he walks through the +village—see if they don't. The same haughty, sulky, sneering way with +him, and just the same voice. Only every Rothwell at the Place, even to +the last, had an air of being a <i>grand seigneur</i>, which this fellow +can't very well have. Upon my word, I begin to think it was the +pleasantest thing about them. I don't like a pride which is conscious of +being homeless and out at elbows."</p> + +<p>Barbara undauntedly pursued her little romance.</p> + +<p>"You are talking about the men," she said. "Is Mr. Harding like his +mother?"</p> + +<p>"Well, she was a handsome woman," Mr. Hayes replied indifferently, "but +she had the same unpleasant manner."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_37" id="page_37">[37]</a></span></p> + +<p>The girl was thrown back on an utter blankness of ideas. A woman beloved +may have a dozen faults, and be the dearer for them; but she cannot +possibly have an unpleasant manner. Barbara could frame no theory to fit +the perplexing facts.</p> + +<p>As they turned into the one street of Mitchelhurst, Mr. Hayes spoke +musingly.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow afternoon, Barbara, let that young man have the blue +room—the large room. You know which I mean?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, uncle."</p> + +<p>"See that everything is nice and in order. And, Barbara——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, uncle," said Barbara again, for he paused.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Reynold Harding will probably look down on you. I suspect he thinks +that you and I are about fit to black his boots. Be civil, of course, +but you needn't do it."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_38" id="page_38">[38]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm sure I don't want," said the girl quietly; "and at that rate I +should hope he would come with them tolerably clean to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Mr. Hayes laughed suddenly, showing his teeth.</p> + +<p>"By Jove!" he said, "they were dirty enough this afternoon!"</p> + +<p>"In my service," said Barbara. "Now I come to think of it, it seems to +me that I ought to clean them."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" her uncle exclaimed, still smiling at the remembrance. "And +you saw him roll into the ditch?—Barbara, the poor fellow must hate you +like poison!"</p> + +<p>She looked down as she walked, drawing her delicate brows a little +together.</p> + +<p>"I dare say he does," she said softly, as if to herself.</p> +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Between ten and eleven that evening Mr. Reynold Harding sat by his +fireside, staring at the red coals<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_39" id="page_39">[39]</a></span> + as they faded drearily into ashes. +Being duly washed and brushed, he showed but slight traces of his +accident. The scratches on his face were not deep, and his torn hand was +mended with little strips of black plaster. Intently as he seemed to +think, his thoughts were not definite. Had he been questioned concerning +them he could have answered only "Mitchelhurst." Anger, tenderness, +curiosity, pride, and bitter self-contempt were mixed in silent strife +in the shadows of his soul. The memory of the Rothwells had drawn him on +his pilgrimage—a vain, hopeless, barren memory, and yet the best he +had. He had intended to wander about the village, to look from a +distance at the Rothwells' house, to stand by the Rothwells' graves in +the churchyard, and to laugh at his own folly as he did so. And now he +was to sleep under their roof, to know the very rooms where they had +lived and died,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_40" id="page_40">[40]</a></span> +and for this he was to thank these strangers who played +at hospitality in the old home. He thought of the morrow with curious +alternations of distaste and eagerness.</p> + +<p>Mr Hayes, meanwhile, with the lamplight shining on his white hair, was +studying a paper in the Transactions of the County Archæological +Society, "On an Inscription in Mitchelhurst Church." Mr Hayes had a +theory of his own on the subject, and smiled over the vicar's view with +the tranquil enjoyment of unalloyed contempt.</p> + +<p>And Barbara, in the silence of her room, opposite a dimly-lighted +mirror, sat brushing her shadowy hair, whose waves seemed to melt into +the dusk about the pale reflection of her face. As she gazed at it she +was thinking of some one who was gone, and of some one who was to come. +Dwelling among the old memories of Mitchelhurst<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_41" id="page_41">[41]</a></span> + Place, her girlish +thoughts had turned to them for lack of other food, till the Rothwells +were real to her in a sense in which no other fancies ever could be +real. She was so conscious that her connection with the house was +accidental and temporary, that she felt as if it still belonged to its +old owners, and she was only their guest. They were always near, yet, +whimsically enough, in point of time they were nearest when they were +most remote. Barbara's phantoms mostly belonged to the last century, and +they faded and grew pale as they approached the present day, till the +latest owner of the Place was merely a name. The truth was that at the +end of their reign the Rothwells, impoverished and lonely, had simply +lived in the house as they found it, and were unable to set the stamp of +any individual tastes upon their surroundings. They were the Rothwells +of the good old times<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_42" id="page_42">[42]</a></span> +who left their autographs in the books in the +library, their patient needlework on quilts and bell-pulls, their +mouldering rose-leaves in great china jars, their pictures still hanging +on the walls, and traces of their preferences in the names of rooms and +paths. There were inscriptions under the bells that had summoned +servants long ago, which told of busy times and a full house. The +lettering only differed from anything in the present day by being subtly +and unobtrusively old-fashioned. "<span class="smcap">Mr. Gerald</span>" and "<span class="smcap">Mr. Thomas</span>" had given +up ringing bells for many a long day, and if the one suspended above +<span class="smcap">Miss Sarah's</span> name sometimes tinkled through the stillness, it was only +because Barbara wanted some hot water. Miss Sarah was one of the most +distinct of the girl's phantoms. Rightly or wrongly, Barbara always +believed her to be the beautiful Miss Rothwell of whom an old man in +the village<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_43" id="page_43">[43]</a></span> +told her a tradition, told to him in his boyhood. It seemed +that a Rothwell of some uncertain date stood for the county ("and pretty +nigh ruined himself," said her informant, with a grim, yet admiring, +enjoyment of the extravagant folly of the contest), and in the very heat +of the election Miss Rothwell drove with four horses to the +polling-place, to show herself clothed from head to foot in a startling +splendour of yellow, her father's colour.</p> + +<p>"They said she was a rare sight to see," the old man concluded +meditatively.</p> + +<p>"And did Mr. Rothwell get in?" asked Barbara.</p> + +<p>"No, no!" he said, shaking his head. "No Rothwell ever got in for the +county, though they tried times. But he pretty nigh ruined himself."</p> + +<p>Had she cared to ask her uncle, Barbara might very possibly have +ascertained the precise<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_44" id="page_44">[44]</a></span> +date of the election, and identified the darkly +beautiful girl who was whirled by her four spirited horses into the +roaring, decorated town. But she was not inclined to talk of her fancies +to Mr. Hayes. So, assuming the heroine to be Miss Sarah, she remained in +utter ignorance concerning her after life. Did she ever wear the white +robes of a bride, or the blackness of widow's weeds? Barbara often +wondered. But at night, in her room, which was Sarah Rothwell's, she +could never picture her otherwise than superbly defiant in the +meteor-like glory of that one day.</p> + +<p>As she brushed her dusky cloud of hair that evening she called up the +splendour of her favourite vision, and then her thoughts fell sadly away +from it to Reynold Harding, the man who had kindred blood in his veins, +but no inheritance of name or land. Those iron horse-hoofs, long ago, +had thundered over the bit of road where<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_45" id="page_45">[45]</a></span> +Barbara gathered her autumn +nosegay, and where young Harding—oh, poor fellow!—slipped in the mire, +and scrambled awkwardly to his feet, a pitiful, sullen figure to put +beside the beautiful Miss Rothwell.</p> + +<p>Was she glad he was coming? She laid down her brush and mused, looking +into the depths of her mirror. Yes, she was glad. She did not think she +should like him. She felt that he was hostile, scornful, dissatisfied. +But Mitchelhurst was quiet—so few people ever came to it, and if they +<i>did</i> come they went away without a word—and at eighteen quiet is +wearisome, and a spice of antagonism is refreshing. Did he hate her as +her uncle had said? Time would show. She took her little cross from the +dressing table, and looked at it with a new interest. No, she did not +like him. "But, after all," said Barbara to herself, "he is a Rothwell,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_46" id="page_46">[46]</a></span> +and my fairy godmother introduced us!"</p> + +<p>Many miles away a bunch of hips, scarlet and orange, lay by a scribbled +paper. They had had adventures since they were pulled from a +Mitchelhurst brier that afternoon. They had been lost and found, and +travelling by rail had nearly been lost again. A clumsy porter, +shouldering a load, had blundered against an absorbed young man, who was +just grasping a rhyme; and the red berries fell between them to the +dusty platform, and were barely saved from perils of hurrying feet. +Still, though a little bruised and spoilt, they glowed ruddily in the +candle-light, and the paper beside them said—</p> + +<p class="poem"> +"<i>Speech was forbidden me; I could but stay,<br /> +Ambushed behind a leafless hawthorn screen,<br /> +And look upon her passing. She had been<br /> +To pluck red berries on that autumn day,<br /> +And Love, who from her side will never stray,<br /> +Stole some for pity, seeing me unseen,<br /></i><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_47" id="page_47">[47]</a></span> +<i>And sighing, let them fall, that I might glean—<br /> +'Poor gift,' quoth he, 'that Time shall take away!'<br /> +Nay, but I mock at Time! It shall not be<br /> +That, fleet of foot, he robs me of my prize;<br /> +Her smile has kindled all the sullen skies,<br /> +Blessed the dull furrows, and the leafless tree,<br /> +And year by year the autumn, ere it dies,<br /> +Shall bring my rosy treasure back to me!</i>"<br /> +</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_48" id="page_48">[48]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="chapter_iii" id="chapter_iii">CHAPTER III.</a><br /><small>"WELCOME TO MITCHELHURST PLACE."</small></h2> + + +<p>Mitchelhurst was, as Mr. Hayes had said, a dull little village, by no +means likely to attract visitors. It was merely a group of houses, for +the most part meanly built, set in a haphazard fashion on either side of +a wide road. Occasionally a shed would come to the front, or two or +three poplars, or a bit of garden fence. But the poplars were apt to be +mercilessly lopped, with just a tuft at the extreme tip, which gave each +unlucky tree a slight resemblance to a lion's tail, and the gardens, if +not full of cabbages, displayed melancholy rows of stumps where cabbages +had been. There was very little traffic through Mitchelhurst<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_49" id="page_49">[49]</a></span> Street, as +this thoroughfare was usually called, yet it showed certain signs of +life. Fowls rambled aimlessly about it, with a dejected yet inquiring +air, which seemed to say that they would long ago have given up their +desultory pecking if they could have found anything else to do. A +windmill, standing on a slight eminence a little way from the road, +creaked as its sails revolved. Sounds of hammering came from the +blacksmith's forge. Children played on the foot-path, a little knot of +loungers might generally be seen in front of the "Rothwell Arms," and at +most of the doorways stood the Mitchelhurst women, talking loudly while +their busy fingers were plaiting straws. This miserably paid work was +much in vogue in the village, where generation after generation of +children learned it, and grew up into stunted, ill-fed girls, fond of +coarse gossip, and of their slatternly independence.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_50" id="page_50">[50]</a></span></p> + +<p>At the western end of the village, beyond the alehouse, stood the +church, with two or three yews darkening the crowded graveyard. The +vicarage was close at hand, a sombre little house, with a flagged path +leading to its dusky porch. Mitchelhurst was not happy in its vicars. +The parish was too small to attract the heroic enthusiasts who are ready +to live and die for the unhealthy and ignorant crowds of our great +cities. And the house was too poor, and the neighbourhood too +uninteresting, for any kindly country gentleman, who chanced to have +"the Reverend" written before his name, to come and stable his horses, +and set up his liberal housekeeping, and preach his Sunday sermons +there. No one chose Mitchelhurst, so "those few sheep in the wilderness" +were left to those who had no choice, and the vicars were almost always +discontented elderly men. As a rule they died there, a vicar of +Mitchelhurst<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_51" id="page_51">[51]</a></span> being seldom remembered by the givers of good livings. The +incumbent at this time was a feeble archæologist, who coughed drearily +in his damp little study, and looked vaguely out at the world from a +narrow and mildewed past. As he stepped from the shadowy porch, blinking +with tired eyes, he would pause on the path, which looked like a row of +flat unwritten tombstones, and glance doubtfully right and left. +Probably he had some vague idea of going into the village, but in nine +cases out of ten he turned aside to the graveyard, and sauntered +musingly in the shadow of the old yews, or disappeared into the church, +where there were two or three inscriptions just sufficiently defaced to +be interesting. He fancied he should decipher them one day, and leave +nothing for his successor to do, and he haunted them in that hope.</p> + +<p>When he went into the street he spoke kindly to the women at the doors, +with an<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_52" id="page_52">[52]</a></span> obvious forgetfulness of names and circumstances which made him +an object of contemptuous pity. They could not conceive how any one in +his senses could make such foolish mistakes, and were inclined to look +on the Established Church as a convenient provision for weak-minded +gentlefolks. They grinned when he had gone by, and repeated his +well-meant inquiries, plaiting all the time. It was only natural that +the vicar should prefer his parishioners dead. They did not then indulge +in coarse laughter, they never described unpleasant ailments, and they +were neatly labelled with their names, or else altogether silent +concerning them.</p> + +<p>The vicar's shortcomings might have been less remarked had the tenants +of Mitchelhurst Place taken their proper position in the village. But +where, seventy or eighty years before, the great gates swung open for +carriages and horses, and busy servants,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_53" id="page_53">[53]</a></span> and tradesmen, there came now +down the mossy drive only an old man on foot, and a girl by his side, +with eyes like dark waters, and a sweet richness of carnation in her +cheeks. Mr. Hayes and his niece lived, as the later Rothwells had lived, +in a corner of the old house. It was queer that a man should choose to +hire a place so much too big for him, people said, but they had said it +for nineteen years, and they never seemed to get any further. Herbert +Hayes might be eccentric, but he was shrewd, he knew his own business, +and the villagers recognised the fact. He was not popular, there was +nothing to be got by begging at the Place, and he would not allow +Barbara to visit any of the cottages. But it was acknowledged that he +was not stingy in payment for work done. And if he lived in a corner he +knew how to make himself comfortable there, which was more than the last +Rothwell had been able to do.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_54" id="page_54">[54]</a></span></p> + +<p>The church and vicarage were at one end of Mitchelhurst, and the Place, +which stood on slightly rising ground, was at the other. It was a white +house, and in a dim light it had a sad and spectral aspect, a pale +blankness as of a dead face. The Rothwell who built it intended to have +a stately avenue from the great ironwork gates to the principal +entrance, and planted his trees accordingly. But the site was cruelly +exposed, and the soil was sterile, and his avenue had become a vista of +warped and irregular shapes, leaning in grotesque attitudes, dwarfed and +yet massive with age. In the leafiness of summer much of this +singularity was lost, but when winter stripped the boughs it revealed a +double line of fantastic skeletons, a fit pathway for the strangest +dreams.</p> + +<p>The gardens, with the exception of a piece close to the house, had been +so long neglected that they seemed almost to have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_55" id="page_55">[55]</a></span> forgotten that they +had ever been cultivated. Almost, but not quite, for they had not the +innocence of the original wilderness. There were tokens of a contest. +The plants and grasses that possessed the soil were obviously weeds, and +the degraded survivals of a gentler growth lurked among them overborne +and half strangled. There was a suggestion of murderous triumph in the +coarse leaves of the mulleins and docks that had rooted themselves as in +a conquered inheritance, and the little undulations which marked the +borders and bits of rock-work of half a century earlier looked curiously +like neglected graves.</p> + +<p>It seemed to Barbara Strange, as she stood looking over it all, on the +day on which Mr. Harding was to come to Mitchelhurst, that there was +something novel in this aspect of desolation. She knew the place well, +for it was rather more than a year since she came, at her uncle's +invitation,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_56" id="page_56">[56]</a></span> to live there, and she had seen it with all the changes of +the seasons upon it. She knew it well, but she had never thought of it +as home. The little Devonshire vicarage which held father and mother, +and a swarm of young sisters and brothers—almost too many to be +contained within its walls—was home in the past and the present. And if +the girl had dreams of the future, shy dreams which hardly revealed +themselves even to her, they certainly never had Mitchelhurst Place for +a background. To her it was just a halting-place on her journey into the +unknown regions of life. It was like some great out-of-the-way ruinous +old inn, in which one might chance to sleep for a night or two. She had +merely been interested in it as a stranger, but on this October day she +looked at it curiously and critically for Mr. Harding's sake. She would +have liked it to welcome him, to show some signs of stately hospitality +to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_57" id="page_57">[57]</a></span> this son of the house who was coming home, and for the first time a +full sense of its dreariness and hopelessness crept into her soul. She +could do nothing, she felt absurdly small, the great house seemed to +cast a melancholy shadow over her, as she went to and fro in the bit of +ground that was still recognised as a garden, gathering the few blossoms +that autumn had spared.</p> + +<p>Barbara meant the flowers to brighten the rooms in which they lived, but +she looked a little doubtfully into her basket while she walked towards +the house. They were so colourless and frail, it seemed to her that they +were just fit to be emptied out over somebody's grave. "Oh," she said to +herself, "why didn't he come in the time of roses, or peonies, or tiger +lilies? If it had been in July there might have been some real sunshine +to warm the old place. Or earlier still, when the apple blossom was +out—why didn't he come<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_58" id="page_58">[58]</a></span> then? It is so sad now." And she remembered +what some one had said, a few weeks before, loitering up that wide path +by her side: "An old house—yes, I like old houses, but this is like a +whited sepulchre, somehow. And not his own—I should not care to set up +housekeeping in a corner of somebody else's sepulchre." Barbara, as her +little lonely footsteps fell on the sodden earth, thought that he was +perfectly right. She threw back her head, and faced the wide, blind gaze +of its many-windowed front. Well, it <i>was</i> Mr. Harding's own family +sepulchre, if that was any consolation.</p> + +<p>Her duty as a housekeeper took her to the blue room, which Mr. Hayes had +chosen for their guest, a large apartment at the side of the house, not +with the bleak northern aspect of the principal entrance, but looking +away towards the village, and commanding a wide prospect of meadow +land.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_59" id="page_59">[59]</a></span> The landscape in itself was not remarkable, but it had an +attraction as of swiftly varying moods. Under a midsummer sky it would +lie steeped in sunshine, and dappled with shadows of little, +lightly-flying clouds, content and at peace. Seen through slant lines of +grey rain it was beyond measure dreary and forlorn, burdening the +gazer's soul with its flat and unrelieved heaviness. One would have said +at such times that it was a veritable Land of Hopelessness. Then the +clouds would part, mass themselves, perhaps, into strange islands and +continents, and towering piles, and the sun would go down in wild +splendours of flame as of a burning world, and the level meadows would +become a marvellous plain, across which one might journey into the heart +of unspeakable things. Then would follow the pensive sadness of the +dusk, and the silvery enchantment of moonlight. And after all these +changes there would probably<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_60" id="page_60">[60]</a></span> come a grey and commonplace morning, in +which it would appear as so many acres of very tolerable grazing land, +in no wise remarkable or interesting.</p> + +<p>Barbara did not trouble herself much about the prospect. She was anxious +to make sure that soap and towels had been put ready for Mr. Harding, +and candles in the brass candlesticks on the chimney-piece, and ink and +pens on the little old-fashioned writing-table. With a dainty instinct +of grace she arranged the heavy hangings of the bed, and, seeing that a +clumsy maid had left the pillow awry, she straightened and smoothed it +with soft touches of a slender brown hand, as if she could +sympathetically divine the sullen weariness of the head that should lie +there. Then, fixing an absent gaze upon the carpet, she debated a +perplexing question in her mind.</p> + +<p>Should she, or should she not, put<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_61" id="page_61">[61]</a></span> some flowers in Mr. Harding's room? +She wanted to make him feel that he was welcome to Mitchelhurst Place, +and, to her shyness, it seemed easier to express that welcome in any +silent way than to put it into words. And why not? She might have done +it without thinking twice about it, but her uncle's little jests, and +her own loneliness, while they left her fearless in questions of right +and wrong, had made her uneasy about etiquette. As she leaned against +one of the carved pillars of the great bed, musing, with lips compressed +and anxious brow, she almost resolved that Mr. Reynold Harding should +have nothing beyond what was a matter of housewifely duty. Why should +she risk a blush or a doubt for him? But even with the half-formed +resolution came the remembrance of his unlucky humiliation in her +service, and Barbara started from her idle attitude, and went away, +singing softly to herself.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_62" id="page_62">[62]</a></span></p> + +<p>When she came back she had a little bowl of blue and white china in her +hands, which she set on the writing-table near the window. It was filled +with the best she could find in her basket—a pale late rosebud, with +autumnal foliage red as rust (and the bud itself had lingered so long, +hoping for sunshine and warmth, that it would evidently die with its +secret of sweetness folded dead in its heart), a few heads of +mignonette, green and run to leaf, and rather reminding of fragrance +than actually breathing it; a handful of melancholy Michaelmas daisies, +and two or three white asters. The girl, with warm young life in her +veins, and a glow of ripe colour on her cheek stooped in smiling pity +and touched that central rosebud with her lips. No doubt remained, if +there had been any doubt till then—it was already withered at the core, +or it must have opened wide to answer that caress.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_63" id="page_63">[63]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Don't tell me!" said Barbara to herself with a little nod. "If such a +drearily doleful bouquet isn't strictly proper, it ought to be!"</p> + +<p>It was late in the afternoon before the visitor came. There was mist +like a thin shroud over the face of the earth, and little sparks of +light were gleaming in the cottage windows. Reynold Harding held the +reins listlessly when the driver got down to open the great wrought-iron +gate, and then resigned his charge as absently as he had accepted it. He +stared straight before him while the dog-cart rattled up the avenue, and +suffered himself to sway idly as they bumped over mossy stones in the +drive. The trees, leaning overhead, dropped a dead leaf or two on his +passive hands, as if that were his share of the family property held in +trust for him till that moment.</p> + +<p>There was something coldly repellent in the stony house front, where was +no sign<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_64" id="page_64">[64]</a></span> of greeting or even of life. The driver alighted again, pulled +a great bell which made a distant clangour, and then busied himself at +the back of the cart with Harding's portmanteau, while the horse stood +stretching its neck, and breathing audibly in the chilly stillness. +There was a brief pause, during which Harding, who had not uttered a +word since he started, confronted the old house with a face as neutral +as its own.</p> + +<p>Then the door flew open, a maid appeared, the luggage was carried into +the hall, and Mr. Hayes came hurrying out to meet his guest. "Welcome to +Mitchelhurst Place!" he exclaimed. That "Welcome to Mitchelhurst Place!" +had been in his thoughts for a couple of hours at least, and now that it +was uttered it seemed very quickly over. Harding, who was paying the +driver out of a handful of change, dropped a couple of coins, made a +hurried attempt to regain<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_65" id="page_65">[65]</a></span> them, and finally shook hands confusedly with +Mr. Hayes, while the man and the maid pursued the rolling shillings +round their feet. "Thank you—you are very kind," he said, and then saw +Barbara in the background. She had paused on the threshold of a firelit +room, and behind her the warm radiance was glancing on a bit of +white-panelled wall. Reynold hastily got rid of his financial +difficulties and went forward.</p> + +<p>"Oh, what a cold drive you must have had!" she cried, when their hands +met. "You are like ice! Do come to the fire."</p> + +<p>"We thought you would have been here sooner," said Mr. Hayes. "The days +draw in now, and it gets to be very cold and damp sometimes when the sun +goes down."</p> + +<p>Harding murmured something about not having been able to get away +earlier.</p> + +<p>"This isn't the regular drawing-room, you know," his host explained. "I +like<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_66" id="page_66">[66]</a></span> space, but there is a little too much of it in that great +room—you must have a look at it to-morrow. I don't care to sit by my +fireside and see Barbara at her piano across an acre or two of carpet. +To my mind this is big enough for two or three people."</p> + +<p>"Quite," said Reynold.</p> + +<p>"The yellow drawing-room they called this," the other continued.</p> + +<p>The young man glanced round. The room was lofty and large enough for +more than the two or three people of whom Mr. Hayes had spoken. But for +the ruddy firelight it might have looked cold, with its cream-white +walls, its rather scanty furniture, and the yellow of its curtains and +chairs faded to a dim tawny hue. But the liberal warmth and light of the +blazing pile on the hearth irradiated it to the furthest corner, and +filled it with wavering brightness.</p> + +<p>"It's all exactly as it was in your uncle's<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_67" id="page_67">[67]</a></span> time," said Mr. Hayes. +"When he could not go on any longer, Croft took the whole thing just as +it stood, with all the old furniture. But for that I would not have come +here."</p> + +<p>"All the charm would have been lost, wouldn't it?" said Barbara.</p> + +<p>"The charm—yes. Besides, one had need be a millionnaire to do anything +with such a great empty shell. I suspect a millionnaire would find +plenty to do here as it is."</p> + +<p>"I suppose it had been neglected for a long while?" Reynold questioned +with his hard utterance.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hayes nodded, arching his brows.</p> + +<p>"Thirty or forty years. Everything allowed to go to rack and ruin. By +Jove, sir, your people must have built well, and furnished well, for +things to look as they do. Well, they shall stay as they are while I am +here; I'll keep the wind and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_68" id="page_68">[68]</a></span> rain out of the old house, but I can +do no more, and I wouldn't if I could. And when I'm gone, Croft, or +whoever is master then, must see to it."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the young man, still looking round. "I'm glad you've left it +as it used to be."</p> + +<p>"Just as your mother would remember it. Except, of course, one must make +oneself comfortable," Mr. Hayes explained apologetically. "Just a chair +for me, and a piano for Barbara, you see!"</p> + +<p>Reynold saw. There was a large eastern rug spread near the fire-place, +and on it stood an easy-chair, and a little table laden with books. A +shaded lamp cast its radiance on a freshly-cut page. By the fire was a +low seat, which was evidently Barbara's.</p> + +<p>"That's the way to enjoy old furniture," said Mr. Hayes. "Sit on a +modern chair and look at it—eh? There's an old piano<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_69" id="page_69">[69]</a></span> in that further +corner; that's very good to look at too."</p> + +<p>"But not to hear?" said Harding.</p> + +<p>"You may try it."</p> + +<p>"That's more than I may do," said Barbara, demurely.</p> + +<p>"You tried it too much—you tried me too much," Mr. Hayes made answer. +"You did not begin in a fair spirit of investigation. You were +determined to find music in it."</p> + +<p>The girl laughed and looked down.</p> + +<p>"And I did," she murmured to herself.</p> + +<p>"Ah, you are looking at the portraits," Mr. Hayes went on. "There are +better ones than the two or three we have here. I believe your Uncle +John took away a few when he left. Your grandmother used to hang over +there by the fire-place. The one on the other side is good, I +think—Anthony Rothwell. You must come a little more this way to look at +it."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_70" id="page_70">[70]</a></span></p> + +<p>Harding followed obediently, and made various attempts to find the right +position, but the picture was not placed so as to receive the full +firelight, and being above the lamp it remained in shadow.</p> + +<p>"Stay," said the old gentleman, "I'll light this candle."</p> + +<p>He struck a match as he spoke, and the sudden illumination revealed a +scornful face, and almost seemed to give it a momentary expression, as +if Anthony, of Mitchelhurst Place, recognised Reynold of nowhere.</p> + +<p>The younger man eyed the portrait coldly and deliberately.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, "Mr. Anthony Rothwell, my grandfather, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Great-grandfather," Mr. Hayes corrected.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you are well acquainted with the family history. Well, then, I +should say that my great-grandfather was remarkably handsome, but——"</p> + +<p>"If it comes to that you are uncommonly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_71" id="page_71">[71]</a></span> like him," said his host, with +a little chuckle, as he looked from the painted face to the living one, +and back again.</p> + +<p>Reynold started and drew back.</p> + +<p>"Oh, thank you!" he said, with a short laugh. If he had been permitted +to continue his first remark, he would have said, "but as +unpleasant-tempered a gentleman as you could find in a day's journey."</p> + +<p>The words had been so literally on his lips that he could hardly realise +that they had not been uttered when Mr. Hayes spoke.</p> + +<p>For the moment the likeness had been complete. Then he saw how it was, +laughed, and said—</p> + +<p>"Oh, thank you."</p> + +<p>But he flashed an uneasy glance at Barbara, who was lingering near. Was +he really like that pale, bitter-lipped portrait? He fancied that her +face would tell him, but she was looking fixedly at Anthony Rothwell.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_72" id="page_72">[72]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Mind you are not late for dinner, Barbara," said her uncle quickly.</p> + +<p>She woke to radiant animation.</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> won't be," she said. "But if you are going to introduce Mr. Harding +to all the pictures first——"</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to do anything of the kind."</p> + +<p>"That's right. Mr. Harding's ancestors won't spoil if they are kept +waiting a little, but I can't answer for the fish."</p> + +<p>"Pray don't let any dead and gone Rothwells interfere with your dinner," +said Reynold. "If one's ancestors can't wait one's convenience, I don't +know who can."</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_73" id="page_73">[73]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="chapter_iv" id="chapter_iv">CHAPTER IV.</a><br /><small>DINNER AND A LITTLE MUSIC.</small></h2> + + +<p>Barbara was the first to reappear in the yellow drawing-room. She had +gone away, laughing carelessly; she came back shyly, with flushed cheeks +and downcast eyes. She had put on a dress which was reserved for +important occasions, and she was conscious of her splendour. She felt +the strings of amber beads that were wound loosely round her throat, and +that rose and fell with her quickened breathing. Nay, she was conscious +to the utmost end of the folds of black drapery, that followed her with +a soft sound, as of a summer sea, when she crossed the pavement of the +hall. For<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_74" id="page_74">[74]</a></span> Barbara's dress was black, and its special adornment was some +handsome black lace that her grandmother had given her. Something of +lighter hue and texture might have better suited her age, but there was +no questioning the fact that the dignified richness of her gown was +admirably becoming to the girl. One hardly knew whether to call her +childish or stately, and the perplexity was delightful.</p> + +<p>Her heart was beating fast, half in apprehension and half in defiance. +Over and over again while she waited she said to herself that she had +<i>not</i> put on her best dress for Mr. Harding's sake, she had <i>not</i>. She +did not care what he thought of her. He might come and go, just as other +people might come and go. It did not matter to her. But his coming +seemed somehow to have brought all the Rothwells back to life, and to +have revealed the desolate pride of the old house. When she looked from<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_75" id="page_75">[75]</a></span> +Reynold's face to Anthony's, she suddenly felt that she must put on her +best dress for their company. It was no matter of personal feeling, it +was an instinctive and imperative sense of what the circumstances +demanded. She had never been to such a dinner party in all her life.</p> + +<p>The feeling did her credit, but it was difficult to express. Feelings +are often difficult to express, and a woman has an especial difficulty +in conveying the finer shades of meaning. There is an easy masculine way +of accounting for her every action by supposing it aimed at men in +general, or some man in particular; and thus all manner of delicate +fancies and distinctions, shaped clearly in a woman's mind, may pass +through the distorting medium to reach a man's apprehension as sheer +coquetry. The knowledge of this possibility is apt to give even +innocence an air of hesitating consciousness. Barbara was by no means +certain that her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_76" id="page_76">[76]</a></span> uncle would understand this honour paid, not to any +living young man, but to the traditions of Mitchelhurst Place, and her +blushes betrayed her shame at his probable misreading of her meaning. +And what would Mr. Harding himself think?</p> + +<p>He came in with his languid, hesitating walk, looking very tall and +slender in his evening dress. He had telegraphed home for that dress +suit the day before. The fact that he was travelling for a week or two, +with no expectation of dining anywhere but in country inns, might +naturally have excused its absence, but the explanation would have been +an apology, and Harding could not apologise. He would have found it +easier to spend his last shilling. Perhaps, too, he had shared Barbara's +feeling as to the fitness of a touch of ceremony at Mitchelhurst.</p> + +<p>At any rate he shared her shyness. He crossed the room with evident +constraint,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_77" id="page_77">[77]</a></span> and halted near the fire without a word. Barbara's shyness +was palpitating and aflame; his was leaden and chill. She did not know +what to make of his silence; she waited, and still he did not speak; she +looked up and felt sure that his downcast eyes had been obliquely fixed +on her.</p> + +<p>"Uncle is last, you see," she said. "I knew he would be."</p> + +<p>"I was afraid I might be," he replied. "A clock struck before I expected +it. I suppose my watch loses, but I hadn't found it out."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I ought to have told you," she exclaimed penitently. "That is the +great clock in the hall, and it is always kept ten minutes fast. Uncle +likes it for a warning. So when it strikes, he says, 'That's the hall +clock; then there's plenty of time, plenty of time, I'll just finish +this.' And he goes on quite happily."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_78" id="page_78">[78]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I fancied somehow that Mr. Hayes was a very punctual man."</p> + +<p>"Because he talks so much about it. I think he reminds other people for +fear they should remind him. When I first came he was always saying, +'Don't be late,' till I was quite frightened lest I should be. I +couldn't believe it when he said, 'Don't be late,' and then wasn't +ready."</p> + +<p>"You are not so particular now?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, I am," she answered very seriously. "It doesn't do to be late +if you are the housekeeper, you know."</p> + +<p>A faint gleam lighted Harding's face.</p> + +<p>"Of course not; but I never was," he replied, in a respectful tone. "How +long is it since you came here?"</p> + +<p>"I came with my mother to see uncle a great many years ago, but I only +came to live here last October. Uncle wanted somebody. He said it was +dull."</p> + +<p>"I should think it was. Isn't it dull for you?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_79" id="page_79">[79]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Sometimes," said Barbara. "It isn't at all like home. That's a little +house with a great many people in it—father and mother, and all my +brothers and sisters, and father's pupils. And this is a big house with +nobody in it."</p> + +<p>"Till you came," said Reynold, hesitating over the little bow or glance +which should have pointed his words.</p> + +<p>"Well, there's uncle," said Barbara with a smile, "he must count for +somebody. But <i>I</i> feel exactly like nobody when I am going in and out of +all those empty rooms. You must see them to-morrow."</p> + +<p>The clock on the chimney-piece struck, and she turned her head to look +at it. "<i>That's</i> five minutes slow," she said.</p> + +<p>"And the other was more than ten minutes fast."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it gains. Do you know," said Barbara, "I always feel as if the +great clock were <i>the</i> time, so when it fairly runs away<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_80" id="page_80">[80]</a></span> into the +future and I have to stop it, to let the world come up with it again, it +seems to me almost as if I stopped my own life too."</p> + +<p>"Some people would be uncommonly glad to do that," said Harding; "or +even to make time go backward for a while."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't mind for a quarter of an hour. But I don't want it to go +back, really. Not back to pinafores and the schoolroom," said Barbara +with a laugh, which in some curious fashion turned to a deepening flush. +The swift, impulsive blood was always coming and going at a thought, a +fancy, a mere nothing.</p> + +<p>Harding smiled in his grim way. "I suppose it's just as well <i>not</i> to +want time to run back," he said at last.</p> + +<p>"Uncle might find himself punctual for once if it did. Oh, here he +comes!" The door opened as she spoke, and Mr. Hayes appeared on the +threshold with an inquiring face.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_81" id="page_81">[81]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ah! you are down, Barbara! That's right. Dinner's ready, they tell me."</p> + +<p>Reynold looked at Barbara, hesitated, and then offered his arm. Mr. +Hayes stood back and eyed them as they passed—the tall young man, pale, +dark-browed, scowling a little, and the girl at his side radiantly +conscious of her dignity. Even when they had gone by he was obliged to +wait a moment. The sweeping folds of Barbara's dress demanded space and +respect. His glance ran up them to her shoulders, to the amber beads +about her neck, to the loose coils of her dusky hair, and he followed +meekly with a whimsical smile.</p> + +<p>They dined in the great dining-room, where a score of guests would have +seemed few. But they had a little table, with four candles on it, set +near a clear fire, and shut in by an overshadowing screen. "We are +driven out of this in the depth of winter," said Mr. Hayes. "It is too +cold—nothing<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_82" id="page_82">[82]</a></span> seems to warm it, and it is such a terrible journey from +the drawing-room fire. But till the bitter weather comes I like it, and +I always come back as soon as the spring begins. We were here by March, +weren't we, Barbara?"</p> + +<p>The girl smiled assent, and Harding had a passing fancy of the windy +skies of March glancing through the tall windows, the upper part of +which he saw from his place. But his eyes came back to Barbara, who was +watching the progress of their meal with an evident sense of +responsibility. The crowning grace of an accomplished housekeeper is to +hide all need of management, but this was the pretty anxiety of a +beginner. "Mary, the currant jelly," said Miss Strange in an intense +undertone, and glanced eloquently at Reynold's plate. She was so +absorbed that she started when her uncle spoke.</p> + +<p>"Why do you wear those white things—asters,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_83" id="page_83">[83]</a></span> are they not? They don't +go well with your dress."</p> + +<p>Barbara looked down at the two colourless blossoms which she had +fastened among the folds of her black lace. "No, I know they don't, but +I couldn't find anything better in the garden to-day."</p> + +<p>"It wouldn't have mattered what it was," Mr. Hayes persisted, with his +head critically on one side. "Anything red or yellow—just a bit of +colour, you know."</p> + +<p>"But that was exactly what I couldn't find. All the red and yellow +things in the garden are dead."</p> + +<p>"Why not some of those scarlet hips you were gathering yesterday?" said +Reynold.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Those!" exclaimed Barbara, looking hurriedly away from the scratch +on the cheek nearest her, and then discovering that she had fixed her +eyes on his wounded hand. "Do you think they would have done? Well, yes, +I dare say they might."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_84" id="page_84">[84]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I should think they would have done beautifully, but you know best. +Perhaps you did not care for them? You threw them away?" He was smiling +with a touch of malice, as if he had actually seen Barbara in her room, +gazing regretfully at a little brown pitcher which was full of autumn +leaves and clusters of red rose-fruit.</p> + +<p>"Of course they would have done," said Mr. Hayes.</p> + +<p>"Yes, perhaps they might. I must bear them in mind another time. Uncle, +Mr. Harding's plate is empty." And Barbara went on with her dinner, +feeling angry and aggrieved. "He might have let me think I had spared +his feelings by giving them up," she said to herself. "It would have +been kinder. And I should like to know what I was to do. If I had worn +them he would have looked at me to remind me. I can't think what made +uncle talk about the stupid things."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_85" id="page_85">[85]</a></span></p> + +<p>During the rest of the meal conversation was somewhat fitful. The three, +in their sheltered, firelit nook, sat through pauses, in which it almost +seemed as if it would be only necessary to rise softly and glance round +the end of the screen to surprise some ghostly company gathered silently +at the long table. The wind made a cheerless noise outside, seeking +admission to the great hollow house, and died away in the hopelessness +of vain endeavour. At last Miss Strange prepared to leave the gentlemen +to their wine, but she lingered for a moment, darkly glowing against the +background of sombre brown and tarnished gold, to bid her uncle remember +that coffee would be ready in the drawing-room when they liked to come +for it.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hayes pushed the decanter to his guest. "Where is John Rothwell +now?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Harding, listlessly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_86" id="page_86">[86]</a></span> He was peeling a rough-coated +pear, and he watched the long, unbroken strip gliding downward in +lengthening curves. "Somewhere on the Continent—in one of those places +where people go to live shabbily."</p> + +<p>Mr. Hayes filled the pause with an inquiring "Yes?" and his bright eyes +dilated.</p> + +<p>"Yes," the other repeated. "Didn't you say he took some pictures away +with him? They must be all gone long ago—pawned or sold. How would you +raise money on family portraits? It would look rather queer going to the +pawnbroker's with an ancestor under your arm."</p> + +<p>"But there was his mother's portrait. He would not——"</p> + +<p>"Hm!" said Harding, cutting up his pear. "Well, perhaps not. Perhaps he +had to leave in a hurry some time or other. A miniature would have been +more convenient."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_87" id="page_87">[87]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But this is very sad," said Mr. Hayes. He spoke in an abstract and +impersonal manner.</p> + +<p>Harding assented, also in a general way.</p> + +<p>"Very sad," the other repeated. Then, quickening to special +recollection—"And your uncle was always such a proud man. I never knew +a prouder man than John Rothwell five-and-twenty years ago. And to think +that he should come to this!"</p> + +<p>He leaned back in his chair and slowly sipped his wine, while he tried +to reconcile old memories with this new description. The wine was very +good, and Mr. Hayes seemed to enjoy it. Reynold Harding rested his elbow +on the table, and looked at the fire with a moody frown.</p> + +<p>"Some pride can't be carried about, I suppose," he said at last. "It's +as bad as a whole gallery of family portraits—worse, for you cannot +raise money on it."</p> + +<p>Mr. Hayes nodded. "I see. Rooted in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_88" id="page_88">[88]</a></span> the Mitchelhurst soil, you think? +Very possibly." He looked round, as far as the screens permitted. "And +so, when this went, all went. But how very sad!"</p> + +<p>The young man did not take the trouble to express his agreement a second +time.</p> + +<p>"And your other uncle," said Mr. Hayes briskly, after a pause. "How is +he?"</p> + +<p>"My other uncle?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, your uncle on your father's side—Mr. Harding."</p> + +<p>"Oh, he is very well—getting to be an old man now."</p> + +<p>"But as prosperous as ever?"</p> + +<p>"More so," said Harding in his rough voice. "His money gathers and grows +like a snowball. But he is beginning to think about enjoying it—he is +evidently growing old. He says it is time for him to have a holiday. He +never took one for some wonderful time—eighteen years I think it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_89" id="page_89">[89]</a></span> was; +but he has not worked quite so hard of late."</p> + +<p>"Well, he deserves a little pleasure now."</p> + +<p>"I don't know about that. If a man makes himself a slave to +money-getting I don't see that he deserves any pleasure. He deserves his +money."</p> + +<p>The old gentleman laughed. "Let the poor fellow amuse himself a +little—if he can. The question is whether he can, after a life of hard +work. What is his idea of pleasure?"</p> + +<p>"Yachting. He discovered quite lately that he wasn't sea-sick; he hadn't +leisure to find it out before. So he took to yachting. He can enjoy his +dinner as well on board a boat as anywhere else, he can talk about his +yacht, and he can spend any amount of money."</p> + +<p>"You haven't any sympathy with his hobby?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_90" id="page_90">[90]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I? I've no money to spend, and I <i>am</i> sea-sick."</p> + +<p>"You are? I remember now," said Mr. Hayes, thoughtfully, "that your +grandfather and John Rothwell had a great dislike to the water."</p> + +<p>"Ah? It's a family peculiarity? A proud distinction?" Harding laughed +quietly, looking away. He was accustomed to laugh at himself and by +himself. "It's something to be able to invoke the Rothwell ancestry to +give dignity to one's qualms," he said.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hayes smiled a little unwillingly. He did not really require respect +for the Rothwell sea-sickness, but it hardly pleased him that the young +fellow should scoff at his ancestry, just when it had gained him +admission to Mitchelhurst Place. "Bad taste," he said to himself, and he +returned abruptly to the money-making uncle. "I suppose Mr. Harding has +a son to come after him?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_91" id="page_91">[91]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, there's one son," Reynold replied, with a contemptuous intonation.</p> + +<p>"And does he take to the business?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know much about that. I fancy he wants to begin at the yachting +end, anyhow."</p> + +<p>"Only one son." Mr. Hayes glanced at young Harding as if a question were +on his lips; but the other's face did not invite it, and the subject +dropped. There was a pause, and then the elder man began to talk of some +Roman remains which had been discovered five miles from Mitchelhurst. +Reynold crossed his long legs, balanced himself idly, and listened with +dreary acquiescence.</p> + +<p>It was some time before the Roman remains were disposed of and they +rejoined Barbara. They startled her out of her uncle's big easy-chair, +where she was half-lying, half-sitting, with all her black draperies +about her, too much absorbed in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_92" id="page_92">[92]</a></span> a novel to hear their approach. +Harding, on the threshold, caught a glimpse of the nestling attitude, +the parted lips, the hand that propped her head, before Miss Strange was +on her feet and ready for her company.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hayes, stirring his coffee, demanded music. He liked it a little for +its own sake, but more just then because it would take his companion off +his hands. He was tired of entertaining this silent young man, who +stood, cup in hand, on the rug, frowning at the portraits of his +forefathers, and he sent Barbara to the piano with the certainty that +Harding would follow her. As soon as he saw them safely at the other end +of the room he dropped with a sigh of relief into the chair which she +had quitted, and took up his book.</p> + +<p>The girl, meanwhile, turned over her music and questioned Reynold. He +did not sing?—did not play? No; and he understood very little, but he +liked to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_93" id="page_93">[93]</a></span> listen. He turned the pages for her, once or twice too fast, +generally much too slowly, never at the right moment. Then Barbara began +to play something which she knew by heart, and he stood a little aside, +with his moody face softening, and his downward-glancing eyes following +her fingers over the keys, as if she were weaving the strands of some +delicate tissue. When she stopped, rested one hand on the music-stool on +which she sat, and turned from the piano to hear what her uncle wished +for next, he saw, as she leaned backward, the pure curve of her averted +cheek, and the black lace and amber beads about her softly-rounded +throat.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know that by heart, too!" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>He took up a sheet of music from the piano, and gazed vaguely at it +while she struck the first notes. He read the title without heeding it, +and then saw pencilled<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_94" id="page_94">[94]</a></span> above it in a bold, but somewhat studied, hand,</p> + +<p class="center"> +"<span class="smcap">Adrian Scarlett</span>."<br /> +</p> + +<p>For a moment the name held his glance; and when he laid the paper down +he looked furtively over his shoulder. He knew that it was an absurd +fancy, but he felt as if some one had come into the room and was +standing behind Barbara.</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_95" id="page_95">[95]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="chapter_v" id="chapter_v">CHAPTER V.</a><br /><small>AN OLD LOVE STORY.</small></h2> + + +<p>The next morning saw the three at breakfast in a little room adjoining +the drawing-room. The sky was overcast, and before the meal was over +Barbara turned her head quickly as the rain lashed the window in sudden +fury. She arched her brows, and looked at Mr. Harding with anxious +commiseration.</p> + +<p>"It's going to be a wet day," she said.</p> + +<p>He raised his eyes to the blurred prospect.</p> + +<p>"It looks like it, certainly."</p> + +<p>Her expression was comically aghast.</p> + +<p>"I never thought of its being wet!"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_96" id="page_96">[96]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yet such a thing does happen occasionally."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but it needn't have happened to-day. I thought you would want to +go out. What <i>will</i> you do?"</p> + +<p>"Stay indoors, if you have no objection."</p> + +<p>"But there is nothing to amuse you. You will be so dull."</p> + +<p>"Less so than usual, I imagine," said Reynold. "Do you find it so +difficult to amuse yourself on a wet day?"</p> + +<p>"No, but I have a great deal to do. Besides, it is different. Don't men +always want to be amused more than women?"</p> + +<p>"Poor men!" said he.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hayes read his letters and seemed to take no heed of his niece's +trouble. But it appeared, when breakfast was finished, that he had +arranged how the morning should be spent. He announced his intention of +taking young Harding over the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_97" id="page_97">[97]</a></span> Place, and he carried it out with a +thoroughness which would have done honour to a professional guide, +showing all the pictures, mentioning the size of the rooms, and relating +the few family traditions—none of which, by the way, reflected any +especial credit on the Rothwells. He stopped with bright-eyed +appreciation before a cracked and discoloured map, where the +Mitchelhurst estate was shown in its widest extent. Reynold looked +silently at it, and then stalked after his host through all the chilly +faded splendour of the house, shivering sometimes, sneering sometimes, +but taking it all in with eager eyes, and glancing over the little man's +white head at the sombre shelves of the library or the portraits on the +walls. Mr. Hayes was fluent, precise, and cold. Only once did he +hesitate. They had come to a small sitting-room on the ground floor, +which, in spite of long disuse, still somehow<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_98" id="page_98">[98]</a></span> conveyed the impression +that it had belonged to a young man.</p> + +<p>"This was John Rothwell's favourite room," he said. He looked round. "I +remember, yes, I remember, as if it were yesterday, how he used——"</p> + +<p>Harding waited, but he stood staring at the rusty grate, and left the +sentence unfinished.</p> + +<p>"And to think that now he should be living from hand to mouth on the +Continent!" he said at last, and compressed his lips significantly.</p> + +<p>He took the young man to the servants' hall, across which the giggling +voices of two or three maids echoed shrilly, till they were suddenly +silenced by the master's approach. Reynold followed him down long stone +passages, and thought, as he went, how icy and desolate they must be on +a black winter night. He was oppressed by the size and dreariness of the +place,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_99" id="page_99">[99]</a></span> and bewildered by the multiplicity of turnings.</p> + +<p>"I think," said Mr. Hayes suddenly, "that I have shown you all there is +to see indoors."</p> + +<p>And, as Reynold replied that he was much obliged, he pushed a door, and +motioned to his guest to precede him. Reynold stepped forward, and +discovered that he was in the entrance hall, facing Barbara, who had +just come down the broad white stairs, and still had her hand upon the +balustrade. It seemed to him as if he had come through the windings of +that stony labyrinth, the hollow rooms and pale corridors, to find a +richly-coloured blossom at the heart of all.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Barbara, I'll leave Mr. Harding to you now," said the old +gentleman. "I'm going to my study—I must write some letters."</p> + +<p>He crossed the black and white pavement<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100">[100]</a></span> with brisk, short steps, and +vanished through a doorway.</p> + +<p>"Has uncle shown you everything?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I should think so."</p> + +<p>"It's a fine place, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Very fine, and very big," said Harding slowly. "Very empty, and +ghostly, and dead."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you don't like it! I thought it would be different to you. I +thought it would seem like home, since it belonged to your own people."</p> + +<p>"Home, sweet home!" he answered with a queer smile. "Well, it is a fine +place, as you say. And what have you been doing all the morning?"</p> + +<p>"Housekeeping," said Barbara. "And now"—she set down a small basket of +keys on the hall table, as if she were preparing for action—"now I am +going to set the clock right."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101">[101]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'll stay for that if you'll allow me," said Reynold. "I remember what +you told me last night. It is <i>the</i> time, and the world stands still +when it stops."</p> + +<p>"For me, not for you," the girl replied. "You have your watch—you don't +believe in the big clock."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do. Here, in Mitchelhurst, what does one want with any but +Mitchelhurst time? What have I to do with Greenwich? But as for +Mitchelhurst, your uncle has talked to me till I feel as if I were all +the Rothwells who ever lived here. Why, what's this? Sunshine!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Barbara. "It's going to clear up."</p> + +<p>It could hardly be called actual sunlight, but there certainly was a +touch of pale autumn gold growing brighter about them as they stood.</p> + +<p>Harding was listening to the monotonous tick—tick—tick—tick.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102">[102]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I remember a man in some book," he said, "who didn't like to hear a +clock going—always counting out time in small change."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but that's a worrying idea! I should hate to think of my life doled +out to me like that!"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid you must," he answered, with his little rough-edged laugh. +"It would be very delightful to take one's life in a lump, but how are +you going to have more than a moment in a moment? There are plenty of us +always trying to do it. If you could find out the way——"</p> + +<p>"How, trying?" said Barbara.</p> + +<p>"Trying to keep the past and grasp the future," Harding replied. +"Working and waiting for some moment which is to hold at least half a +lifetime—when it comes! Oh, I quite agree with you; I should like a +feast, and I am fed by spoonfuls!"</p> + +<p>She looked up at him a little doubtfully,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103">[103]</a></span> and the clock went on +ticking. "I always thought it was like a heart beating," she said, +swerving from the idea he had presented as if it were distasteful. +"Now!"</p> + +<p>There was silence in the empty hall, as if, in very truth, she had laid +her brown young hand upon Time's flying pulse, and stilled it.</p> + +<p>"Talk of killing time!" said Harding.</p> + +<p>"No," Barbara answered, without turning her head. "Time's asleep—that's +all—asleep and dreaming. He'll soon wake up again."</p> + +<p>She had so played with the idle fancy that, quite unconsciously, she +spoke in a hushed voice, which deepened the impression of stillness. +Harding said no more, he simply watched her. His imagination had been +quickened by the sight of the Place; its traditional memories, its +pride, and its decay had touched him more deeply than he knew. Life, +with its<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104">[104]</a></span> hardness and its haste, its obscure and ugly miseries and +needs, had relaxed its grasp, and left him to himself for a little space +in the midst of that curious loneliness. He felt as if the wide, living, +wind-swept world beyond its walls were something altogether alien and +apart. Everything about him was pale and dim; the very sunlight was +faded, as if it were the faint reflection of a glory that was gone; +everything rested as if in the peace of something that was neither life +nor death. Everything was faded and dim, except the girl who stood, +softly breathing, a couple of steps away, and even she seemed to be held +by the enchantment of the place, and to wait in passive acquiescence. +Reynold's grey eyes dilated and deepened.</p> + +<p>But as she stood there, unconscious of his gaze, Barbara smiled. It was +just the slightest possible smile, as if she answered some smiling +memory; a curve of the lip,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105">[105]</a></span> hardly more than hinted, which might +betoken nothing deeper than the recollection of some melodious scrap of +rhyme or music. Yet Reynold drew back as if it stung him. "That's not +for me!" he said to himself.</p> + +<p>The movement startled Barbara from her reverie. "Oh, how like you are to +that picture in the drawing-room!" she exclaimed, impulsively.</p> + +<p>He knew what she meant, and the innocent utterance was a second sting. +But he laughed. "What, the good-looking one?"</p> + +<p>It seemed to her that she could have found a light answer but for his +eyes upon her. As it was, he had the gratification of seeing her colour +and hesitate. "I—I wasn't thinking—I didn't mean—" she stammered, +shyly. "Oh, of course!" And then, angry with herself for her +unreadiness, she stepped forward, and, with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106">[106]</a></span> gesture of impatience, +set the pendulum swinging.</p> + +<p>"Time is to go on again?" said he.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Barbara replied, decidedly. "It would be tiresome if it stood +still long. It had better go on. Besides, I'm cold," and she turned away +with a pretty little shiver. "I want to go to the fire; I can't stay to +attend to it any longer."</p> + +<p>Harding lingered, and after an instant of irresolution she left him to a +world which had resumed its ordinary course.</p> + +<p>At luncheon there was the inevitable mention of the weather, and Mr. +Hayes, with his eyes fixed upon his plate, said, "Yes, it has cleared up +nicely. I suppose you are going into the village?"</p> + +<p>The young people hesitated, not knowing to whom the question was +addressed. Miss Strange waited for Mr. Harding, and Mr. Harding for Miss +Strange. Then they said "Yes" at the same moment,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107">[107]</a></span> and felt themselves +pledged to go together.</p> + +<p>"I thought so," said Mr. Hayes, and began to remind his niece of this +thing and that which she was to be sure and show their visitor. "And the +sooner you go the better," he added when the meal was over. "The days +grow short."</p> + +<p>Barbara looked questioningly at Mr. Harding. "If you like to go——"</p> + +<p>"I shall be delighted, if you will allow me," said the young man, and a +few minutes later they went together down the avenue.</p> + +<p>"The days grow short," Mr. Hayes had said, and everything about them +seemed set to that sad autumnal burden. The boughs above their heads, +the ground under foot, were heavy with moisture, the bracken was +withered and brown, there were no more butterflies, but at every breath +the yellowing leaves took their uncertain flight to the wet<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108">[108]</a></span> earth. The +young people, each with a neatly furled umbrella, walked with something +of ceremonious self-consciousness, making little remarks about the +scenery, and Mr. Hayes, from his window, followed them with his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Rothwell, every inch of him," he said to himself, as Reynold turned and +looked backward at the Place. "I never knew one of the lot yet who +didn't think that particular family had a right to despise all the rest +of the world. The only difference I can see is that this fellow despises +the family too. Well, <i>let</i> him! Why not? But, good Lord! what an end of +all his mother's hopes!" And Mr. Hayes went back to his fireside—<i>his</i>, +while John Rothwell was dodging his creditors on the Continent! There +was unutterable dreariness in the thought of such a destiny, but the +little old man regretted it with a complacent rubbing of his hands and a +remembrance of Rothwell's<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109">[109]</a></span> arrogance. There is a belief, engendered by +the moral stories of our childhood, that it is good for a man that his +unreasonable pride should be broken—a belief which takes no heed of the +chance that its downfall may hurl the whole fabric of life and conduct +into the foulness of the gutter. Mr. Hayes naturally took the moral +story view of a pride by which he had once been personally wounded; yet +he wore a deprecating air, as if Fate, in too amply avenging him, had +paid a compliment to his importance which was almost overpowering.</p> + +<p>It was more than a quarter of a century since Rothwell and he had been +antagonists, though they had not avowed the fact in so many words, and +Rothwell, with no honour or profit to himself, had baffled him. Herbert +Hayes was then over forty and unmarried. The Mitchelhurst gossips had +made up their minds that he would live<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110">[110]</a></span> and die a bachelor. But one +November Sunday he came, dapper, bright-eyed, and self-satisfied, to +Mitchelhurst church, gazed with the utmost propriety into his glossy +hat, stood up when the parson's dreary voice broke the silence with +"When the wicked man——" and, looking across at the Rothwells' great +pew, met his fate in a moment.</p> + +<p>The pew held its usual occupants—the old squire, grey, angular, and +scornful; young Rothwell, darker, taller, paler, less politely +contemptuous, and more lowering; Kate, erect and proud, sulkily +conscious of a beauty which the rustic congregation could not +understand. These three Hayes had often seen. But there was a fourth, a +frail, colourless girl, burdened rather than clothed with sombre +draperies of crape, pale to the very lips, and swaying languidly as she +stood, who unconsciously caught his glance and held it. She suffered her +head,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111">[111]</a></span> with the little black bonnet set on the abundance of her pale +hair, to droop over her Prayer-book, and she slid downward when the +exhortation was ended as if she could stand no longer. The time seemed +interminable to him until she rose again.</p> + +<p>His instantaneous certainty that there was no drop of Rothwell blood in +her veins was confirmed by later inquiry. He learnt that she was +distantly related to the squire's wife, and had recently lost her +parents. Though she had not been left absolutely penniless, her little +pittance was not enough to keep her in idleness, and she was staying at +Mitchelhurst while the question of her future was debated. It was +difficult to see what Minnie Newton was to do in a hardworking world. +She could sink into helplessly graceful attitudes, she could watch you +with a softly troubled gaze, anxious to learn what she ought to think or +say; she was delicate, gentle, and very slightly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112">[112]</a></span> educated. She had not +a thought of her own, and she was pure with the kind of purity which +cannot grasp the idea of evil, and fails to recognise it, unless indeed +vice is going in rags and dirt to the police-station, and using shocking +language by the way. Her simplicity was touching. She thought nothing of +herself; she would cling to the first hand that happened to be held out +to her. She might be saved by good luck, but nature had obviously +designed her for a victim.</p> + +<p>Miss Newton was polite to Mr. Hayes as to everybody else, but she was +the last person at Mitchelhurst Place to suspect the little gentleman's +passion. The very servants found it out, and wondered at her innocence. +John Rothwell laughed.</p> + +<p>"What a fool she is!" he said to his sister, as he stood by the window +one day, and saw Hayes coming up the avenue.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113">[113]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's an undoubted fact," said the magnificent Kate.</p> + +<p>"And what a fool he is!" John continued.</p> + +<p>"Well, we won't quarrel about that either," she replied liberally. "They +will be all the better matched."</p> + +<p>"Matched?" said Rothwell. "No."</p> + +<p>She looked up hastily.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" she said. "Not matched? And why not?"</p> + +<p>Instead of answering, he deliberately lighted a cigarette and smoked, +gazing darkly at her.</p> + +<p>Kate shrugged her shoulders.</p> + +<p>"What difference can it possibly make to you?"</p> + +<p>He took his cigarette from his lips and looked at it.</p> + +<p>"It will make a difference to him," he said at last.</p> + +<p>The bell rang, and the knocker added its emphatic summons. One of +Rothwell's<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114">[114]</a></span> dogs began to bark. Kate had risen, and stood with her eyes +fixed on her brother's face.</p> + +<p>"It would be a very good thing for the girl," she remarked meditatively. +"I don't see what is to become of her, poor thing, unless she marries."</p> + +<p>"Damn him!" said Rothwell.</p> + +<p>The answer was not so irrelevant as it appeared. His gaze was as steady +as Kate's own, and seemed to prolong his words as a singer prolongs a +note. She drew her brows together, as if perplexed.</p> + +<p>"Well," she said, turning away, "I must go and look after our lovers!"</p> + +<p>"And I," he said.</p> + +<p>The dapper, contented little man had done Rothwell no harm, but the +young fellow cherished a black hatred, born of the dulness of his vacant +life. Hayes, without being rich, was very comfortably off, and he was +apt to betray the fact with innocent<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115">[115]</a></span> ostentation. A sovereign was less +to him than a shilling to John Rothwell, and it seemed to the latter +that he could always hear the gold chinking when Hayes talked. One could +do so much with a sovereign, and so little with a shilling. Rothwell was +hungry, with a hunger which only just fell short of being a literal +fact, and he had to stand by, with his hands in his empty pockets, while +Hayes could have good dinners, good wine, good clothes, good horses, +whatever he liked in the way of pleasure—and was "such a contemptible +little cad with it all," the young man snarled. His own poverty would +have been more bearable had it not been for his neighbour's ease and +security. And now, heaven be praised!—heaven?—the prosperous man had +set his heart on this whitefaced, fair-haired, foolish girl who was +under the roof of Mitchelhurst Place, and for once he should be baffled.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116">[116]</a></span></p> + +<p>Rothwell set to work with evil ingenuity—it seemed almost fiendish, +but, really, he had nothing else to do—to ruin Hayes's chance of +success. But for him it must have been almost a certainty. Kate was +inclined to favour the suitor. The old squire disliked him, perhaps with +a little of his son's feeling, but would have been very well satisfied +to see the girl provided for. And Minnie Newton was there for any man, +who had a will of his own, and was not absolutely repulsive, to take if +he pleased. The course of true love seemed about to run with perfect +smoothness till young Rothwell stepped in and troubled it.</p> + +<p>Mockery, not slander, was his weapon. As Miss Newton idled over her +embroidery he would lounge near her and make little jests about Hayes's +age, size, and manners. She listened with a troubled face. Of course Mr. +Rothwell was talking very cleverly, and she tried not to remember that +she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117">[117]</a></span> had found Mr. Hayes very kind and pleasant when he called the day +before. Of course it was absurd that a man of that age should want to be +taken for five-and-twenty—yes, and he had a <i>very</i> ridiculous way of +putting his head on one side like a bird—when Mr. Rothwell had insisted +on having her opinion, she had said, "Yes, it was <i>very</i> +ridiculous"—and a gentleman, a real gentleman, would not talk so much +about his money, and what he could do with it—Mr. Rothwell said so, and +he certainly knew. And as she had agreed to it she supposed it was quite +right that he should repeat this at dinner-time, as if it were her own +remark, though she wished he wouldn't, because his father turned sharply +and looked at her. But, no doubt, Mr. Hayes did look absurdly small by +the side of John Rothwell, and there was something common in his +manners. Many people might think they were all very well, but a lady +would feel that there<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118">[118]</a></span> was something wanting. And so on, and so on, till +she began to ask herself what John Rothwell would say of her if, after +all this, she showed more than the coldest civility to Mr. Hayes.</p> + +<p>Kate perfectly understood the position of affairs, but did not choose +openly to oppose her brother. If Hayes would have come and carried +Minnie off, young Lochinvar fashion, she would have been secretly +pleased. As it was, she was contemptuously kind to the girl, and if the +little suitor met the two young women in the village, Miss Rothwell +shook hands and looked away. Once she found herself some business to do +at the Mitchelhurst shop, and sent Minnie home, lest she should be out +too long in the December cold. She had spied Herbert Hayes coming along +the street, and had rightly guessed that he would see and pursue the +slim, black-clothed figure. And, indeed, he used his walk with Miss +Newton<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119">[119]</a></span> to such good purpose that he might have won her promise then and +there if a tall young man had not suddenly sprung over a stile and +confronted them. Minnie fairly cowered in embarrassment as she met +Rothwell's meaning glance, which assumed that she would be delighted to +be rid of a bore, and she suffered him to give her his arm and to take +her home, leaving poor Hayes to feel very small indeed as he stood in +the middle of the road. He tried a letter, but it only called forth a +little feebly-penned word of refusal as faint as an echo.</p> + +<p>Hayes never suspected the young man's deliberate malice. He fancied the +old squire, if anybody, was his enemy; but he was more inclined to set +the difficulty down to the Rothwells' notorious pride than to any +special ill-will to himself.</p> + +<p>"No one is good enough for them, curse them!" he said over the little +note. "They<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_120" id="page_120">[120]</a></span> won't give me a chance of winning her. I'm not beaten yet +though!"</p> + +<p>But he was. Early in January Minnie Newton took cold, drooped in the +chilly dreariness of the old house, and died before the spring came in.</p> + +<p>One day Kate Rothwell came upon Hayes as he lingered, a melancholy +little figure, by the girl's grave.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Miss Rothwell," he said, looking up at her, "I wanted to have had +the right to care for her and mourn her, but it was not to be!"</p> + +<p>"No," said Kate. "I'm sorry," she added, after a moment. It was just at +the time when she herself was about to defy all the barren traditions of +the Rothwells to marry Sidney Harding with his brilliant prospects of +wealth. Harding's half-brother, who had made the great business, was +pleased with the match, and promised Sidney a partnership in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_121" id="page_121">[121]</a></span> couple +of years. Everything was bright for Kate, and she could afford a +regretful thought to poor Hayes. "I'm sorry," she said.</p> + +<p>Her voice was hard, but the slightest proffer of sympathy was enough. +"Ah! I knew you wished me well—God bless you!" said the little man, +"and help you as you would have helped me!"</p> + +<p>Perhaps Kate Rothwell felt that at that rate Providence would not take +any very active interest in her affairs. She turned aside impatiently. +"Pray keep your thanks for some one who deserves them, Mr. Hayes. I +don't."</p> + +<p>"You could not do anything, but I know you were good to <i>her</i>. She told +me, that afternoon——" He spoke in just the proper tone of emotion.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" Kate answered, sharply. "How could she? there was nothing to +tell." Mr. Hayes might well say, even a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_122" id="page_122">[122]</a></span> quarter of a century later, +that Miss Rothwell had an unpleasant manner.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless she held a place in that idealised picture of his love +which in his old age served him for a memory. In Sidney Harding's death, +within a year of the marriage, he saw a kindred stroke to that which had +robbed him of his own hope, and he never thought of Kate without a touch +of sentimental loyalty. When he met Kate's son that October afternoon, +with the familiar face and voice, on his way to Mitchelhurst, he had +felt that, Rothwell though he was, he must be welcomed for his mother's +sake. And yet it had almost seemed as if it were John Rothwell himself +come back to sneer in a new fashion.</p> + +<p>How came he to be so evidently poor while old Harding was rolling in +wealth? Mr. Hayes, sitting over the fire, wondered at this failure of +Kate's hopes. People had called it a fair exchange, her old name<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_123" id="page_123">[123]</a></span> for +the Hardings' abundance of newly-coined gold. But where was the gold? +Plainly not in this young Harding's pockets. What did he do for a +living? Why was he not in his uncle's office, a man of business with the +world before him? There was no stamp of success about this listless, +long-legged fellow, who had come, as hopeless as any Rothwell, to linger +about that scene of slow decay. "He'll do no good," said Mr. Hayes to +himself, stirring up a cheerful blaze.</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_124" id="page_124">[124]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="chapter_vi" id="chapter_vi">CHAPTER VI.</a><br /><small>REYNOLD'S RESOLUTION.</small></h2> + + +<p>Meanwhile the young people had passed through the great gate and turned +to the right. "Do you mind which way you go?" Barbara asked, and Reynold +replied that he left it entirely to her. "Then," she said, "we will go +this way, and come back by the village; you will get a better view so."</p> + +<p>At first, however, it seemed that a view was the one thing which was +certainly not to be had in the road they had chosen. On their left was a +tangled hedge, on their right a dank and dripping plantation of firs. +The slim, straight stems, seen one beyond another, conveyed to Reynold +the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_125" id="page_125">[125]</a></span> impression of a melancholy crowd, pressing silently to the boundary +of the road on which he walked. It was one of those fantastic pictures +which reveal themselves in unfamiliar landscapes, and Barbara, who had +seen the wood under a score of varying aspects, took no especial heed of +this one, as she picked her way daintily by the young man's side. Indeed +she did not even note the moment when the trees were succeeded by a +turnip-field, lying wide and wet under the pale sky. But when in its +turn the field gave place to an open gateway and a drive full of deep +ruts, in which the water stood, she paused. "You see that house?" she +said.</p> + +<p>It was evident from its surroundings of soaked yard, miscellaneous +buildings, dirty tumbrils, and clustered stacks, that it was a +farmhouse. Harding looked at it and turned inquiringly to her. "It was +much larger once," said Barbara. "Part of it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_126" id="page_126">[126]</a></span> was pulled down a long +while ago. Your people lived here before they built Mitchelhurst Place."</p> + +<p>He pushed out his lower lip. "Well," he said, "I think they showed their +good taste in getting out of this."</p> + +<p>"But it was better then," said the girl. "And even now, sometimes in the +spring when I come here for cowslips——"</p> + +<p>She stopped short, for he was smiling. "Oh, no doubt! Everything looks +better then. But I have come too late." He had to step aside as he spoke +to let a manure cart go by, labouring along the miry way. "And what do +you call this house?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Mitchelhurst Hall. I don't think there is anything much to see, but if +you would like to look over it or to walk round it——"</p> + +<p>"No, thank you; I am content." He took off his hat in mocking homage to +the home of the Rothwells, and turned to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_127" id="page_127">[127]</a></span> go. "And have you any more +decayed residences to show me, Miss Strange?"</p> + +<p>"Only some graves," she answered, simply.</p> + +<p>"Oh, they are all graves!" said Harding with his short laugh, swinging +his umbrella as they resumed their walk. Already Barbara had become +accustomed to that little jarring laugh, which had no merriment in it. +She did not like it, but she was curiously impressed by it. When the +young man was grave and stiff and shy she was sorry for him; she +remembered that he was only Mr. Reynold Harding, their guest for a week. +But when he was sufficiently at his ease to laugh she felt as if all the +Rothwells were mocking, and she were the interloper and inferior.</p> + +<p>"I suppose it does seem like that to you—as if they were all graves," +she said timidly, as she led the way across the road to a gate in the +tangled hedge; the field into which it led sloped steeply down.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_128" id="page_128">[128]</a></span> "That +is what people call the best view of Mitchelhurst," she explained.</p> + +<p>To the left was Mitchelhurst Place, gaunt and white among its warped and +weather-beaten trees. Before them lay the dotted line of Mitchelhurst +Street, and they looked down into the square cabbage-plots. The sails of +the windmill swung heavily round, and the smoke went up from the +blacksmith's forge. To the right was the church, with its thickset +tower, and the sun shining feebly on the wet surface of its leaden roof. +Barbara pointed out a small oblong patch of grass and evergreens as the +vicarage garden, while a bare building, of the rawest red brick, was the +Mitchelhurst workhouse. The view was remarkably comprehensive. +Mitchelhurst lay spread below them in small and melancholy completeness.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it's all there, right enough," said Reynold, leaning on the gate. +"An excellent view. All there, from the Place where<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_129" id="page_129">[129]</a></span> my people spent +their money, to the workhouse, where——By Jove!" his voice dropped +suddenly, "I'm not Rothwell enough to have a right to be taken into the +Mitchelhurst workhouse! They'd send me on somewhere, I suppose. I wonder +which they would call my parish!"</p> + +<p>"Are you sorry?" Barbara asked, after a pause.</p> + +<p>"Sorry not to be in the workhouse?" indicating it with a slight movement +of his finger. "No, not particularly."</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean that," said the girl, a little shortly. "I meant, of +course, are you sorry you are not a Rothwell?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>He spoke slowly, half reluctantly, and still leaned on the gate, with +his eyes wandering from point to point of the little landscape, which +was softened and saddened by the pale light and paler haze of October. +It was Barbara who finally broke the silence.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_130" id="page_130">[130]</a></span> "You didn't like the +house this morning, and you didn't like the old hall just now, so I +thought most likely you wouldn't care for this."</p> + +<p>"Well, it isn't beautiful," he replied, without turning his head. "Do +you care much about it, Miss Strange? Why should anybody care about it? +There are wonderful places in the world—beautiful places full of +sunshine. Why should we trouble ourselves about this little grey and +green island where we happened to be born? And what are these few acres +in it more than any other bit of ploughed land and meadow?"</p> + +<p>"I thought you didn't care for it," said Barbara, sagely. "I thought you +scorned it."</p> + +<p>"Scorn it—I can't scorn it! It isn't mine!" He turned away from it, as +if in a sudden movement of impatience, and lounged with his back to the +gate. "It's<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_131" id="page_131">[131]</a></span> like my luck!" he said, kicking a stone in the road.</p> + +<p>Barbara was interested. Harding's tone revealed the strength and +bitterness of his feelings. He had never seemed to her so much of a +Rothwell as he did at that moment. "What is like your luck?" she +ventured to ask.</p> + +<p>He jerked his head in the direction of Mitchelhurst. "I may as well be +honest," he said. "Honest with myself—if I can! Look there—I have +mocked at that place all my life; for very shame's sake I have kept away +from it because I had vowed I didn't care whether one stone of it was +left upon another. What was it to me? I am not a Rothwell. I'm Reynold +Harding, son of Sidney Harding, son of Reynold Harding—there my +pedigree grows vague. My grandfather is an <a name="importan" id="importan"></a><ins title="Original has 'importan '">important</ins> man—we can't get +beyond him. He died<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_132" id="page_132">[132]</a></span> while my father was in petticoats. He was a +pork-butcher in a small way. I believe he could write his name—<i>my</i> +name—and that he always declared that his father was a Reynold too. But +we don't know anything about my great-grandfather—perhaps he was a +pork-butcher in a smaller way. My uncle Robert went to London as a boy +and made all the money, pensioned his father, and afterwards educated +his half-brother Sidney, who was twenty years younger than himself. He +would have made my father his partner if he had lived. If my father had +lived I might have been rich. As it is, I'm not rich, and I'm not a +Rothwell."</p> + +<p>"Well, you look like one!" said Barbara. She was not very wise. It +seemed to her a cruel thing that this earlier Reynold should have been a +pork-butcher—a misfortune on which she would not comment. She looked up +at the younger Reynold with the sincerest sympathy shining in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_133" id="page_133">[133]</a></span> her eyes, +and in an unreasoning fashion of her own took part with him and with the +old family, as if his grandfather were an unwarranted intruder who had +thrust himself into their superior society. "You look like one!" she +exclaimed, and Reynold smiled.</p> + +<p>"And after all," she said, pursuing her train of thought, "you are half +Rothwell, you know. As much Rothwell as Harding, are you not?"</p> + +<p>He was still smiling. "True. But that is a kind of thing which doesn't +do by halves."</p> + +<p>She assented with a sigh. She had never before talked to a man whose +grandfather was a pork-butcher, and she did not know what consolation to +offer. She could only look shyly and wistfully at Mr. Harding, as he +leaned against the gate with his back to the prospect, while she +resolved that she would never tell her uncle. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_134" id="page_134">[134]</a></span> did not think her +companion less interesting after the revelation. This discord, this +irony of fate, this mixing of the blood of the Rothwells and the small +tradesman, seemed to her to explain much of young Harding's sullen +discontent. He was the last descendant of the old family of which she +had dreamed so often, and he was the victim of an unmerited wrong. She +wanted him to say more. "And you wouldn't come to Mitchelhurst before?" +she said, suggestively.</p> + +<p>"No; but the thought of the place was pulling at me all the time. I +couldn't get rid of it. And so—here I am! And I have seen the dream of +my life face to face—it's behind my back just at this minute, but I can +see it as well as if I were looking at it. I'm very grateful to you for +showing me this view, Miss Strange, but you'll excuse me if I don't turn +round while I speak of it?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_135" id="page_135">[135]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Barbara, wonderingly.</p> + +<p>He had his elbows on the top rail of the gate, and looked downward at +the muddy way, rough with the hoof marks of cattle. "You see," he +explained, "I want to say the kind of thing one says behind a—a +landscape's back."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry to hear it," she answered. She had drawn a little to one +side, and had laid a small gloved hand on one of the gate posts. +Somebody, many years before, had deeply cut a clumsy M on the cracked +and roughened surface of the wood. The letter was as grey and as +weather-worn as the rest. Barbara touched it delicately with a +finger-tip, and followed its ungainly outline. Probably it was his own +initial that the rustic had hacked, standing where he stood, but she +recognised the possibility that the rough carving might be the utterance +of the great secret of joy and pain, and the touch was almost a caress.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_136" id="page_136">[136]</a></span></p> +<p>"Some people follow their dreams through life, and never get more than a +glimpse of them, even as dreams," said Harding, slowly. "Well, I have +seen mine. I have had a good look at it. I know what it is like. It is +dreary—it is narrow—cold—hideous."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" cried Barbara, as if his words hurt her. Then, recovering herself, +"I'm sorry you dislike it so much. Well, you must give it up, mustn't +you?"</p> + +<p>He laughed. "Life without a fancy, without a desire?" he said.</p> + +<p>"Find something else to wish for."</p> + +<p>"What? If there were anything else, should I care twopence for +Mitchelhurst? No, it is my dream still—a dream I'm never likely to +realise, but the only possible dream for me. Only now I know how poor +and dull my highest success would be."</p> + +<p>"You had better have stayed away," said the girl.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_137" id="page_137">[137]</a></span></p> + +<p>He took his elbows off the gate, and bowed in acknowledgment of the +polite speech. "Oh, you know what I mean," she said hurriedly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know. And, except for the kindness of your fairy godmother, I +believe you are perfectly right. <i>That</i>, of course, is a different +question."</p> + +<p>Barbara would not answer what she fancied might be a sneer. "You see the +place at its worst," she said, "and there is nobody to care for it; +everything is neglected and going to ruin. Don't you think it would be +different if it belonged to some one who loved it? Why don't you make +your fortune," she exclaimed, with sanguine, bright-eyed directness, as +if the fortune were an easy certainty, "and come back and set everything +right? Don't you think you could care for Mitchelhurst if——"</p> + +<p>She would have finished her sentence<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_138" id="page_138">[138]</a></span> readily enough, but Reynold caught +it up.</p> + +<p>"<i>If!</i>" he said, with a sudden startled significance in his tone. Then, +with an air of prompt deference, "Shall I go and make the fortune at +once, Miss Strange? Shall I? Yes, I think I could care for Mitchelhurst, +as you say, <i>if</i>—" He smiled. "One might do much with a fortune, no +doubt."</p> + +<p>"Make it then," said Barbara, conscious of a faint and undefined +embarrassment.</p> + +<p>"Must it be a very big one?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I think it may as well be a tolerable size, while you are about it. +Hadn't we better be moving on?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding assented. "Where are we going now?"</p> + +<p>"To the church. That is, if you care to go there."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I like to go very much. I wonder what you would call a tolerable +fortune," he said in a meditative tone.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_139" id="page_139">[139]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My opinion doesn't matter."</p> + +<p>"But you are going to wish me success while I am away making it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, certainly."</p> + +<p>"That will be a help," he said gravely. "I shan't look for an omen in +the sky just now—do you see how threatening it is out yonder?"</p> + +<p>The clouds rolled heavily upwards, and massed themselves above their +heads as they hastened down a steep lane which brought them out by the +church. Barbara stopped at the clerk's cottage for a ponderous key, and +then led the way through a little creaking gate. The path along which +they went was like a narrow ditch, the mould, heaped high on either +side, seemed as if it were burdened with his imprisoned secrets. The +undulating graves, overgrown with coarse grasses, rose up, wave-like, +against the buttressed walls of the churchyard, high above the level of +the outer road.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_140" id="page_140">[140]</a></span> The church itself looked as if it had been dug out of +the sepulchral earth, so closely was it surrounded by these shapeless +mounds. Barbara, to whom the scene was nothing new, and who was eager to +escape the impending shower, flitted, alive, warm, and young, through +all this cold decay, and never heeded it. Harding followed her, looking +right and left. They passed under two dusky yew trees, and then she +thrust her big key into the lock of the south door.</p> + +<p>"Are my people buried in the churchyard?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" she exclaimed reverentially. "Your people are all inside."</p> + +<p>He stepped in, but when he was about to close the door he stood for a +moment, gazing out through the low-browed arch. It framed a picture of +old-fashioned headstones fallen all aslant, nettles flourishing upon +forgotten graves, the trunks of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_141" id="page_141">[141]</a></span> great yews, the weed-grown crest of +the churchyard wall, defined with singular clearness upon a wide band of +yellow sky. The gathered tempest hung above, and its deepening menace +intensified the pale tranquillity of the horizon. "I say," said Harding +as he turned away, "it's going to pour, you know!"</p> + +<p>"Well, we are under shelter," Barbara answered cheerfully, as she laid +her key on the edge of one of the pews. "If it clears up again so that +we get back in good time it won't matter a bit. And anyhow we've got +umbrellas. The font is very old, they say."</p> + +<p>Harding obediently inspected the font.</p> + +<p>"And there are two curious inscriptions on tablets on the north wall. +Mr. Pryor—he's the vicar—is always trying to read them. Do you know +much about such things?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing at all."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_142" id="page_142">[142]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh!" in a tone of disappointment. "I'm afraid you wouldn't get on with +Mr. Pryor then."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid not."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you wouldn't care to look at them."</p> + +<p>"Oh, let us look, by all means."</p> + +<p>They walked together up the aisle. "<i>I</i> don't care about them," said +Barbara, "but I suppose Mr. Pryor would die happy if he could make them +out."</p> + +<p>"Then I suspect he is happy meanwhile, though perhaps he doesn't know +it," Reynold replied, looking upward at the half effaced lettering.</p> + +<p>"He can read some of it," said the girl, "but nobody can make out the +interesting part."</p> + +<p>Harding laughed, under his breath. Their remarks had been softly uttered +ever since the closing of the door had shut them in to the imprisoned +silence. He moved<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_143" id="page_143">[143]</a></span> noiselessly a few steps further, and looked round.</p> + +<p>Mitchelhurst Church, like Mitchelhurst Place, betrayed a long neglect. +The pavement was sunken and uneven, cobwebs hung from the sombre arches, +the walls, which had once been white, were stained and streaked, by damp +and time, to a blending of melancholy hues. The half light, which +struggled through small panes of greenish glass, fell on things +blighted, tarnished, faded, dim. The pews with their rush-matted seats +were worm-eaten, the crimson velvet of the pulpit was a dingy rag. There +was but one bit of vivid modern colouring in the whole building—a slim +lancet window at the west end, a discord sharply struck in the shadowy +harmony. "To the memory of the vicar before last," said Barbara, when +the young man's glance fell on it. Such gleams of sunlight as lingered +yet in the stormy sky without<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_144" id="page_144">[144]</a></span> irradiated Michael, the church's patron +saint, in the act of triumphing over a small dragon. The contest +revealed itself as a mere struggle for existence; a Quaker, within such +narrow limits, must have fought for the upper hand as surely as an +archangel. Harding as he looked at it could not repress a sigh. He fully +appreciated the calmness of the saint, and the neatness with which the +little dragon was coiled, but it seemed to him a pity that the vicar +before last had happened to die; and he was glad to turn his back on the +battle, and follow Miss Strange to the north chancel aisle. "These are +all the Rothwell monuments," she said. "Their vault is just below. This +is their pew, where we sit on Sunday."</p> + +<p>Having said this she moved from his side, and left him gazing at the +simple tablets which recorded the later generations of the old house, +and the elaborate<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_145" id="page_145">[145]</a></span> memorials of more prosperous days. More than one +recumbent figure slept there, each with upturned face supported on a +carven pillow; the bust of a Rothwell was set up in a dusty niche, with +lean features peering out of a forest of curling marble hair; carefully +graduated families of Rothwells, boys and girls, knelt behind their +kneeling parents; the little window, half blocked by the florid grandeur +of a grimy monument, had the Rothwell arms emblazoned on it in a dim +richness of colour. In this one spot the dreariness of the rest of the +building became a stately melancholy. Harding looked down. His foot was +resting on the inscribed stone which marked the entrance to that silent, +airless place of skeletons and shadows, compared to which even this dim +corner, with its mute assemblage, was yet the upper world of light and +life. If he worked, if fortune favoured him, if he succeeded beyond all +reasonable hope, if he<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_146" id="page_146">[146]</a></span> were indeed predestined to triumph, that little +stone might one day be lifted for him.</p> + +<p>The windows darkened momentarily with the coming of the tempest. Through +the dim diamond panes the masses of the yew-trees were seen, and their +movement was like the stirring of vast black wings. The effigies of the +dead men frowned in the deepening gloom, and their young descendant +folded his arms, and leaned against the high pew, with a slant gleam of +light on his pale Rothwell face. Barbara went restlessly and yet +cautiously up and down the central aisle, and paused by the reading-desk +to turn the leaves of the great old-fashioned prayer-book which lay +there. When its cover was lifted it exhaled a faint odour, as of the +dead Sundays of a century and more. While she lingered, lightly +conscious of the lapse of vague years, reading petitions for the welfare +of "Thy servant <i>GEORGE</i>, our most gracious<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_147" id="page_147">[147]</a></span> King and Governour," "her +Royal Highness the Princess Dowager of <i>Wales</i>, and all the Royal +Family," the page grew indistinct in the threatening twilight, as if it +would withdraw itself from her idle curiosity. She looked up with a +shiver, as overhead and around burst the multitudinous noises of the +storm, the rain gushing on the leaden roof, the water streaming drearily +from the gutters to beat on the earth below, and, in a few moments, the +quick, monotonous fall of drops through a leak close by. This lasted for +ten minutes or a quarter of an hour. Then the sky grew lighter, the +downpour slackened, a sense of overshadowing oppression seemed to pass +away, and St. Michael and his dragon brightened cheerfully. Barbara went +to the door and threw it open, and a breath of fresh air came in with a +chilly smell of rain.</p> + +<p>As she stood in the low archway she heard Harding's step on the +pavement<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_148" id="page_148">[148]</a></span> behind her. It was more alert and decided than usual, and when +she turned he met her glance with a smile.</p> + +<p>"Well?" she said. "I didn't like to disturb you, you looked so serious."</p> + +<p>"I was thinking," he admitted. "And it was a rather serious occasion. My +people are not very cheerful company."</p> + +<p>"And now you have thought?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, still smiling. "Yes, I have thought—seriously, with my +serious friends yonder."</p> + +<p>Barbara, as she stood, with her fingers closed on the heavy handle of +the door, and her face turned towards Harding, fixed her eyes intently +on his.</p> + +<p>"I know!" she exclaimed. "You have made up your mind to come back to +Mitchelhurst."</p> + +<p>"Who knows?" said he. "I'm not sanguine, but we'll see what time and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_149" id="page_149">[149]</a></span>fortune have to say to it. At any rate my people are patient +enough—they'll wait for me!"</p> + +<p>To the girl, longing for a romance, the idea of the young man's +resolution was delightful. She looked at him with a little quivering +thrill of impatience, as if she would have had him do something towards +the great end that very moment. Her small, uplifted face was flushed, +and her eyes were like stars. The brightening light outside shone on the +soft brown velvet of her dress, and something in her eager, +lightly-poised attitude gave Reynold the impression of a dainty +brown-plumaged, bright-eyed bird, ready for instant flight. He almost +stretched an instinctive hand to grasp and detain her, lest she should +loose her hold of the iron ring and be gone.</p> + +<p>"I know you will succeed—you will come back!" she exclaimed. "How long +first, I wonder?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Shall</i> I succeed?" said Reynold, half<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_150" id="page_150">[150]</a></span> to himself, but +half-questioning her to win the sweet, unconscious assurance, which +meant so little, yet mocked so deep a meaning.</p> + +<p>"Yes!" she replied. "You will! You must be master here."</p> + +<p>Master! She might have put it in a dozen different ways, and found no +word to waken the swift, meaning flash in his eyes which that word did. +Her pulses did not quicken, she perfectly understood that he was +thinking of Mitchelhurst. She could not understand what mere dead earth +and stone Mitchelhurst was to the man at her side.</p> + +<p>"You will have to restore the church one of these days," she said.</p> + +<p>Harding nodded.</p> + +<p>"Certainly. But it will be very ugly, anyhow."</p> + +<p>"Well, at least you must have the roof mended. And now, please, will you +get<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_151" id="page_151">[151]</a></span> the key? It is on the ledge of that pew just across the aisle. I +think we had better be going—it has almost left off raining."</p> + +<p>She stepped outside and put up her umbrella, while he locked up his +ancestors, smiling grimly. It seemed rather unnecessary to turn the key +on the family party in that dusty little corner. They were quiet folks, +and, as he had said, they would wait for him and his fortune not +impatiently. If he could have shut in the brightness of youth, the +warmth and life and sweetness which alone could make the fortune worth +having, if he could have come back in the hour of success to unfasten +the door and find all there—then indeed his big key would have been a +priceless talisman. Unfortunately one can shut nothing safely away that +is not dead. The old Rothwells were secure enough, but the rest was at +the mercy of time and change, and all the winds that blow.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_152" id="page_152">[152]</a></span></p> + +<p>The pair were silent as they turned into Mitchelhurst Street. Reynold +looked at the small, shabby houses, and noted the swinging sign of the +"Rothwell Arms," though his deeper thoughts were full of other things. +But about half way through the village he awoke to a sudden +consciousness of eyes. Eyes peered through small-paned windows, stared +boldly from open doorways, met him inquisitively in the faces of +loiterers on the path, or were lifted from the dull task of mending the +road as he walked by with Barbara. He looked over his shoulder and found +that other people were looking over their shoulders, after which he felt +himself completely encompassed.</p> + +<p>"People here seem interested," he remarked to Miss Strange, while a +pale-faced, slatternly girl, with swiftly-plaiting fingers, leaned +forward to get a better view.</p> + +<p>"Why, of course they are interested.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_153" id="page_153">[153]</a></span> You are a stranger, you know. It +is quite an excitement for them."</p> + +<p>"You call that an excitement?" said he.</p> + +<p>"Yes. If you spent your life straw-plaiting in one of these cottages you +would be excited if a stranger went by. It would be kinder of you if you +did not walk so fast."</p> + +<p>"No, no," said Harding, quickening his steps. "I don't profess +philanthropy."</p> + +<p>"Besides, you are not altogether a stranger," she went on. "I dare say +they think you are one of the old family come to buy up the property."</p> + +<p>"Why should they think anything of the kind?" he demanded incredulously.</p> + +<p>"Well, they know you are staying at the Place. Every child in the street +knows that. And, you see, Mr. Harding, nobody comes to Mitchelhurst +without some special reason, so perhaps they have a right to be curious. +I remember how they stared a few months<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_154" id="page_154">[154]</a></span> ago—it was at a gentleman who +was just walking down the road——"</p> + +<p>"Indeed," said Harding. "And what was <i>his</i> special reason for coming? I +suppose," he added quickly, "I've as good a right to be curious as other +Mitchelhurst people."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know. He was a friend of Uncle Herbert's—he came to see +him."</p> + +<p>"And did <i>he</i> walk slowly from motives of pure kindness?" the young man +persisted.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Barbara defiantly. "He stood stock still and looked at the +straw plaiting. I don't know about the kindness; perhaps he liked it."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't like it."</p> + +<p>"But you needn't take such very long steps: these three cottages are the +last. Do you know I'm very nearly running?"</p> + +<p>Of course he slackened his pace and begged her pardon; but in so doing +he relapsed into the uneasy self-consciousness of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_155" id="page_155">[155]</a></span> their first +interview. When they reached the gate of the avenue he held it open for +her to pass, murmuring something about walking a bit further. Barbara +looked at him in surprise, and then, with a little smiling nod, went +away under the trees, wondering what was amiss. "I can't have offended +him—how could I?" she said to herself, and she made up her mind that +her new friend was certainly queer. It was the Rothwell temper, no +doubt, and yet his awkward muttering had been more like the manner of a +sullen schoolboy. A Rothwell should have been loftily superior, even if +he were disagreeable. It was true, as Barbara reflected, almost in spite +of herself, that Mr. Harding had no such hereditary obligation on the +pork-butcher side of his pedigree.</p> + +<p>Reynold had spoken out of the bitterness of his heart, and a bitter +frankness is the frankest of all. But perhaps he had not shown his +wisdom when he so quickly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_156" id="page_156">[156]</a></span> confided his grandfather to Miss Strange. +Because we may have tact enough to choose the mood in which our friend +shall listen to our secret, we are a little too apt to forget that the +secret, once uttered, remains with him in all his moods. In this case +the girl had been a sympathetic listener, but young Harding scarcely +intended that the elder Reynold should be so vividly realised.</p> + +<p>Later, when all outside the windows was growing blank and black, Barbara +went up to dress for dinner. She was nearly ready when there came a +knock at her door, and she hurried, candle in hand, to open it. In the +gloom of the passage stood the red-armed village girl who waited on her.</p> + +<p>"Please, miss, the gentleman told me to give you this," said the +messenger, awkwardly offering something which was only a formless mass +in the darkness.</p> + +<p>"What?" said Miss Strange, and turned<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_157" id="page_157">[157]</a></span> the light upon it. The wavering +little illumination fell on a confusion of autumn leaves, rich with +their dying colours, and shining with rain. Among them, indistinctly, +were berries of various kinds, hips and haws, and poison clusters of a +deeper red, vanishing for a moment as the draught blew the candle flame +aside, and then reappearing. One might have fancied them blood drops +newly shed on the wet foliage.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" Barbara exclaimed in surprise, and after a moment's pause, "give +them to me." She gathered them up, despite some thorny stems, with her +disengaged hand, and went back into her room. So that was the meaning of +Mr. Harding's solitary walk! She stood by the table, delicately picking +out the most vivid clusters, and trying their effect against the soft +cloud of her hair, cloudier than ever in the dusk of her mirror. "I +hope he hasn't been slipping<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_158" id="page_158">[158]</a></span> + into any more ditches!" she said to +herself.</p> + +<p>With that she sighed, for the thought recalled to her the melancholy of +an autumnal landscape. She remembered an earlier gift, roses and myrtle, +a summer gift, the giver of which had gone when the summer waned. She +had seen him last on a hot September day. "We never said good-bye," +Barbara thought, and let her hand hang with the berries in it. "He said +he should not go till the beginning of October. When he came that +afternoon and I was out, and he only saw uncle, I was sure he would come +again. Well, I suppose he didn't care to. He could if he liked—a girl +can't; there are lots of things a girl can't do; but a man can call if +he pleases. Well, he must have gone away before now. And he didn't even +write a line, he only sent a message by uncle, his kind regards—Who +wants his kind regards?—and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_159" id="page_159">[159]</a></span> he was sorry not to see me. Very well, my +kind regards, and I'm sure I don't want to see him!"</p> + +<p>She ended her meditations with an emphatic little nod, but the girl in +the mirror who returned it had such a defiantly pouting face that she +quite took Barbara by surprise.</p> + +<p>"I'm not angry," Miss Strange declared to herself after a pause. "Not +the least in the world. The idea is perfectly absurd. It was just a bit +of the summer, and now the summer is gone." And so saying she put Mr. +Harding's autumn berries in her hair, and fastened them at her throat, +and, with her candle flickering dimly through the long dark passages, +swept down to the yellow drawing-room to thank him for his gift.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_160" id="page_160">[160]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="chapter_vii" id="chapter_vii">CHAPTER VII.</a><br /><small>A GAME AT CHESS.</small></h2> + + +<p>When Kate Rothwell promised to be Sidney Harding's wife she was very +honestly in love with the handsome young fellow. But this happy frame of +mind had been preceded by a period of revolt and disgust when she did +not know him, and had resolved vaguely on a marriage—any +marriage—which should fulfil certain conditions. And that she should be +in love with the man she married was not one of them. In fact, the +conditions were almost all negative ones. She had decreed that her +husband should not be a conspicuous fool, should not be vicious, should +not be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_161" id="page_161">[161]</a></span> repulsively vulgar, and should not be an unendurable bore. On +the other hand he should be fairly well off. She did not demand a large +fortune, she was inclined to rate the gift and prospect of making money +as something more than the possession of a certain sum which its owner +could do nothing but guard. Given a fairly cultivated man, and she felt +that she would absolutely prefer that he should be engaged in some +business which might grow and expand, stimulating the hopes and energies +of all connected with it. The sterility and narrowness of life at +Mitchelhurst had sickened her very soul. She was conscious of a fund of +rebellious strength, and she demanded liberty to develop herself, +liberty to live. She knew very well how women fared among the Rothwells. +She had seen two of her father's sisters, faded spinsters, worshipping +the family pride which had blighted them. Nobody wanted them, their<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_162" id="page_162">[162]</a></span> one +duty was to cost as little as possible. That they would not disgrace the +Rothwell name was taken for granted. Kate used to look at their pinched +and dreary faces, and recognise some remnants of beauty akin to her own. +She listened to their talk, which was full of details of the pettiest +economy, and remembered that these women had been intent on shillings +and half-pence all their lives, that neither of them had ever had a +five-pound note which she could spend as it pleased her. And their +penurious saving had been for—what? Had it been for husband or child it +would have been different, the half-pence would have been glorified. But +they paid this life-long penalty for the privilege of being the Misses +Rothwell of Mitchelhurst. Life with them was simply a careful picking of +their way along a downward slope to the family vault, and it was almost +a comfort to think that the poor ladies were safely housed there,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_163" id="page_163">[163]</a></span> with +their dignity intact, while Kate was yet in her teens.</p> + +<p>Later came the little episode of Minnie Newton and her admirer. Kate +perceived her brother's indifference to the girl's welfare, and the +brutality of his revenge on the man whose crime was his habit of +chinking the gold in his waistcoat pocket. Probably, with her finer +instincts, she perceived all this more clearly than did John Rothwell +himself. She did not actively intervene, because, in her contemptuous +strength, she felt very little pity for a couple whose fate was +ostensibly in their own hands. Minnie was not even in love with Hayes, +and Kate did not care to oppose her brother in order to force a pliant +fool to accept a fortunate chance. She let events take their course, but +she drew from them the lesson that her future depended on herself. And, +miserably as life at Mitchelhurst was maintained, she was, perhaps, the +first of the family to see<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_164" id="page_164">[164]</a></span> that the time drew near when it would not be +possible to maintain it at all, partly from the natural tendency of all +embarrassments to increase, and partly from John Rothwell's character. +He could not be extravagant, but he had a dull impatience of his +father's minute supervision. Kate made up her mind that the crash would +come in her brother's reign.</p> + +<p>She had already looked round the neighbourhood of her home and found no +deliverer there. Had there been any one otherwise suitable the Rothwell +pride was so notorious that he would never have dreamed of approaching +her. An invitation from a girl who had been a school friend offered a +possible chance, and Kate coaxed the necessary funds from the old +squire, defied her brother's grudging glances, and went, with a secret, +passionate resolve to escape from Mitchelhurst for ever. She saw no +other way. She was not conscious<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_165" id="page_165">[165]</a></span> of any special talent, and she said +frankly to herself that she was not sufficiently well educated to be a +governess. Moreover, the independence which achieves a scanty living was +not her ideal. She was cramped, she was half-starved, she wanted to +stretch herself in the warmth of the world, and take its good things +while she was young.</p> + +<p>Fate might have decreed that she should meet Mr. Robert Harding, a +successful man of business in the city, twenty years older than herself, +slightly bald, rather stout, keen in his narrow range, but with very +little perception of anything which lay right or left of the road by +which he was travelling to fortune. The beautiful Miss Rothwell would +have thanked Fate and set to work to win him. But it is not only our +good resolutions that are the sport of warring chances. Our unworthy +schemes do not always ripen into fact. Kate did not meet Mr. Robert +Harding, she met his brother<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_166" id="page_166">[166]</a></span> Sidney, a tall, bright-eyed, red-lipped +young fellow, with the world before him, and the pair fell in love as +simply and freshly as if the croquet ground at Balaclava Lodge were the +Garden of Eden, or a glade in Arcady. In a week they were engaged to be +married, and were both honestly ready to swear that no other marriage +had ever been possible for either. To her he appeared with the golden +light of the future about his head; to him she came with all the charm +and shadowy romance of long descent, and of a poverty far statelier than +newly-won wealth. Friends reminded Sidney that with his liberal +allowance from his brother, and his prospect of a partnership at +twenty-five, he might have married a girl with money had he chosen. +Friends also mentioned to Kate, with bated breath, that the Hardings' +father, dead twenty years earlier, had been a pork-butcher. Sidney +laughed, and Kate turned away in scorn. She was absolutely<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_167" id="page_167">[167]</a></span> glad that +she could make what the world considered a sacrifice for her darling.</p> + +<p>At Mitchelhurst her engagement, though not welcomed, was not strongly +opposed. John Rothwell sneered as much as he dared, but he knew his +sister's temper, and it was too like his own for him to care to trifle +with it. So he stood aside, very wisely, for there was a touch of the +lioness about Kate with this new love of hers, and he saw mischief in +the eyes that were so sweet while she was thinking about Sidney. It was +at that time that she spoke her word of half-scornful sympathy to +Herbert Hayes.</p> + +<p>And in a year her married life, with all its tender and softening +influences, was over. An accident had killed Sidney Harding before he +was twenty-five, before his child was born, and Kate was left alone in +comparatively straitened circumstances. For her child's sake she endured +her sorrow, demanding almost fiercely of God that He<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_168" id="page_168">[168]</a></span> would give her a +son to grow up like his dead father, and when the boy was born she +called him Reynold. Sidney was too sacred a name; there could be but one +Sidney Harding for her, but she remembered that he had once said that he +wished he had been called Reynold, after his father.</p> + +<p>It was pathetic to see her dark eyes fixed upon the baby features, +trying to trace something of Sidney in them, trying hard not to realise +that it was her own likeness that was stamped upon her child. "He is +darker, of course," she used to say, "but—" He could not be utterly +unlike his father, this child of her heart's desire! It was not +possible—it must not be—it would be too monstrous a cruelty. But month +by month, and year by year, the little one grew into her remembrance of +her brother's solitary boyhood, and faced her with a moody temper that +mocked her own. No one knew how long she waited for a tone<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_169" id="page_169">[169]</a></span> or a glance +which should remind her of her dead love, remind her of anything but the +old days that she hated. None ever came. The boy grew tall and slim, +handsome after the Rothwell type, with a curious instinctive avidity for +any details connected with Mitchelhurst and his mother's people. He +would not confess his interest, but she divined it and disliked it. And +Reynold, on his side, unconsciously resented her eternal unspoken demand +for something which he could not give. He would scowl at her over his +shoulder, irritated by his certainty that her unsatisfied eyes were upon +him. Mother and son were so fatally alike that they chafed each other +continually. Every outbreak of temper was a pitched battle, the +combatants knew the ground on which they fought, and every barbed speech +was scientifically planted where it would rankle most.</p> + +<p>A crisis came when it was decided that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_170" id="page_170">[170]</a></span> Reynold should leave school and +go into his uncle's office. The boy did not oppose it by so much as a +word; but as he stood, erect and silent, while Mr. Harding enlarged on +his prospects, he looked aside for a moment, and Kate's keener eyes +caught his contemptuous glance. To her it was an oblique ray, revealing +his soul. He despised the Hardings; he was ashamed of his father's name. +She did not speak, but in that moment with a pang of furious anguish she +chose once and for ever between her husband and her son, and sealed up +all her tenderness in Sidney's grave.</p> + +<p>Reynold's stay in Robert Harding's office was short, but it was not +unsatisfactory while it lasted. He never professed to like his work, but +he went resignedly through the daily routine. He was not bright or +interested, but he was intelligent. What was explained to him he +understood, what was told him he remembered, as a mere<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_171" id="page_171">[171]</a></span> matter of +course. He acquiesced in his life in a city counting-house, as his +grandfather at Mitchelhurst had acquiesced in his narrow existence +there. It seemed as if the men of the family were apathetic and weary by +nature, and only Kate had had energy enough to revolt.</p> + +<p>An unexpected chance, the freak of a rich old man who had business +relations with Robert Harding, and who remembered Sidney, made Reynold +the possessor of a small legacy a few months after he had entered his +uncle's service. He at once announced his intention of going to Oxford. +Of course, as he said, without his mother's consent he could not go till +he was of age, and if she chose to refuse it he must wait. Kate +hesitated, but Mr. Harding, who was full of schemes for the advancement +of his own son, did not care for an unwilling recruit, and the young +fellow was coldly permitted to have his way.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_172" id="page_172">[172]</a></span> His mother, in spite of +her disapproval, watched his course with an interest which she would +never acknowledge. Was he really going to achieve success in his own +fashion, perhaps to make the name she loved illustrious?</p> + +<p>Nothing was ever more commonplace and unnoticeable than Reynold's +university career. He spent his legacy, and came back as little changed +as possible. It seemed as if he had felt that he owed himself the +education of a gentleman, and had paid the debt, as a mere matter of +course, as soon as he had the means. "What do you propose to do now?" +Kate inquired. He answered listlessly that he had secured a situation as +under-master in a school. And for three or four years he had maintained +himself thus, making use of his mother's house in holiday time, or in +any interval between two engagements, but never taking anything in the +shape of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_173" id="page_173">[173]</a></span> actual coin from her. She suspected that he hated his +drudgery, but he never spoke of it.</p> + +<p>Thus matters might have remained if it had not been for Robert Harding's +son. The old man, whose dream had been to found a great house of +business which should bear his name when he was gone, was unlucky enough +to have an idle fool for his heir. Reynold's record was not brilliant, +but it showed blamelessly by the side of his cousin's folly and +extravagance. Mr. Harding hinted more than once that his nephew might +come back if he would, but his hints did not seem to be understood. +Little by little it became a fixed idea with him that Reynold alone +could save the name of Harding, and keep his cousin from utter ruin. He +recognised a kind of scornful probity in his nephew, which would secure +Gerald's safety in his hands, and perhaps he exaggerated the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_174" id="page_174">[174]</a></span> promise of +Reynold's boyhood. At last he stooped to actual solicitation. Kate gave +the letter to her son, silently, but with a breathless question in her +eyes.</p> + +<p>The old man offered terms which were almost absurdly liberal, but he +tried to mask his humiliation by clothing the proposal in dictatorial +speech. He gave Reynold a clear week in which to consider his reply, and +almost commanded him to take that week. But Mr. Harding wrote, if in ten +days he had not signified his acceptance, the situation would be filled +up. He should give it, with the promise of the partnership, to a distant +connection of his wife's. "Understand," said the final sentence, "that I +speak of this matter for the first and last time."</p> + +<p>"I think," said Reynold, looking round for writing materials, "that I +had better answer this at once."</p> + +<p>"Not to say 'No!'" cried Kate. "You<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_175" id="page_175">[175]</a></span> shall not!" She stood before him, +darkly imperious, with outstretched hand. It seemed to her as if the +whole house of Harding appealed to her son for help. He was asked to do +the work that Sidney would have done if he had lived. "You shall not +insult him by refusing his offer without a moment's thought—I forbid +it!" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Very well," said Reynold. "I will wait." He turned aside to the +fire-place, and stood gazing at the dull red coals.</p> + +<p>His mother followed him with her glance, and after a moment's silence +she made an effort to speak more gently. "He is your father's brother," +she said.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Reynold replied, in an absent tone. "Such an offer couldn't come +from the other side."</p> + +<p>The words were a simple statement of fact, the utterance was absolutely +expressionless, but a sudden flame leapt into<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_176" id="page_176">[176]</a></span> Kate's eyes. "Answer when +and as you please!" she cried. Her son said nothing.</p> + +<p>He was waiting at the time to hear about a tutorship which had been +mentioned to him. The matter was not likely to be settled immediately, +and the next morning he appeared with his bag in his hand, and announced +that he was going into the country for a few days, and would send his +address. In due time the letter came with "Mitchelhurst" stamped boldly +on it, like a defiance.</p> + +<p>When Barbara Strange bade young Harding go and make his fortune, she did +not know the curious potency of her advice. The words fell, like a gleam +of summer sunshine, across a world of stony antagonisms and smouldering +fires. And, with all the bright unconsciousness of sunshine, they +transformed it into a place of life and hope. She had called her little +cross her talisman, but Harding's talisman—for there are such<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_177" id="page_177">[177]</a></span> +things—was the folded letter in his pocketbook. As she stood beside +him, flushed, eager, radiant, pleading with him, "Could not you care for +Mitchelhurst, <i>if</i>—" she awakened a sudden craving for action, a sudden +desire of possession in his ice-bound heart. To any other woman he could +have been only Reynold Harding, a penniless tutor, recognised, perhaps, +as a kind of degenerate offshoot of the Rothwell tree. But to Barbara he +was the one remaining hope of the old family of which she had thought so +much; he was the king who was to enjoy his own again, and her shining +glances bade him go and conquer his kingdom without delay. And in +Mitchelhurst Church, as he stood among his dead people, with the rain +beating heavily on—</p> + +<p class="poem"> +"The lichen-crusted leads above,"<br /> +</p> + +<p>he had made up his mind. He would cast in his lot with the Hardings till +he should have earned the right to come back to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_178" id="page_178">[178]</a></span> Rothwells' +inheritance. He would do it, but not for the Rothwells' sake—for a +sweeter sake—breathing and moving beside him in that place of tombs. He +looked up at the marble countenance of his wigged ancestor, considering +it thoughtfully, yet not asking himself if that dignified personage +would have approved of his resolution. Reynold, as he stared at the +aquiline features, wondered idly whether the lean-faced gentleman had +ever known and loved a Barbara Strange, and whether he had kissed her +with those thin, curved lips of his. Of course they were not as grimy +and pale in real life as in their sculptured likeness. And yet it was +difficult to picture him alive, with blood in his veins, stooping to +anything as warm and sweet as Barbara's damask-rose mouth. It seemed to +Reynold that only he and Barbara, in all the world, were truly alive, +and he only since he had known her.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_179" id="page_179">[179]</a></span></p> + +<p>When he went back into the lanes alone, after leaving her at the gate, +the full meaning of the decision which had swiftly and strangely +reversed the whole drift of his life rushed upon him and bewildered him. +He hastened away like one in a dream. It was as if he had broken through +an encircling wall into light and air. Ever since his boyhood he had +held his fancy tightly curbed, he had reminded himself by night and day +that he had nothing, was nothing, would be nothing; in his fierce +rejection of empty dreams he had chosen always to turn his eyes from the +wonderful labyrinthine world about him, and to fix them on the dull grey +thread of his hopeless life. Now for the first time in his remembrance +he relaxed his grasp, and his fancy, freed from all control, flashed +forward to visions of love and wealth. He let it go—why should he +hinder it, since he had resolved to follow where it led? In this<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_180" id="page_180">[180]</a></span> sudden +exaltation his resolution seemed half realised in its very conception, +and as he gathered the berries from the darkening hedgerows he felt as +if they were his own, the first-fruits of his inheritance. He hurried +from briar to briar under the pale evening sky, tearing the rain-washed +sprays from their stems, hardly recognising himself in the man who was +so defiantly exultant in his self-abandonment. Nothing seemed out of +reach, nothing seemed impossible. When the darkness overtook him he went +back with a triumphant rhythm in his swinging stride, feeling as if he +could have gathered the very stars out of the sky for Barbara.</p> + +<p>This towering mood did not last. It was in the nature of things that +such loftiness should be insecure, and indeed Reynold could hardly have +made a successful man of business had it been permanent. It would not do +to add up Barbara and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_181" id="page_181">[181]</a></span> stars in every column of figures. But the +very fact of passing from the open heavens to the shelter of a roof had +a sobering effect, the process of dressing for dinner recalled all the +commonplace necessities of life, and in his haste he had a difficulty +with his white necktie, which was distinctly a disenchantment. The +shyness and reserve which were the growth of years could not be shaken +off in a moment of passion. They closed round him more oppressively than +ever when he found himself in the yellow drawing-room, face to face with +Mr. Hayes, and, being questioned about his walk, he answered stiffly and +coldly, and then was silent. Yet enough of the exaltation remained to +kindle his eyes, though his lips were speechless, when he caught sight +of Barbara standing by the fireside, with a cluster of blood-red berries +in her hair, and another nestling in the dusky folds of lace close to +her white throat. The vivid points<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_182" id="page_182">[182]</a></span> of colour held his fascinated gaze, +and seemed to him like glowing kisses.</p> + +<p>He had a game of chess with his host after dinner. As a rule he was a +slow and meditative player, scanning the pieces doubtfully, and +suspecting a snare in every promising chance. But that evening he played +as if by instinct, without hesitation. Everything was clear to him, and +he pressed his adversary closely. Mr. Hayes frowned over his +calculations, apprehending defeat, though the game as yet had taken no +decisive turn. Presently Barbara came softly sweeping towards them in +her black draperies, set down her uncle's coffee-cup at his elbow, and +paused by Harding's side to watch the contest. Her presence sent a +thrill through him which disturbed his clear perception of the game. It +made a bright confusion in his mind, such as a ripple makes in lucid +waters. He put out his hand mechanically towards the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_183" id="page_183">[183]</a></span> pawn which he had +previously determined to move.</p> + +<p>"Dear me!" said Barbara, strong in the traditional superiority of the +looker-on, "why don't you move your bishop?"</p> + +<p>Reynold moved his bishop.</p> + +<p>Quick as lightning Mr. Hayes made his answering move, and, when it was +an accomplished fact, he said—</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Barbara."</p> + +<p>Reynold and Barbara looked at each other. The aspect of affairs was +entirely changed. A white knight occupied a previously guarded square, +and simply offered a ruinous choice of calamities.</p> + +<p>"Oh, what have I done?" the girl exclaimed.</p> + +<p>Reynold laughed his little rough-edged laugh.</p> + +<p>"Nothing," he said. "Don't blame yourself, Miss Strange. You only asked +me why I didn't move my bishop. I ought to have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_184" id="page_184">[184]</a></span> explained why I +<i>didn't</i>. Instead of which—I <i>did</i>. It certainly wasn't your fault."</p> + +<p>Barbara lingered and bit her under-lip as she gazed at the board.</p> + +<p>"I've spoilt your game," she said remorsefully. "I think I'd better go +now I've done the mischief."</p> + +<p>"No, don't go!" Harding exclaimed, and Mr. Hayes, rubbing his hands, +chimed in with a mocking—</p> + +<p>"No, don't go, Barbara!"</p> + +<p>The girl looked down with an angry spark in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll give you some coffee," she said to the young man; "you +haven't had any yet."</p> + +<p>"And then come back, Barbara!" her uncle persisted.</p> + +<p>She did come back, flushed and defiant, determined to fight the battle +to the last. But for her obstinacy Mr. Hayes would have had an easy +triumph, for young Harding's<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_185" id="page_185">[185]</a></span> defence collapsed utterly. Apparently he +could not play a losing game, and a single knock-down blow discouraged +him once for all. Barbara, taking her place by his side, showed twice +his spirit, and at one time seemed almost as if she were about to +retrieve his fallen fortunes. Mr. Hayes ceased to taunt her, and sat +with a puckered forehead considering his moves. He kept his advantage, +however, in spite of all she could do, and presently unclosed his lips +to say "Check!" at intervals. But it was not till he had uttered the +fatal "Mate!" that his face relaxed. Then he got up, and made his niece +a little bow.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Barbara!" he said, and walked away to the fire-place.</p> + +<p>The young people remained where he had left them. Barbara trifled with +the chessmen, moving them capriciously here and there. Reynold, with his +head on his hand, did not lift his eyes above the level<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_186" id="page_186">[186]</a></span> of the board, +but watched her slim fingers as they slipped from piece to piece, or +lingered on the red-stained ivory. She brought back all their slain +combatants, and set them up upon the battle-field.</p> + +<p>"I wish I hadn't meddled!" she said suddenly. "I spoilt your game."</p> + +<p>She spoke in a low voice, and Reynold answered in the same tone,</p> + +<p>"What <i>did</i> it matter?"</p> + +<p>"No, but I hate to be beaten. I wanted you to win."</p> + +<p>"Well," said he, still with his head down, "you set me to play a bigger +game to-day."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Barbara, decidedly. "I won't meddle with that!"</p> + +<p>"No?" he said, looking up with a half-hinted smile. Her cheeks were +still burning with the excitement of her long struggle, and her bright +eyes met his questioning glance.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_187" id="page_187">[187]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Perhaps you think I can't help meddling?" she suggested.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you can't. You are superstitious, aren't you? You believe in +amulets and that kind of thing—or half believe. Perhaps you are +foredoomed to meddle, and destiny won't let you set me down to the game +and go quietly away."</p> + +<p>Barbara was holding the king between her fingers. She replaced it on its +square so absently, while she looked at Reynold, that it fell. His words +seemed to trouble her.</p> + +<p>"Well, if this game is an omen, you had better not <i>let</i> me meddle," she +said at last.</p> + +<p>"How am I to help it?"</p> + +<p>"Thank you!" she exclaimed resentfully; "I'm not so eager to interfere +in your affairs as you seem to take for granted!"</p> + +<p>"Indeed I thought nothing of the kind. I thought we were talking of +destiny. And,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_188" id="page_188">[188]</a></span> you see, you were good enough to take a little interest +this afternoon."</p> + +<p>She uttered a half-reluctant "Yes." She had a dim feeling that she was, +in some inexplicable way, becoming involved in young Harding's fortunes.</p> + +<p>The notion half-frightened, half-fascinated her. When they began their +low-voiced talk she had unconsciously leaned a little towards him. Now +she did not precisely withdraw, but she lifted her face, and there was a +touch of shy defiance in the poise of her head.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hayes, as he stood by the fire, was warming first one little +polished shoe, and then the other, and contemplating the blazing logs.</p> + +<p>"Barbara," he said suddenly, "did we have this wood from Jackson? It +burns much better than the last."</p> + +<p>Barbara was the little housekeeper again in a moment. She crossed the +room, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_189" id="page_189">[189]</a></span> explained that it was not Jackson's wood, but some of a load +which Mr. Green had asked them to take. "You said I could do as I +pleased," she added, "and I thought they looked very nice logs when they +came."</p> + +<p>"Green—ah! Jacob Green knows what he's about. Made you pay, I dare say. +No, no matter." The girl's eyes had gone to a little table, where an +account-book peeped out from under a bit of coloured embroidery. "I'm +not complaining; I don't care about a few extra shillings, if things are +good. Get Green to send you some more when this is burnt out."</p> + +<p>Reynold had risen when Barbara left him, and after lingering for a +moment, a tall black and white figure, in the lamplight by the +chessboard, he followed her, and took up his position on the rug. The +interruption to their talk had been unwelcome, but it was not, in +itself, unpleasant. He liked to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_190" id="page_190">[190]</a></span> see Barbara playing the part of the +lady of the Place. It was a sweet foreshadowing of the home, the dear +home, that should one day be. There should be logs enough on the hearths +of Mitchelhurst in October nights to come, and, though the fields and +copses round might be wet and chill, the old house should be filled to +overflowing with brightness and warmth and love. Some wayfarer, plodding +along the dark road, would pause and look up the avenue, and see the +lights shining in the windows beyond the leafless trees. Reynold +pictured this, and pictured the man's feelings as he gazed. It was +curious how, by a kind of instinct, he put himself in the outsider's +place. He did not know that he always did so, but in truth he had never +dreamed anything for himself till Barbara taught him, and his old way of +looking at life was not to be unlearnt in a day. Still he was happy +enough as he stood there, staring at<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_191" id="page_191">[191]</a></span> the fire, and thinking of those +illuminated windows.</p> + +<p>He could not sleep when he went to bed that night. The head which he +laid on the chilly softness of his pillow was full of a joyous riot of +waking visions, and he closed his eyes on the shadows only to see a +girl's shining glances and rose-flushed cheeks.</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_192" id="page_192">[192]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="chapter_viii" id="chapter_viii">CHAPTER VIII.</a><br /><small>BARBARA'S TUNE.</small></h2> + + +<p>Harding fell asleep towards morning, and woke from his slumber with a +vague sense that the world had somehow expanded into a wide and pleasant +place, and that he had inherited a share of it. And though the facts +were not quite so splendid when he emerged from his drowsy reverie, +enough remained of possibilities, golden or rosy, to colour and brighten +that Saturday. It is something to wake to a conviction that one's feet +are set on the way to love and wealth.</p> + +<p>While he dressed, he thought of the letter he had to write, and then of +its<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_193" id="page_193">[193]</a></span> consequences. How long would it be before he would have the right +to come and say to Barbara, "I have begun the fortune you ordered. I am +not rich yet, but I have fairly started on the road to riches and +Mitchelhurst—will you wait for me there?" Or might he not say, "Will +you travel the rest of the way with me?" How long must it be before he +could say that? Two years? Surely in two years he might unclose his +lips; for he would work—it would be no wearisome task. A longing, new +and strange, to labour for his love flooded the inmost recesses of his +soul. The man's whole nature was suddenly broken up, and flowing forth +as a stream in a springtide thaw. It seemed to him that he could give +himself utterly to the most distasteful occupations; in fact, that he +would reject and scorn any remnant of himself that had not toiled for +Barbara.</p> + +<p>The girl herself woke up, a room or two<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_194" id="page_194">[194]</a></span> away, and lay with her eyes +fixed on the tester of the great shadowy bed. It was early, she need not +get up for a few minutes more. The pale autumn morning stole in between +the faded curtains, and lighted her vivid little face, a little face +which might have been framed in a couple of encircling hands. And yet, +small as it was, where it rested, with a cloud of dusky hair tossed +round it over the pillow, it was the centre and the soul of that +melancholy high-walled room. She had dreamed confusedly of Reynold +Harding, and hardly knew where her dream ended and her waking thought +began—perhaps because there was not much more reality in the one than +in the other.</p> + +<p>Girls have an ideal which they call First Love. It is rather a +troublesome ideal, involving them in a thousand little perplexities, +self-deceits, half-conscious falsehoods; but they adore it through them +all. First Love is the treasure which must be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_195" id="page_195">[195]</a></span> given to the man they +promise to marry; the bloom would be off the fruit, the dewdrop dried +from the flower, if they could not assure him that the love they feel +for him was the earliest that ever stirred within their hearts. The +utmost fire of passion must have the freshness of shy spring blossoms. +Love, in his supreme triumphant flight from soul to soul, must swear he +never tried his wings before.</p> + +<p>But, to be honest, how often can a girl speak confidently of her first +love? She reads poems and stories, and the young fellows who come about +her, while she is yet in her teens, are hardly more than incarnate +chapters of her novels. How did she begin? She loved Hector, it may be, +and King Arthur, and Roland, and the Cid. Then perhaps she had a tender +passion for Amyas Leigh, for the Heir of Redclyffe, or for Guy +Livingstone; and the curate, or the squire's son, just home with his +regiment<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_196" id="page_196">[196]</a></span> from India, carries on the romance. This she assures herself +is the mystic first love; but the curate goes to another parish, or the +lieutenant's leave comes to an end, and the living novel is forgotten +with the others. She will order more books from Mudie's and take an +interest in them, and in the hero of some private theatricals at a +country house close by. She will meet the young man who lives on the +other side of the county, but who dances so perfectly and talks so well, +at the bachelors' ball. She will think a while first of one, then of the +other; and afterwards, when the time comes to make that assurance of +first love, she will, half unconsciously efface all these memories, and +vow, with innocent, smiling lips, that her very dreams have held no +shape till then.</p> + +<p>Miss Strange was intent on the change in her little world of coloured +shadows. Adrian Scarlett and Reynold Harding rose before<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_197" id="page_197">[197]</a></span> her eyes as +pictures, more life-like than she could find in her books, but pictures +nevertheless, figures seen only in one aspect. Adrian, a facile, +warmly-tinted sketch of a summer poet; Reynold, a sombre study in black +and grey—what <i>could</i> the little girl by any possibility know of these +young men more than this? Reynold's romance, with its fuller +development, its melancholy background, its hints of passion and effort, +might well absorb the larger share of her thoughts. Her part was marked +out in it; she was startled to see how a word of hers had awakened a +dormant resolution. She was flattered, and, though she was frightened +too, she felt that she could not draw back; she had inspired young +Harding with ambition, and she must encourage him and believe in him in +his coming fight with fortune. Barbara found herself the heroine of a +drama, and for the sake of her new character she began to rearrange her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_198" id="page_198">[198]</a></span> +first impressions of the hero, to dwell on the pathos of his story, to +deepen the ditch into which he had slipped in her service, till it would +hardly have known itself from a precipice, to soften the chilly +repulsion which she had felt at their meeting into the simple effect of +his proud reserve. She lay gazing upward, with a smile on her lips, +picturing his final home-coming, grouping all the incidents of that +triumphant day about the tall, dark figure with the Rothwell features, +who was just the puppet of her pretty fancies. The vision of his future, +expanding like a soap-bubble, rose from the dull earth, and caught the +gay colours of Barbara's sunny hopes. Everything would go well, +everything must go well; he should make his fortune while he was yet +young, and come back to the flowery arches and clashing bells of +rejoicing Mitchelhurst. Beyond that day her fancy hardly went. Of course +he would have to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_199" id="page_199">[199]</a></span> take the name of Rothwell, the name which, for the +perfection of her romance, should have been his by right. At that +remembrance she paused dissatisfied—the pork-butcher was the one strong +touch of reality in the whole story. In fact the mere thought of him +brought her back to everyday life, and to the certainty that she must +waste no more time in dreams.</p> + +<p>Reynold, consulting his uncle's letter, found with some surprise that he +had pushed silence to its utmost limit, and that another day's delay +would have overstepped the boundary which Mr. Harding had so imperiously +set. The discovery was a shock; it took away his breath for a moment, +and then sent the blood coursing through his veins with a tingling +exhilaration, the sense of a peril narrowly escaped. He was glad—glad +in a defiant, unreasonable fashion—that he had not yielded till the +last day, though at the same time he<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_200" id="page_200">[200]</a></span> was uneasy till his answer should +be despatched. He went up to his room immediately after breakfast, and +sat down to his task at the writing-table which faced the great window.</p> + +<p>After one or two unsatisfactory beginnings he ended with the simplest +possible note of acceptance, to which he added a postscript, informing +his uncle that he should remain two or three days longer at Mitchelhurst +Place, and hoped to receive his instructions there. He wrote a few lines +to end the question of the tutorship for which he had been waiting, +addressed the two envelopes, and leaned back in his chair to read his +letters over before folding them.</p> + +<p>As he did so he looked out over the far-spreading landscape. The +sunshine broke through the veil of misty cloud and widened slowly over +the land, catching here the sails of a windmill, idle in the autumn +calm, there a church spire, or a bit of white road,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_201" id="page_201">[201]</a></span> or a group of +poplars, or the red wall of an old farmhouse. The silver grey gave place +to vaporous gold, and a pale brightness illumined the paper in his hand +on which those fateful lines were written. One would have said +Mitchelhurst was smiling broadly at his resolution. Reynold stretched +himself and returned the smile as if the landscape were an old friend +who greeted him, and tilting his chair backward he thrust his letter +into the directed cover.</p> + +<p>"When I come back," he said to himself, "I will take this room for +mine."</p> + +<p>Writing his acceptance of his uncle's offer had not been pleasant, yet +now that it was done he contemplated the superscription,</p> + +<p class="center"> +"<i>R. Harding, Esq.</i>,"<br /> +</p> + +<p>with grave satisfaction. Finally, he took up the pen once more, +hesitated, balanced it between his fingers, and then let it fall. "Why +should I write to her?" said he,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_202" id="page_202">[202]</a></span> while a sullen shadow crossed his +face. "She will hear it soon enough. Since she is to have her own way +about my career for the rest of my life, she may well wait a day or two +to know it. Besides, I can't explain in a letter why I have given in. +No, I won't write to-day." He shut up his blotting-case with an +impatient gesture, and there was nothing for Mrs. Sidney Harding by that +afternoon's post.</p> + +<p>He went down the great stone stairs with his letters, and laid them on +the hall table, as Barbara had told him to do. Then, pausing for a +moment to study the weather-glass, a note or two, uncertainly struck, +attracted his attention. The door of the yellow drawing-room was partly +open, and Mr. Hayes was presumably out, for Barbara was at the old +piano. When Harding turned his head he could see her from where he +stood. The light from the south window fell on the simple folds of her +soft<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_203" id="page_203">[203]</a></span> woollen dress, and brightened them to a brownish gold. She sat +with her head slightly bent, touching the keys questioningly and +tentatively, till she found a little snatch of melody, which she played +more than once as if she were eagerly listening to it. The piano was +worn out, of that there could be no doubt, yet Reynold found enchantment +in the shallow tinkling sounds. He could not have uttered his feelings +in any words at his command, but that mattered the less since Mr. Adrian +Scarlett had enjoyed <i>his</i> feelings in the summer time, and, touching +them up a little, had arranged them in verse. It was surely honour +enough for that poor little tune that its record was destined to appear +one day in the young fellow's volume of poems.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="poem"> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;"><i>AT HER PIANO.</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>It chanced I loitered through a room,</i></span><br /> +<i>Dusk with a shaded, sultry gloom,</i><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_204" id="page_204">[204]</a></span><i>And full of memories of old, times—<br /> +I lingered, shaping into rhymes<br /> +My visions of those earlier days<br /> +'Mid their neglected waifs and strays<br /> +A yellowing keyboard caught my gaze,<br /> +And straight I fancied, as I stood<br /> +Resting my hand on polished wood,<br /> +Letting my eyes, contented, trace<br /> +The daintiness of inlaid grace,<br /> +That Music's ghost, outworn and spent,<br /> +Dreamed, near her antique instrument.</i><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>But when I broke its silence, fain</i></span><br /> +<i>To call an echo back again<br /> +Of some old-fashioned, tender strain,<br /> +Played once by player long since dead—<br /> +I found my dream of music fled!<br /> +The chords I wakened could but speak<br /> +In jangled utterance, thin and weak,<br /> +In shallow discords, as when age<br /> +Reaches its last decrepit stage,<br /> +In feeble notes that seemed to chide—<br /> +This was the end! I stepped aside,<br /> +In my impatient weariness,<br /> +Into the window's draped recess.<br /> +Without, was all the joy of June;<br /> +Within, a piano out of tune!</i><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>But while, half hidden, thus I stayed,</i></span><br /> +<i>There came in one who lightly laid<br /> +White hands upon the yellow keys</i><br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_205" id="page_205">[205]</a></span> +<i>To seek their lingering harmonies.<br /> +I think she sighed—I know she smiled—<br /> +And straightway Music was beguiled,<br /> +And all the faded bygone years,<br /> +With all their bygone hopes and fears,<br /> +Their long-forgotten smiles and tears,<br /> +Their empty dreams that meant so much,<br /> +Began to sing beneath her touch.</i><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>The notes that time had taught to fret,</i></span><br /> +<i>Racked with a querulous regret,<br /> +Forsook their burden of complaint,<br /> +For melodies more sweetly faint<br /> +Than lovers ever dreamed in sleep—<br /> +Than rippling murmurs of the deep—<br /> +Than whispered hope of endless peace—<br /> +Ah, let her play or let her cease,<br /> +For still that sound is in the air,<br /> +And still I see her seated there!</i><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Yet, even as her fingers ranged,</i></span><br /> +<i>I knew those jangled notes unchanged,<br /> +My soul had heard, in ear's despite,<br /> +And Love had made the music right.</i><br /> +</p> + +<p>So had Master Adrian written, after a good deal of work with note-book +and pencil, during a long summer afternoon, and then had carried his +rhymes away to polish them at his leisure. Reynold<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_206" id="page_206">[206]</a></span> Harding merely stood +listening in the hall, as motionless as if he were the ghost of some +tall young Rothwell, called back and held entranced by the sound of the +familiar instrument. Barbara knew no more of his silent presence than +she did of Adrian's verses. When she paused he stepped lightly away +without disturbing her. He was very ignorant of music; he had no idea +what it was that she had played; to him it was just Barbara's tune, and +he felt that, when he left Mitchelhurst, he should carry it in his +heart, to sing softly to him on his way.</p> + +<p>He passed into the garden and loitered there, recalling the notes after +a tuneless fashion of his own. The neglected grounds, which had seemed +so sodden and sad when first he looked out upon them, had a pale, +shining beauty as he walked to and fro, keeping time to the memory of +Barbara's music. The eye did not dwell on their<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_207" id="page_207">[207]</a></span> desolation, but passed +through the leafless boughs to bright misty distances of earth and +cloudland. Reynold halted at last by the old sun-dial. The softly +diffused radiance marked no passing hour upon it, but rather seemed to +tell of measureless rest and peace. There was a slight autumnal +fragrance in the air, but the young man perceived a sweeter breath, and +stooping to the black earth, he found two or three violets half hidden +in their clustering leaves. He hardly knew why they gave him the +pleasure they did; he was not accustomed to find such delicate pleasure +in such things. Perhaps if he had analysed his feelings he might have +seen that, for a man who had just pledged himself to a life of hurrying +toil, there was a subtle charm in the very stillness and decay and +indolent content of Mitchelhurst, breathing its odours of box and yew +into the damp, windless air. It was a curious<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_208" id="page_208">[208]</a></span> little pause before the +final plunge. Reynold felt it even if he did not altogether understand, +as he stood by the sun-dial which recorded nothing, with the violets at +his feet, and the rooks sailing overhead across the faintly-tinted sky. +A clump of overgrown dock-leaves stirred suddenly, Barbara's cat pushed +its way through them and came to rub itself against him. He bent down +and caressed it. "I'll come again—I'll come home," he said softly, as +he stroked its arching back.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_209" id="page_209">[209]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="chapter_ix" id="chapter_ix">CHAPTER IX.</a><br /><small>OF MAGIC LANTERNS.</small></h2> + + +<p>It was fortunate that young Harding demanded little in the way of gaiety +from Mitchelhurst. Such as it could give, however, it gave that evening, +when the vicar, and a country squire who had a small place five or six +miles away, came to dinner. The clergyman was a pallid, undersized man, +who blinked, and twitched his lips when he was not speaking, and had a +nervous trick of assenting to every proposition with an emphatic "Yes, +yes." After the utterance of this formula his conscience usually awoke, +and compelled him to protest, for he considered most<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_210" id="page_210">[210]</a></span> things that were +said or done in the world as at any rate slightly reprehensible. This +might happen ten times in one conversation, but the assent did not fail +to come as readily the tenth time as the first. It would only have been +necessary to say, with a sufficient air of conviction, "You see, don't +you, Mr. Pryor, that under these circumstances I was perfectly justified +in cutting my grandmother's throat with a blunt knife?" to secure a +fervent "Yes, yes!" in reply.</p> + +<p>The squire was not half an inch taller, a little beardless man with +withered red cheeks, and brown hair which was curiously like a wig. +Barbara had doubted through two or three interviews whether it was a wig +or not, and she had been pleased when he talked to her, because it gave +her an excuse for looking fixedly in the direction of his head. At last +he arrived one day with his hair very badly cut, and a bit<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_211" id="page_211">[211]</a></span> of plaster +on his ear, where the village barber had snipped it, after which she +took no further interest in him. Happily her previous attention had +given him a very high opinion of her intelligence and good taste, and +Mr. Masters remained her loyal admirer. "A very sensible girl, Miss +Strange," he would say, and Mr. Pryor would reply "Yes, yes," and then +add doubtfully that he feared she was rather flighty, and that her +indifference to serious questions was much to be regretted. This meant +that Barbara would not take a class in the Sunday-school, and cared +nothing about old books and tombstones.</p> + +<p>The dinner was not a conversational success. Mr. Masters, on being +introduced to Reynold Harding, was amazed at the likeness to the old +family, and repeatedly exclaimed, "God bless my soul! How very +remarkable!" Harding looked self-conscious and uncomfortable, and the +vicar<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_212" id="page_212">[212]</a></span> said "Yes, exactly so." The little squire's eyes kept wandering +from the young man's face to the wall and back again, as if he were +referring him to all the family portraits. By the time they had finished +their fish the resemblance was singularly heightened. Reynold was +scowling blackly, and answering in the fewest possible words, which +seemed to grate against each other as he uttered them. Mr. Hayes, who +did not care twopence for his young guest's feelings, looked on with +indifferent eyes, and would not interfere, while Barbara made a gallant +little attempt to divert attention from Reynold's ill-temper by talking +with incoherent liveliness to the clergyman. As ill-luck would have it, +Mr. Masters, who had more than once addressed his new acquaintance as +"Mr. Rothwell," suddenly grasped the fact that he was not Rothwell at +all, but Harding, and began to take an unnecessary interest in the +Harding<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_213" id="page_213">[213]</a></span> pedigree. He was so eager in his investigation that he did not +see the young man's silent fury, but went on recalling different +Hardings he had known or heard of. "That might be about your +grandfather's time," he reckoned.</p> + +<p>"You never knew my Hardings!" said Reynold abruptly, in so unmistakable +a tone that Mr. Masters stopped short, and looked wonderingly at him, +while Barbara faltered in the middle of a sentence. At that moment the +remembrance of his grandfather was an intolerable humiliation to the +poor fellow, tenfold worse because Barbara would understand. The dark +blood had risen to his face and swollen the veins on his forehead, and +his glance met hers. She coloured, and he took it as a confession that +he had divined her thoughts. In truth she was startled and frightened at +her hero of romance under his new aspect.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_214" id="page_214">[214]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Pryor," said Mr. Hayes sharply, "you are all wrong about that +inscription in the church. Masters and I have been talking it over—eh, +Masters?—and we have made up our minds that your theory won't do."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the vicar, and Mr. Masters chimed in, following his host's +lead almost mechanically. The worthy little squire concluded that he +must have said something dreadful, and wondered, as he talked, what +these Hardings could have done. "I suppose some of 'em were hanged," he +said to himself, and stole a glance of commiseration at Reynold, who was +gloomily intent upon his plate. "People ought to let one know beforehand +when there's anything disagreeable like that—why, one might talk about +ropes! I shall speak to Hayes, though perhaps he doesn't know. A +deucedly unpleasant young fellow, but so was John Rothwell, and it must +be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_215" id="page_215">[215]</a></span> uncommonly uncomfortable to have anything of that kind in one's +family. God bless my soul! he looked as if he were going to murder me!"</p> + +<p>Barbara breathed again when the inscription was mentioned, recognising a +safe and familiar topic, warranted to wear well. They had not ended the +discussion when she left them to their wine. Mr. Masters was quicker +than Reynold, and held the door open for her to pass, with a little +old-fashioned bow, but he exclaimed over his shoulder as he closed it, +"No, no, Pryor, you are begging the question of the date," and she went +away with those encouraging words in her ears. Mr. Masters and Mr. Pryor +might disagree as much as they pleased. They would never come to any +harm.</p> + +<p>Still, as she waited alone till the gentlemen should come, she could not +help feeling depressed. The yellow drawing-room was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_216" id="page_216">[216]</a></span> more brilliantly +lighted than usual, and the portrait of Anthony Rothwell chanced to be +especially illuminated. Barbara sat down on a low chair, and took a +book, but she turned the leaves idly, and whenever she lifted her eyes +she met the painted gaze of the face that was so like Reynold. By nature +she was happy enough, but her lonely life in the desolate old place, the +lack of sympathy, which threw her back entirely on her own thoughts, the +desires and dreams which she did not herself understand, but which +sprang up and budded in the twilight of her innocent soul, had all +combined to make her unnaturally imaginative. A little careless +irresponsibility, a little healthy fun and excitement, would have cured +her directly. But, meanwhile, the silence and decay of the great hollow +house impressed her as it would not have impressed a heavier nature. She +was like a butterfly in that wilderness of stone, brightening the spot +on<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_217" id="page_217">[217]</a></span> which she alighted, but failing to find the sunlight that she +sought. Her moods would vary from one moment to the next, answering the +subtle influences which a breath of wholesome air from the outer world +would have blown away. As she sat there that evening she wished she +could escape from Mitchelhurst and Mr. Harding. His angry glance had +printed itself upon her memory, and it haunted her. She had been playing +with his hopes, trying to awaken his ambition, thinking lightly of the +Rothwell temper as a mere item in the romantic likeness, and suddenly +she had caught sight of something menacing and cruel, beyond all +strength of hers. She lifted her head, and Anthony Rothwell looked as if +he were smiling in malicious enjoyment at her trouble. The very effort +she made to keep her eyes from the picture drew them to it more +certainly, till the firelit room seemed to contract about the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_218" id="page_218">[218]</a></span> portrait +and herself, leaving no chance of escape from the ghostly <i>tête-à-tête</i>.</p> + +<p>The sound of steps broke the spell. She threw down her book as the door +opened, and could scarcely help laughing at the queer little company, +the three small elderly men, and the tall young fellow who towered over +them. A covert glance told her that Reynold was as pale, or paler, than +usual, and she noticed that he answered in a constrained but studiously +polite manner when the good-natured little squire made some remark on +the chilliness of the autumn evenings. After a moment he came across to +her, and stood with his elbow on the chimney-piece, looking at the +blazing logs, while Anthony Rothwell smiled over his shoulder.</p> + +<p>Barbara wondered what she should say to the pair of them, and she +tormented her little lace-edged handkerchief in her embarrassment. +Finally she let it fall. Young<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_219" id="page_219">[219]</a></span> Harding stooped for it, and as he gave +it back their eyes met, and he smiled.</p> + +<p>"Are you going to play to us?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I wish Miss Strange would play for me at my entertainment at the +schools next week," said Mr. Pryor plaintively. "Won't you be persuaded, +Miss Strange?"</p> + +<p>"I'll play for you now if you like," she answered, "but you know my +uncle won't let me play at the penny readings. And really it is no loss, +I am nothing of a musician."</p> + +<p>The vicar sighed and looked across at Mr. Hayes. "I wish he would!" he +said. "Couldn't you persuade him? I can't get the programme arranged +properly."</p> + +<p>"Why, haven't you got the usual people?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, I have got the usual people. But perhaps," said Mr. Pryor, +not unreasonably, "it would be as well to have something a little +different—a little new, you know. It is extremely kind of them, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_220" id="page_220">[220]</a></span> +the audience, the back benches, don't you know?—Well, I suppose they +like variety."</p> + +<p>Barbara looked gravely sympathetic.</p> + +<p>"And it's rather awkward," Mr. Pryor continued, "young Dickson at the +mill has some engagement that evening, and won't be able to sing 'Simon +the Cellarer,' unless I put it the first thing."</p> + +<p>"Why, he sings nothing else!" Miss Strange exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he <i>does</i> know two other songs, I believe, but they are, in my +opinion, too broadly comic for such an entertainment as this. He hummed +a little bit of one in my study one evening, in a <i>very</i> subdued manner, +of course, just to give me an idea. I saw at once that it would never +do. I stopped him directly, but I found myself singing the very +objectionable words about the parish for days. Not <i>aloud</i>, you know, +not <i>aloud</i>!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Pryor looked sternly over the top of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_221" id="page_221">[221]</a></span> Miss Strange's head, and +pressed his lips so tightly together that she was quite sure he was +singing Mr. Harry Dickson's objectionable song to himself at that very +moment.</p> + +<p>"But why shouldn't he sing 'Simon the Cellarer' at the beginning just as +well as at the end?" she questioned.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the vicar, "but there is my little reading, of course that +must come in early—my position as the clergyman of the parish, you see. +And I thought of something a little improving, a short reading out of a +volume of selections I happen to have, 'Simon the Cyrenian'."</p> + +<p>"Why, you read that before," Barbara began, and then stopped and +coloured.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," said Mr. Pryor, "I did, but I don't think they paid much +attention, the back benches were rather noisy that evening, and it is a +nice length, and seems very suitable. But the difficulty is how to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_222" id="page_222">[222]</a></span> keep +'Simon the Cellarer' and 'Simon the Cyrenian' apart on the programme. I +don't know how it is to be managed, I'm sure. I thought perhaps you +would play us something appropriate between the song and the reading. +I'm afraid some of the audience may smile."</p> + +<p>Reynold took his arm from the chimney-piece. "Appropriate to both +Simons?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"Yes, just so, to both Simons. At least, not exactly that, but something +by way of a transition, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"I wonder what that would be like," Barbara speculated. "I'm really very +sorry I can't help you, Mr. Pryor."</p> + +<p>"Oh never mind," said the clergyman. "I did tell Dickson he might change +the name in his song, but he wouldn't, in fact he answered rather +flippantly. Well, I suppose I must find another reading, but it's a +pity, when I knew of this one. Such<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_223" id="page_223">[223]</a></span> a suitable length! Unless," he +looked at Reynold, "unless your friend—"</p> + +<p>Reynold's "No!" was charged with intense astonishment and horror. "I +can't play a note," he added.</p> + +<p>"But you could recite something," Mr. Pryor persisted. "Now that would +really be very kind. Something like the 'Charge of the Light +Brigade'—'Into the valley of death,' don't you know, 'Rode the six +hundred'—that pleases an audience. We had a young man from Manchester +once who did that very well, a <i>little</i> too much action, perhaps, but +remarkably well. Or something American—American humour. If it isn't +flippant I see no objection to it; one should not be too particular, I +think. And it is very popular. Not flippant, and not too broad—but I +needn't say that—I feel very safe with you. I'm sure you would not +select anything broad."</p> + +<p>Harding had recoiled a step or two, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_224" id="page_224">[224]</a></span> stood with a stony gaze of +unspeakable scorn. "It's out of the question," he said, "I couldn't +think of such a thing. It's utterly impossible. Besides, I shall be +gone."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm very sorry," said the vicar, "I only thought perhaps you +might." He turned to Barbara, "Your other friend was so very kind at our +little harvest home. Mr.—I forget his name—but it was very good of +him."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Scarlett," said Barbara. She had her hand up, guarding her eyes +from the flickering brightness of a log which had just burst into flame, +and Reynold, looking down at her, questioned within himself whether +there were not a faint reflection of the name upon her cheek. But it +might be his jealous fancy.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, Scarlett, so it was. A very amusing young man."</p> + +<p>This soothed the sullen bystander a little, though he hardly knew why, +unless it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_225" id="page_225">[225]</a></span> might be that he fancied that Barbara would not like to hear +Mr. Scarlett described as a very amusing young man. But when she +answered "Very amusing," with a certain slight crispness of tone, it +struck him that he would have preferred that she should be indifferent.</p> + +<p>The vicar took his leave a little later, mentioning the duties of the +next day as a reason for his early departure. "Must be prepared, you +know," he said as he shook hands with the squire.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hayes came back from the door, smiling his little contemptuous +smile. "That means that he has to open a drawer, and take out an old +sermon," he said, turning to Mr. Masters. "Well, as I was saying——"</p> + +<p>"Does he always preach old sermons?" Reynold asked Barbara.</p> + +<p>"I think so. They always look very yellow, and they always seem old."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_226" id="page_226">[226]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Always preaches old sermons, and has the same old penny readings—do +you go?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, we always go. Uncle thinks we ought to go, only he won't let me +do anything."</p> + +<p>"Do you <i>want</i> to do anything?"</p> + +<p>"No," said the girl. It was a truthful answer, but her consciousness of +the intense scorn in Harding's voice made it doubly prompt.</p> + +<p>"But do you like going?"</p> + +<p>She hesitated. "Oh yes, sometimes. I liked going to the harvest home +entertainment."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" A pause. "Did Mr. Scarlett sing 'Simon the Cellarer'?"</p> + +<p>"No, he did not." After a moment she went on. "They are not always penny +readings; a little while ago we had a magic lantern and some sacred +music. They were views of the Holy Land, you know, that was why we had +sacred music."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_227" id="page_227">[227]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Reynold again. "And did you enjoy the views of the Holy +Land?"</p> + +<p>"Well, not so very much," she owned. "They didn't get the light right at +first, and they were not very distinct, so he told us all about +Bethlehem, and then found out that they had put in the wrong slide, and +it was the woman at the well, so they had to change her, and then he +told us all about Bethlehem over again. Joppa was the best; a fly got in +somewhere and ran about over the roofs of the houses—it looked as big +as a cat. I shall always remember about Joppa now. Poor Mr. Pryor began +quite gravely—" Barbara paused, turned her head to see that her uncle +was sufficiently absorbed, and then softly mimicked the clergyman's +manner. "'Joppa, or Jaffa, may be considered the port of Jerusalem. It +is built on a conical eminence overhanging the sea'—and then he saw us +all whispering and laughing and the fly running<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_228" id="page_228">[228]</a></span> about. He told us it +wasn't reverent; he was dreadfully cross about it. He stopped while they +took Joppa out, and, I suppose, they caught the fly. Anyhow it never got +in any more. Oh yes, it was rather amusing altogether."</p> + +<p>"Was it?"</p> + +<p>She threw her head back and looked up at him. "You are laughing at me," +she said in a low voice, "but it isn't always so very amusing at home."</p> + +<p>His face softened instantly. "I oughtn't to have laughed," he said. "I +ought to know—" He could picture Barbara shut up with her smiling, +selfish, unsympathetic little uncle, in the black winter evenings that +were coming, all the fancies and dreams of eighteen pent within those +white-panelled walls, and exhaling sadly in little sighs of weariness +over book or needlework.</p> + +<p>But he saw another picture too, a dull London sitting-room whose +dreariness<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_229" id="page_229">[229]</a></span> seemed intensely concentrated on the face of a disappointed +woman. Life had held little more for him than for Barbara, but he had +rejected even its dreams, and had spent his musing hours in distilling +the bitterness of scorn from its sordid realities. He would not have +been cheered by a magnified fly. "You are wiser than I am, Miss +Strange," he said abruptly.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"You take what you can get."</p> + +<p>She considered for a moment. "You mean that I go to Mr. Pryor's +entertainments, and hear 'Simon the——'"</p> + +<p>"Cyrenian! Yes, and see Joppa in a magic lantern. That is very wise when +the real Joppa is out of reach."</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Barbara hesitatingly, "that I ever very +particularly wanted to go to Joppa."</p> + +<p>"Nor I," said Harding, "but being some way off it will serve for all the +unattainable<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_230" id="page_230">[230]</a></span> places where we do want to be. 'Joppa may be considered +the port of Jerusalem'—wasn't that what Mr. Pryor said?" He repeated it +slowly as if the words pleased him. "And where do you really want to +go?"</p> + +<p>"To Paris," said Barbara, with a world of longing in the word. "To +Paris, and then to Italy. And then—oh, anywhere! But to Paris first."</p> + +<p>"Paris!" Harding seemed to be recording her choice. "Well, that sounds +possible enough. Surely you may count on Paris one of these days, Miss +Strange; and meanwhile you can have a look at it with the help of the +magic lantern."</p> + +<p>She laughed. "Not Mr. Pryor's."</p> + +<p>"Oh no, not Mr. Pryor's. I shouldn't fancy there were any Parisian +slides in his. But I suspect you have a magic lantern of your own which +shows it to you whenever you please."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_231" id="page_231">[231]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Pretty often," she confessed.</p> + +<p>The dialogue was interrupted by a tardy request for some music from Mr. +Masters. Barbara went obediently to the piano, and Reynold followed her. +She would rather he had stayed by the fireside; his conscientious +attempts to turn the leaf at the right time confused her dreadfully, and +she dared not say to him, as she might have done to another man, "I like +to turn the pages for myself, please." Suppose he should be hurt or +vexed? She was learning to look upon him as a kind of thundercloud, out +of which, without a moment's warning, came flashes of passion, of +feeling, of resolution, of fury, of scorn. She did not know what drew +them down. So she accepted his attentions, and smiled her gratitude. If +only ("Yes, please!" in answer to an inquiring glance)—if only he would +always be too soon, or always a little too late! Instead of which he +arrived at<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_232" id="page_232">[232]</a></span> a tolerable average by virtue of the variety of his +failures. Worst of all was a terrible moment of uncertainty, when, +having turned too soon, he thought of turning back. "No, no!" cried +Barbara.</p> + +<p>"I'm very stupid," said Harding, "I'm afraid I put you out." "No, no," +again from Barbara, while her busy fingers worked unceasingly. "Couldn't +you give me just a little nod when it's time?" A brief pause, during +which his eyes are fixed with agonised intensity on her head, a fact of +which she is painfully conscious, though her own are riveted on the page +before her. She nods spasmodically, and Reynold turns the leaf so +hurriedly that it comes sliding down upon the flying hands, and has to +be caught and replaced. As usual, displeasure at his own clumsiness +makes him sullen and silent, and he stands back without a word when the +performance is over. Mr. Masters thanks, applauds, talks a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_233" id="page_233">[233]</a></span> in +the style which for the last forty years or so he has considered +appropriate to the young ladies of his acquaintance, and finally says +good night, and bows himself out of the room.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hayes stands on the rug, and hides a little yawn behind his little +hand. "Is Masters trying to make himself agreeable?" he asks. "Let me +know if I am to look out for another housekeeper, Barbara."</p> + +<p>Barbara has no brilliant reply ready. The hackneyed joke displeases her. +As her uncle speaks, she can actually see Littlemere, the village where +the small squire lives; a three-cornered green, tufted with rushy grass, +with a cow and half-a-dozen geese on it; a few cottages, with their +week's wash hung out to dry; a round pond, green with duckweed; a small +alehouse; a couple of white, treeless roads, leading away into the +world, but apparently serving only for the labourers who plod out<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_234" id="page_234">[234]</a></span> in +the morning and home at night; an ugly little school-house of red brick +and slate; and Littlemere Hall, square, white, and bare, set down like a +large box in the middle of a dreary garden. She cannot help picturing +herself there, with Mr. Masters, caught and prisoned; the idea is +utterly absurd, but it is hideous, as hateful as if an actual hand were +laid on her. She shrinks back and frowns. "You needn't get anybody just +yet," she says.</p> + +<p>"Very good," her uncle replies. "Give me a month's warning, that's all I +ask." He yawns again, and looks at his watch. Reynold takes the hint, +and his candle, and goes.</p> + +<p>"Good riddance!" says the little man on the rug. "Of all the +ill-mannered, cross-grained fellows I ever met, there goes the worst! A +Rothwell! He's worse than any Rothwell, and not the genuine thing +either! Can't he behave decently to my friends at<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_235" id="page_235">[235]</a></span> my own table? What +does he mean by his confounded rudeness? Masters is a better man than +ever he will be!"</p> + +<p>Barbara shuts the piano, and lays her music straight. Poor little +Barbara, trying with little soft speeches and judicious silences to +steer her light-winged course among these angry men, is sorely perplexed +sometimes. Now as Mr. Hayes mutters something about "an unlicked cub," +she thinks it best to say, "Well, uncle, it isn't for very long. Mr. +Harding will soon be going away."</p> + +<p>"Yes, he'll soon be going away, and for good too! Never will <i>he</i> set +foot inside Mitchelhurst Place again—I can tell him that! When he +crosses the threshold he crosses it once for all. Never again—never +again!"</p> + +<p>This time Barbara, who is looking to the fastenings of the windows, is +in no haste to speak. She feels as if she had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_236" id="page_236">[236]</a></span> conspiring with +Harding, and, remembering their schemes for his return, her uncle's +reiterated assurances ring oddly and mockingly in her ears. "When he +crosses the threshold, he crosses it once for all." No, he does not! He +is going away to work, he will come back and buy the Place of Mr. Croft, +he will be living there for years and years when poor Uncle Hayes is +dead and gone. And she, Barbara, has done it all. With a word and a look +she has given a master to Mitchelhurst.</p> + +<p>But, being a prudent girl, she merely says "Good night."</p> + + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_237" id="page_237">[237]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="chapter_x" id="chapter_x">CHAPTER X.</a><br /><small>AN AFTER-DINNER DISCUSSION.</small></h2> + + +<p>Mr. Pryor, aloft in his pulpit in Mitchelhurst church, with a +sounding-board suspended above his head, was preaching about the +Amalekites to a small afternoon congregation. The Amalekites had +happened to come out of that drawer in his writing-table of which Mr. +Hayes had spoken, and perhaps did as well as anything else he could have +found there. He was getting over the ground at a tolerable pace, in +spite of an occasional stumble, and was too much absorbed in his +manuscript to be disturbed by an active trade in marbles which was going +on in the front row of the Sunday scholars. Indeed, to Mr. Pryor's +short-sighted eyes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_238" id="page_238">[238]</a></span> his listeners were very nearly as remote as the +Amalekites themselves.</p> + +<p>Some of the straw-plaiting girls, whose fingers seemed restless during +their Sunday idleness, were nudging and pulling each other, or turning +the leaves of their hymnbooks, or smoothing their dresses. A labourer +here and there sat staring straight before him with a vacant gaze. A +farmer's wife devoted the leisure moments to thinking out one or two +practical matters, over which she frowned a little. The clerk, in his +desk, attended officially to the Amalekites, but that was all.</p> + +<p>Barbara and Reynold were apart from all the rest in the square, +red-lined pew which had always belonged to the Rothwells. When they +stood up their heads and Reynold's shoulders were visible, but during +the sermon no one could see the occupants of the little inclosure except +the preacher.</p> + +<p>Reynold had established himself in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_239" id="page_239">[239]</a></span> corner, with his head slightly +thrown back and his long legs stretched out. Barbara, a little way off, +had her daintily-gloved hands folded on her lap, and sat with a demurely +respectful expression while the voice above them sent a thin thread of +denunciation through the drowsy atmosphere. Harding did not dislike it. +Anything newer, more real, more living, would have seemed unsuited to +the dusty marble figures which were the principal part of the +congregation in that corner of the church. He had knelt down and stood +up during the service, always with a sense of union between his own few +years of life and the many years of which those monuments were memories; +and the old prayers, the "Lighten our darkness, we beseech Thee, O +Lord," had fallen softly on his ears. Perils and dangers seemed so far +from that sleepy little haven where he hoped to live his later days, and +to come as a grey-haired<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_240" id="page_240">[240]</a></span> man, when all the storms and struggles were +over, and hear those words Sunday after Sunday in that very pew. +Barbara, from under her long lashes, stole a meditative, questioning +glance at him while he was musing thus, and the glance lingered. The +young fellow's head rested against the faded red baize, his eyes were +half closed, his brows had relaxed, his mouth almost hinted a smile. He +was not conscious of her scrutiny, and, seeing his face for the first +time as a mere mask, she suddenly awoke to a perception of its beauty.</p> + +<p>Overhead, it appeared that the Amalekites typified many evil things, and +were by no means so utterly destroyed as they should have been. Mr. +Pryor intended his warnings to be as emphatic as those of the fierce old +prophet, and he drew a limp white finger down the faded page lest he +should lose his place in the middle. Time had made the manuscript a +little unfamiliar.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_241" id="page_241">[241]</a></span> "My brethren," said the plaintive voice from beneath +the sounding-board, "we must make terms—ahem!—we must <i>never</i> make +terms with these relentless enemies who lie in wait for us as for the +Israelites of old. Remember"—he turned a leaf and felt the next to +ascertain if it were the last. It was not, and he hurried his +exhortation a little, finding it long, yet afraid to venture on leaving +anything out. Meanwhile a weary Sunday-school teacher awoke to sudden +energy, plunged into the midst of the boys, and captured more marbles +than he could hold, so that two or three escaped him and rolled down the +aisle, amid a general manifestation of interest. The luckless teacher +was young and bashful, and the rolling marbles seemed to him to fill the +universe with reverberating echoes.</p> + +<p>The vicar reached the goal at last, and gave out a hymn. Then the young +people in the red-lined pew appeared once more,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_242" id="page_242">[242]</a></span> Miss Strange singing, +Reynold looking round to deepen and assure his recollection of that +afternoon. When he found himself in the churchyard, passing under the +black-boughed yews with Barbara, he broke the silence. "I shall be far +enough away next Sunday."</p> + +<p>It was so strange to think that by the next Sunday his work would have +begun, the work which he so loathed and so desired. He had directed his +letter to his uncle at his place a few miles out of town, where Mr. +Harding always went from Saturday to Monday, and he remembered as he +spoke that the old gentleman would have received it that morning. +Reynold pictured a little triumph over his surrender, but he did not +care. Something—it could hardly be Mr. Pryor's sermon—had sweetened +his bitter soul, and he did not care. He felt as if that little corner +of Mitchelhurst church had become an inalienable possession of his,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_243" id="page_243">[243]</a></span> and +he could enter into it at any time wherever he might chance to be.</p> + +<p>Barbara was sympathetic, but slightly pre-occupied. If young Harding had +understood women a little better he would certainly have perceived the +pre-occupation, but as it was he only saw the sympathy. When they got +back to the Place she delayed him in the garden, as if she too felt the +charm of that peaceful afternoon and regretted its departure. They +loitered to and fro on the wide gravel path, where grass and weeds +encroached creepingly from the borders, and paused from time to time +watching the sun as it went down. At last, when there was only a band of +sulphur-coloured light on the horizon, Barbara turned away with a sigh.</p> + +<p>Reynold did not understand her reluctance to go in. In truth she was +uneasy at the thought of the long evening which her uncle and he must +spend in the same room. Mr. Hayes had come down in a dangerous<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_244" id="page_244">[244]</a></span> mood +that morning, not showing any special remembrance of Harding's offence +of the night before, but seeming impartially displeased with everything +and everybody. If ill-temper were actual fire, his conversation would +have been all snaps and flashes like a fifth of November. Letters +absorbed his attention at breakfast, but Barbara perceived that they +only made him crosser than before. Happily, however, since a storm of +rain hindered the morning's church-going, he went to his study to write +his answers, and was seen no more till lunch-time, after which the +weather cleared, and the young people walked off together to hear about +the Amalekites. Reynold had no idea how anxiously Barbara had been +sheltering him all day under her little wing, but now the sun was down, +there was no help for it, they must go in and face the worst. She had +paused and looked up at him as if she were about to say something before +they<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_245" id="page_245">[245]</a></span> left the garden, but nothing came except the little sigh which he +had heard.</p> + +<p>Even when they went in, fate seemed a little to postpone the evil +moment. Harding, coming down-stairs, saw a light shining through the +door of a small room—the book-room, as it was sometimes called. A +glance as he passed showed Barbara, with an arm raised above her head, +taking a volume from the shelf. "Can I help you?" he asked, pausing in +the doorway.</p> + +<p>"Oh, thank you, but I think this is right." She examined the title-page. +The window shutters were closed, the room was dusky with its lining of +old brown leather bindings, and Barbara's candle was just a glow-worm +glimmer of brightness in it. "You might put those others back for me if +you would. I can manage to take them down, but it isn't so easy to put +them up again."</p> + +<p>Tall Reynold rendered the required service<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_246" id="page_246">[246]</a></span> quickly enough, while she +laid the book she had chosen with some others already on the table, and +began to dust them. It was an old-fashioned writing-table, with a +multitude of little brass-handled drawers. The young man took hold of +one of these brass handles, and noticed its rather elaborate +workmanship. "Look inside," said the girl, as she laid her duster down.</p> + +<p>The drawer was full of yellowing papers, old bills, and miscellaneous +scraps of various kinds. She pulled out a few, and they turned them over +in the gleam of candle-light. "Butcher, Christmas, 1811," said Barbara, +"and here is a glazier's bill. What have you got?"</p> + +<p>"To sinking and bricking new well, 32 ft. deep," Reynold replied. "It is +in 1816. To making new pump, 38 ft. long."</p> + +<p>"Why, that must be the old pump by the stables," said Barbara. "Look at +this receipt, 'for work Don accorden to Bill?'"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_247" id="page_247">[247]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There seem to be plenty of them. Are the other drawers full too?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think so. You had better take one as a souvenir."</p> + +<p>"No, thank you." He smiled as he thrust the bills he held down among the +dusty bundles in the drawer, and brushed his finger tips fastidiously. +"Souvenirs ought to be characteristic. A receipted bill would be a very +respectable souvenir, but I'm afraid it would convey a false impression +of the Rothwells."</p> + +<p>She looked away, a little perplexed and dissatisfied. It seemed to her +that the future master of Mitchelhurst should not talk in that fashion +of his own people, and she did not understand that the slight bitterness +of speech was merely the outcome of a life of discontent. He hardly knew +how to speak otherwise. "I suppose they would have paid everybody if +they hadn't had misfortunes," she said.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_248" id="page_248">[248]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No doubt. We would most of us pay our bills if we had nothing else to +do with the money."</p> + +<p>"Well," Barbara declared with a blush, "the next Rothwell will pay <i>his</i> +bills, I know."</p> + +<p>"We'll hope so." His smile apparently emboldened her, for she looked up +at him. "Mr. Harding," she began.</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>She put her hand to her mouth with an irresolute gesture, softly +touching her red lips. "Oh—nothing!" she said.</p> + +<p>"Nothing?" he questioned. But at that moment there was a call. "Barbara! +Barbara! are you stopping to <i>write</i> those books?"</p> + +<p>She turned swiftly, caught them up and was gone, sending an answering +cry of "Coming, uncle—coming!" before her.</p> + +<p>Reynold lingered a little before he followed her, to wonder what that +something was that was nothing.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_249" id="page_249">[249]</a></span></p> + +<p>When he went in he found Mr. Hayes and Barbara both industriously +occupied with their reading, after the fashion of a quiet Sunday in the +country. He took up the first volume that came to hand, threw himself +into a chair, and remained for a considerable time frowning and musing +over the unread page. Mr. Hayes turned his pages with wearisome +regularity, but after a while Barbara laid her <i>Good Words</i> on her lap +and gazed fixedly at the window, where little could be seen but the +reflection of the lamp in the outer darkness. The silence of the room +seeming to have become accustomed to this change of attitude, the +slightest possible movement of her head brought Reynold within range. He +moved, and she was looking at the window, from which she turned quite +naturally, and met his glance. Her fingers were playing restlessly with +her little gold cross, and Harding said, "Your talisman!"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_250" id="page_250">[250]</a></span></p> + +<p>No word had been spoken for so long that the brief utterance came with a +kind of startling distinctness.</p> + +<p>"My talisman still, thanks to you," Barbara replied.</p> + +<p>The absurdity of his misfortune was a little forgotten, and the fact of +his service remained, so Harding almost smiled as he rejoined—</p> + +<p>"I say 'thanks to it' for my introduction."</p> + +<p>Mr. Hayes knitted his brows, and looked from one to the other with +bright, bead-like eyes. When, a minute later, a maid came to the door, +and asked to speak to Miss Strange, he waited till his niece was gone, +and then sharply demanded—</p> + +<p>"What was that about a talisman?"</p> + +<p>"That little cross Miss Strange wears. She calls that her talisman."</p> + +<p>"Indeed! Why that particular cross?"</p> + +<p>"It belonged to her godmother, I believe," said Harding.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_251" id="page_251">[251]</a></span></p> + +<p>The old gentleman stared, and then considered a little.</p> + +<p>"Her godmother, eh? Why," he began to laugh, "her godmother—what does +Barbara know about her?"</p> + +<p>"I think she said she was named after her——"</p> + +<p>"So she was."</p> + +<p>"And that her mother told her she was the most beautiful woman she ever +knew——"</p> + +<p>"That's true enough. She <i>was</i> beautiful, and clever, and accomplished, +no doubt about that. One ought to speak kindly of the dead, they say. +Well, she was beautiful, and if ever there was a selfish, heartless +coquette——"</p> + +<p>"Hey!" said Reynold, opening his eyes. "Is that speaking kindly of the +dead?"</p> + +<p>"Very kindly," with emphasis.</p> + +<p>"But Miss Strange's mother——"</p> + +<p>"Well, I should think she must have begun to find her friend out before +she died.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_252" id="page_252">[252]</a></span> I don't know, though; Mrs. Strange isn't over wise, she may +contrive to believe in her still. I wonder what Strange would say, if he +ever said anything! So that is Barbara's talisman! Not much <i>virtue</i> in +it, anyhow; but I dare say it will do just as well. There have been some +queer folks canonised before now."</p> + +<p>He ended with a chuckling little laugh. Evidently he knew enough of the +earlier Barbara to see something irresistibly comic in the girl's +tenderness for this little relic of the past.</p> + +<p>Harding was grimly silent. Barbara's fancy might be foolish, but since +she cherished it, he hated to hear this ugly little mockery of her +treasure, and he had found a half-acknowledged satisfaction in the +remembrance that the little cross was a link between himself and her. +Now, when she came into the room again, and Mr. Hayes compressed his +lips, and glanced from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_253" id="page_253">[253]</a></span> little ornament to his visitor, and then to +his book again, in stealthy enjoyment of his joke, the other felt as if +there were something sinister in the token. He wished Barbara would not +caress it as she stood by the fire. He would have liked to throw it down +and tread it under foot.</p> + +<p>There might have been some malignant influence in the air that day, for +Barbara will wonder as long as she lives what made her two companions +insist on talking politics at dinner. She did not like people to talk +politics. She had never looked out the word in the dictionary, and +perhaps she might not have objected to a lofty discussion of "the +science of government, that part of ethics which consists in the +regulation and government of a nation or state." She looked upon talking +politics as a masculine diversion, which consisted in bandying violent +assertions about Mr. Gladstone. It never led, of course, to any change +of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_254" id="page_254">[254]</a></span> opinion, but it generally made people raise their voices, and +interrupt one another, and get red in the face. As far as her +opportunities of observation went, Barbara had judged pretty correctly.</p> + +<p>Her uncle held what he called his political creed solely as a means of +enjoyable argument. He considered himself an advanced Liberal, but he +had so many whims and hobbies that he was the most uncertain of +supporters. No one held his views, and if, by some inconceivable chance, +he had convinced an adversary, he would have been very uncomfortable. He +would have felt himself crowded out of his position, and would have +retired immediately to less accessible ground, and defied his disciple +to climb up after him. When he had arranged his opinions he was obliged +to find ingenious methods of escaping their consequences. For instance, +with some whimsical recollection of the one passion of his life, he +chose<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_255" id="page_255">[255]</a></span> to hold advanced views about Woman's Rights, which disgusted his +country neighbours. Woman was, in every respect but physical strength, +the natural equal of man. She was to be emancipated, to vote, to take +her place in Church and State—when Mr. Hayes was dead. At present she +was evidently dwarfed and degraded by long ages of man's oppressive +rule, and needed careful education, and a considerable lapse of time, to +raise her to the position that was hers by right. Meanwhile she must be +governed, not as an inferior, on that point he spoke very strongly +indeed, but as a minor not yet qualified to enter into possession of her +inheritance, and he exerted himself, in rather a high-handed fashion, to +keep her in the proper path. The woman of the future was to do exactly +what she pleased, but the woman of the present—Barbara—was to do as +she was told, and not talk about what she did not understand.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_256" id="page_256">[256]</a></span> By this +arrangement Mr. Hayes was able to rule his womankind, and to deny the +superiority of his masculine acquaintances.</p> + +<p>It was precisely this question that came up at dinner-time. Harding had +no real views on political matters; he was simply a Conservative by +nature. He had none of the daring energy which snatches chances in +periods of change; his instinct was that of self-defence, to hold rather +than to gain; to gather even the rags of the past about him, with the +full consciousness that they were but rags, rather than to throw himself +into the battle of the present. It was true that he was going to work +for Mitchelhurst and Barbara, but the double impulse had been needed to +conquer his shrinking pride. That a man should be hustled by a mixed and +disorderly crowd was bad enough, but that a woman should step down into +it, should demand work, should make speeches, and push her way to the +polling-booth, was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_257" id="page_257">[257]</a></span> in Harding's eyes something hideously degrading and +indecent. As to the equality of the sexes, that was rubbish. Man was to +rule, and woman to maintain an ideal of purity and sweetness. Education, +beyond the simple old-fashioned limits, tended only to unsex her.</p> + +<p>He would have opposed Mr. Hayes's theories at any time, but they cut him +to the quick just then, when he had felt the grace of womanhood, when a +woman had passed into his life and transformed it. The old man was +airily disposing of the destinies of the race in centuries to come, the +young man was fighting for his own little future. He could not rule the +world. Let it roar and hurry as it would, but never dare to touch his +wife and home. What did the man mean by uttering his hateful doctrines +in Barbara's hearing? Her bright eyes came and went between the +speakers, and Reynold longed to order her away,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_258" id="page_258">[258]</a></span> to shut her up in some +safe place apart, where only he might approach her.</p> + +<p>He need not have been anxious. There was no touch of ambition in the +girl's tender feminine nature to respond to her uncle's arguments. She +did not want to vote, and wondered why women should ever wish to be +doctors or—or—anything. Her eager glances betokened uneasiness rather +than interest. Indeed the inferior being, scenting danger, had tried to +turn the conversation before the terrible question of Woman's Rights had +been mentioned at all. She had endeavoured to talk about a lawn-tennis +ground rather than the aspect of Irish affairs. Harding did not know +much about lawn-tennis, but he was quite ready to talk about it, just as +he would have talked about crewel-work, if she had seemed to wish it. +Mr. Hayes, however, pooh-poohed the little attempt at peace.</p> + +<p>"What is the good of planning the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_259" id="page_259">[259]</a></span> ground now?" he said. "And who cares +for lawn-tennis?"</p> + +<p>"I do," said the girl. "It's much more amusing than talking about Mr. +Gladstone and Mr. Parnell."</p> + +<p>"That's all you know about it," her uncle retorted. "Now if you had been +educated—"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, of course," she replied, with desperate pertness. "You are +always talking about the woman of the future—I dare say she will <i>like</i> +to see people make themselves hot and disagreeable, arguing about +Ireland." She made a droll little face of disgust. "Well, she may, but I +don't!"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps the woman of the future will be hot and disagreeable too," +Harding suggested.</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> might not find her agreeable," said Mr. Hayes drily. "She would +be able to expose the fallacy of your views pretty clearly, I fancy."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_260" id="page_260">[260]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well," Barbara struck in hurriedly, amazed at her own boldness, "we get +hot enough over tennis sometimes, but nobody is ever so cross over that, +as men are when they argue."</p> + +<p>"Good heavens!" said Mr. Hayes. "To think that women, who rightfully +should share man's most advanced attainments and aspirations—" and off +he went at a canter over the beaten ground of many previous discussions.</p> + +<p>Barbara looked from him to young Harding. His dark eyes were ominous, he +was only waiting, breathlessly, till Mr. Hayes should be compelled to +pause for breath. "I hope you don't mean to imply, sir—" he began, and +Barbara perceived that not only had she failed to avert a collision, but +that, by her thoughtless mention of the woman of the future, she had +introduced the precise subject on which the two men were most furiously +at variance. Thenceforward<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_261" id="page_261">[261]</a></span> she merely glanced from one to the other as +the noisy battle raged, watching in dumb suspense as one might watch the +rising of a tide. Mr. Hayes had been thoroughly cross all day, and had +not forgiven Reynold's rudeness of the evening before. Under cover of +his argument he was saying all the irritating things he could think of, +while Harding's harsher voice broke through his shrill-toned talk with +rough contradictions.</p> + +<p>After a time Barbara was obliged to leave them, and she went back to the +drawing-room with a sinking heart. She had been uneasy the night before, +but that was nothing to this. How earnestly she wished Mr. Pryor back +again! She was pitiless, she would have flung the gentle flaccid little +clergyman between the angry combatants without a moment's hesitation, if +she could only have brought him there by the force of her desire. +Happily for Mr. Pryor, however, he was safe in his study,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_262" id="page_262">[262]</a></span> putting away +the Amalekites at the bottom of the drawer, till their turn should come +again.</p> + +<p>At last when Barbara was in despair at the lateness of the hour, she +sent one of the maids to tell the gentlemen that coffee was ready, and +crept into the hall behind her messenger to hear the result. At the +opening of the door there was a stormy clamour, and then a sudden +silence. It was closed again, and the maid returned. "Master says, Miss, +will you send it in?" The last hope was gone, she could do nothing more +but pour out the coffee, and wish with all her heart it were an opiate.</p> + +<p>She was as firmly convinced as Reynold himself of the vast superiority +of men, but these intellectual exercises of theirs upset her dreadfully. +If only it had been Mr. Scarlett! He had a light laughing way of holding +her uncle at arm's length, avowing himself a Conservative simply as a +matter of taste, and fighting for the old<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_263" id="page_263">[263]</a></span> fashions which Mr. Hayes +denounced, because he wanted something left that he could make verses +about. Barbara, as she stood pensively on the rug, recalled one occasion +when Adrian Scarlett put forward his plea. He was sitting on the sill of +the open window, with the evening sky behind his head, and while he +talked he drew down a long, blossomed spray of pale French honeysuckle. +"Oh yes, I'm a Conservative," he said; "there are lots of things I want +to conserve—all the picturesqueness, old streets, and signs, and +manor-houses, old customs, village greens, fairs, thatched cottages, +little courtesying maidens, old servants, and men with scythes and +flails, instead of your new machines." She remembered how Mr. Hayes had +interrupted him with a contemptuous inquiry whether there was not as +much poetry to be found on one side as on the other. "Oh yes," he had +assented, idly swinging his foot,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_264" id="page_264">[264]</a></span> "as fine on your side no doubt, or +finer. You have the Marseillaise style of thing to quicken one's pulses. +Yes, and I came across a bit the other day, declaring—</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<i>'Que la Liberté sainte est la seule déesse,<br /> +Que l'on n'adore que debout.'</i>"<br /> +</p> + +<p>The words, uttered in the sudden fulness of his clear, rounded tones, +seemed to send a great wave of impulse through the quiet room. Barbara +could recall the sharp "Well, then?" with which Mr. Hayes received it.</p> + +<p>"Ah, but not for me," young Scarlett had answered. "You don't expect me +to write that kind of thing? It isn't in me. No, I want to rhyme about +some little picture in an old-fashioned setting—Pamela, or Dorothy, +or—or Ursula, walking between clipped hedges, or looking at an old +sun-dial, or stopping by a basin rimmed with mossy stone to feed the +gold fish. Or dreaming—and she must not be a Girton young<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_265" id="page_265">[265]</a></span> woman—I +couldn't imagine a Girton young woman's dreams!"</p> + +<p>And so the argument ended in laughter. If only it could have been Adrian +Scarlett instead of Reynold Harding in the dining-room that night! +Barbara's apprehensions would all have vanished in a moment. But Mr. +Scarlett was gone, ("He <i>might</i> have said good-bye," thought Barbara,) +and the pleasant time was gone with him. The window was closed and +shuttered, and the honeysuckle, a tangle of grey stalks, shivered in the +wind outside.</p> + +<p>She tried to amuse herself with <i>Good Words</i> again, but failed. Then she +went to the piano, but had no better success there. She was listening +with such strained attention, that to her ears the music was only +distracting and importunate noise. As a last resource she bethought her +of a half-finished novel which she had left in her bed-room. She had not +intended to go on<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_266" id="page_266">[266]</a></span> with it till Monday, but she <i>would</i>, and she ran +up-stairs with guilty eagerness to fetch it.</p> + +<p>She was coming back along the passage with the book in her hand, when +she heard the opening and shutting of doors below, and the quick fall of +steps. In another moment Reynold Harding came springing up the wide +stairs to where she stood. There was a lamp at the head of the +staircase, and as he passed out of the dusk into its light, she could +see his angry eyes, and she knew the veins which stood out upon his +forehead, looking as if the blood in them were black.</p> + +<p>He saw her just before he reached the top, and stopped short. For a +moment neither spoke, then he drew a long breath, and laid his hand upon +the balustrade.</p> + +<p>"Miss Strange," he said, "I'm going away."</p> + +<p>Barbara hardly knew what she had ex<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_267" id="page_267">[267]</a></span>pected or feared, but this took her +by surprise.</p> + +<p>"Going? Not now?" she exclaimed in amazement.</p> + +<p>"Not to-night—it is too late. I <i>must</i> stop for the night. I can't help +myself. But the first thing to-morrow morning."</p> + +<p>"Oh, why?"</p> + +<p>"I can't stay under the roof of a man who has insulted me as your uncle +has done. It is impossible that we should meet again," said Reynold. His +speech seemed to escape in fierce little jets of repressed wrath. "I'm +not accustomed—I ought never to have come here!"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" cried Barbara, in a tone of pained reproach.</p> + +<p>He was silent, looking fixedly at her. The meaning of what he had said, +and the fatal meaning of what he had done, came upon him, arresting him +in the midst of his passion. All his fire seemed suddenly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_268" id="page_268">[268]</a></span> to die down +to grey ashes. What madness had possessed him?</p> + +<p>They faced each other in the pale circle of lamplight, which trembled a +little on the broad, white stairs. Reynold, stricken and dumb, grasped +the balustrade with tightening fingers. Barbara leaned against the +white-panelled wall. She was the first to speak.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she said in a low voice. "That <i>you</i> should be driven out of +Mitchelhurst!"</p> + +<p>"Don't!" cried he. "God! it was my own fault!"</p> + +<p>"What was it? What did you quarrel about?"</p> + +<p>"Do I know?" Reynold demanded. "Ask him! Perhaps he can remember some of +the idiotic jangling. Why did we begin? Why did we go on? I don't +believe hell itself could be more wearisome. I was sick to death of it, +and yet something seemed to goad me on—I couldn't give in! It was my +infernal temper, I suppose."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_269" id="page_269">[269]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh I am so sorry!" Barbara whispered.</p> + +<p>"He shouldn't have spoken to me as he did, when I was his guest at his +own table," young Harding continued. "But after all, he is an old man, I +ought to have remembered that. Well, it's too late; it's all over now!"</p> + +<p>"But is it too late? Can't anything be done?"</p> + +<p>He almost smiled at the feminine failure to realise that the night's +work was more than a tiff which might be made up and forgotten.</p> + +<p>"Kiss and make friends—eh?" he said. "Will you run and fetch your +uncle?"</p> + +<p>The leaden little jest was uttered so miserably that Barbara only sighed +in answer.</p> + +<p>"No," said the young man, "it's all over. Even if I could apologise—and +I can't—I couldn't sit at his table again. It wouldn't be possible. No, +I must go!"</p> + +<p>"And you are sorry you ever came!"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_270" id="page_270">[270]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Don't remind me of that! I'm just as sorry I came here as that I ever +came into the world at all."</p> + +<p>The old clock in the dusky hall below struck ten slow strokes.</p> + +<p>"This will be good-night and good-bye," said Harding. "I shall be gone +before you are down in the morning."</p> + +<p>Even as he spoke he was thinking how completely his bitter folly had +exiled him from her presence.</p> + +<p>"You are going home?"</p> + +<p>"Home? Well, yes, I suppose so. By the way, I don't know that I shall go +home to-morrow. I may have to stay another day in Mitchelhurst. That +depends—I shall see when the morning comes. Your uncle's jurisdiction +doesn't extend beyond the grounds of the Place, I suppose. I won't +trespass, he may be very sure of that, and I won't stay in the +neighbourhood any longer than I can help. Only,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_271" id="page_271">[271]</a></span> you see, this is rather +a sudden change of plans."</p> + +<p>"I am so sorry," the girl repeated. "I hate to think of your going away +like this. I'm ashamed!"</p> + +<p>"No! no! I'm rightly served, though you needn't tell Mr. Hayes I said +so. I was fool enough to let my temper get the upper hand, and I must +pay the penalty. How I <i>could</i> be such an inconceivable idiot—but +that's neither here nor there. It was my own fault, and the less said +about it the better."</p> + +<p>Barbara shook her head.</p> + +<p>"No, it was my fault."</p> + +<p>This time Harding really smiled, drearily enough, but still it was a +smile.</p> + +<p>"Yours?" he said. "That never occurred to me. How do you make it out?"</p> + +<p>"Well," she said, looking down, and tracing a joint of the stone with +the tip of her little embroidered slipper, "it was partly my fault, +anyhow."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_272" id="page_272">[272]</a></span></p> + +<p>This "partly" seemed to point to something definite.</p> + +<p>"How do you mean?" he asked, looking curiously at her.</p> + +<p>"I knew he was cross," she said. "I knew it this morning as soon as he +came down, and he generally gets worse and worse all day. He isn't often +out of temper like that—only now and then. I dare say he will be all +right to-morrow, or perhaps the day after."</p> + +<p>"That's a little late for me!" said Harding.</p> + +<p>"So you see it <i>was</i> my fault. I ought to have told you."</p> + +<p>"Well, perhaps if you had, I might have been a trifle more on my guard. +I don't know, I'm sure. Yes, I wish you had happened to warn me! But you +mustn't reproach yourself, Miss Strange, it wasn't your fault. You +didn't know what I was, you couldn't be expected to think of it."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_273" id="page_273">[273]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But I <i>did</i> think of it!" Barbara cried remorsefully.</p> + +<p>"You did?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I was thinking of it all day. Oh how I <i>wish</i> I had done it! But I +wasn't sure you would like it—I didn't know. I thought perhaps it might +seem"—she faltered—"might seem as if I thought that you——"</p> + +<p>"I see!" Reynold answered in his harshest voice. "I needn't have told +you just now that I had a devil of a temper!"</p> + +<p>Barbara drew herself up against the wall with her head thrown back, and +gazed blankly at him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't be afraid!" he said with a laugh. "I'm not going to <i>hit</i> +you!"</p> + +<p>"Don't talk like that!" she cried. "Oh! there's uncle coming!" and +turning she fled back to her own room. Harding heard the steps below, +and he also went off, not quite so hurriedly, but with long strides,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_274" id="page_274">[274]</a></span> +and vanished into the shadows. The innocent cause of this alarm crossed +the hall, from the drawing-room to the study, banging the doors after +him, and the lamplight fell on the deserted stairs.</p> + +<p>Harding struck a light and flung himself into a chair. Barbara's words +and his own mocking laughter seemed still to be in the air about him. +The silence and loneliness bewildered him, he could not realise <a name="tha" id="tha"></a><ins title="Original has 'tha '">that</ins> his +chance of speech had escaped him, and that Barbara's entreaty must +remain unanswered. Her timid self-reproach had stabbed him to the heart. +That the poor little girl should have trembled and been silent, lest he +should speak harshly, and then that she should blame herself so bitterly +for her cowardice—it was a sudden revelation to Reynold of the ugliness +of those black moods of his. One might have pictured the evil power +broken by the shock of this discovery and leaving shame-stricken<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_275" id="page_275">[275]</a></span> +patience in its place, or, at least, one might have imagined strenuous +resolutions for the days to come. But Reynold's very tenderness was +mixed with wrath; he cursed the something in himself, yet not himself, +which had frightened Barbara, he could not feel that <i>he</i> was +answerable. That she, of all the world, should judge him so, filled his +soul with a burning sense of wrong.</p> + +<p>"How <i>could</i> you think it?" he pleaded with her in his thoughts, "my +dear, how <i>could</i> you think it?" And yet he did not blame her. Ah God! +what a bitter, miserable wretch he had been his whole life through! Why +had no woman ever taught him how to be gentle and good? He blamed +neither Barbara nor himself, but a cruel fate.</p> + +<p>It was not till late, when he had collected his things, and made all +ready for his departure in the morning, that he remembered that he would +not see her again, that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_276" id="page_276">[276]</a></span> absolutely could not so much as speak a word +to make amends. He must cross the threshold of the old house as early as +he possibly could, his angry pride would not allow him a moment's delay, +and what chance was there that she would be up and dressed by then? It +was maddening to think of the long slow hours which they would pass +under the same roof, each hour gliding away with its many minutes. And +in one minute he could say so much, if but one minute were granted him! +"But it won't be," he said sullenly, as he lay down till the dawn should +come, "it isn't likely." And he ground his teeth together at the +remembrance of the many minutes spent in wrangling with Mr. Hayes, while +Barbara waited alone.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="likeh5"> +END OF VOL. I.<br /> +</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> + + + +<h2><span class="smcap">Messrs.</span> MACMILLAN & CO.'S NEW NOVELS.</h2> + + +<p><b>JILL.</b> By <span class="smcap">E. A. Dillwyn</span>. 2 vols. Globe 8vo. 12<i>s.</i></p> + +<blockquote><p>"A very lively and spirited story, written with a good deal of the +realism of such authors as Defoe, and describing the experiences of +a young lady.... Extremely entertaining and life like. It will be +seen from this that Miss Dillwyn has hit perfectly the tone of +sincere biography."—<i>The Spectator.</i></p> + +<p>"A very original autobiographical narrative, so cynically frank and +so delightfully piquant, that it is quite a marvel. Read with +understanding, the narrative is not uninstructive; it is certainly +well worth reading for entertainment only."—<i>The St. James's +Gazette.</i></p></blockquote> + + +<p><b>A ROMAN SINGER.</b> By <span class="smcap">F. Marion Crawford</span>. Author of "Mr. Isaacs," "Doctor +Claudius." Crown 8vo. 6<i>s.</i></p> + +<blockquote><p>"We are not making use of conventionalities of criticism when we +call this a masterpiece of narrative.... In Mr. Crawford's skilful +hands it is unlike any other romance in English literature.... The +characters in the novel possess strong individuality, brought out +simply by the native stress of the story."—<i>The Times.</i></p> + +<p>"Mr. Crawford's new book is in its way as much a success as his +previous productions.... This charming novel."—<i>Morning Post.</i></p> + +<p>"Mr. Crawford's new book is likely to be popular.... He is much +stronger with character and emotion, and in these matters 'A Roman +Singer' leaves little to be desired.... The story is full of +exciting interest, is told with remarkable directness and +vigour."—<i>The Athenæum.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p class="likeh5tighttobelow"> +BY THE AUTHOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN."</p> +<p><b>MISS TOMMY: A MEDIÆVAL ROMANCE.</b> By the Author of "John Halifax, +Gentleman." Crown 8vo. 6<i>s.</i></p> + +<blockquote><p>"The book has what the author would call a 'mediæval' charm of its +own, and reading it is like smelling at a china bowl of last year's +roses."—<i>St. James's Gazette.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p class="likeh5tighttobelow"> +BY CHARLOTTE M. YONGE.</p> +<p><b>THE ARMOURER'S PRENTICES.</b> By <span class="smcap">Charlotte M. Yonge</span>. Author of "The Heir of +Redclyffe." 2 vols. Crown 8vo. 12<i>s.</i></p> + +<blockquote><p>"An excellent representation of London life in the beginning of the +sixteenth century.... The author has consulted all the best +authorities upon citizen life in the early Tudor days, and the +result is in every way satisfactory."—<i>Academy.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p class="likeh5tighttobelow">MR. WILLIAM BLACK'S NEW NOVEL</p> +<p><b>JUDITH SHAKESPEARE.</b> By<span class="smcap"> William Black</span>, Author of "Yolande," "A Princess +of Thule," "Madcap Violet," &c. 3 Vols. Crown 8vo. 31<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p> + + +<p class="likeh4">MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> + + + +<h2><span class="smcap">Messrs.</span> MACMILLAN & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS.</h2> + + + + +<p class="likeh5tighttobelow">LORD TENNYSON'S WORKS.</p> + +<p><b>THE WORKS OF ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.</b> A new Collected Edition in Seven Volumes. Extra fcap. 8vo. 5<i>s.</i> each +Volume.</p> + +<p class="blockquot">A limited number of copies are printed on best Hand-made Paper. +Orders for this Edition will be taken <i>for Sets only</i>, at the rate +of 10<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> per Volume. The Volumes will be published as +follows:—</p> + +<p> +Vol. I. EARLY POEMS.<br /> +Vol. II. LUCRETIUS: and other poems.<br /> +Vol. III. IDYLLS OF THE KING.<br /> +Vol. IV. THE PRINCESS: and MAUD.<br /> +Vol. V. ENOCH ARDEN: and IN MEMORIAM.<br /> +Vol. VI. QUEEN MARY: and HAROLD.<br /> +Vol. VII. BALLADS: and other Poems.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="likeh5tighttobelow">LORD TENNYSON'S NEW BOOK</p> + +<p><b>THE CUP: AND THE FALCON.</b> By <span class="smcap">Alfred, Lord Tennyson</span>. Fcap. 8vo. 5<i>s.</i></p> + +<p class="blockquot"><i>Just Published. Crown 8vo. Price 7s. 6d.</i></p> + +<p>The Works of <span class="smcap">Alfred, Lord Tennyson</span>, Poet Laureate. A New Collected +Edition. Corrected throughout by the Author. With a New Portrait.</p> + + +<p class="likeh5tighttobelow">MR. THOMAS WOOLNER'S NEW POEM.</p> + +<p><b>SILENUS:</b> A Poem. By <span class="smcap">Thomas Woolner</span>, R.A., Author of "My Beautiful Lady," +"Pygmalion," &c. Crown 8vo. 6<i>s.</i></p> + + +<p class="likeh5tighttobelow">THE COLLECTED</p> +<p><b>WORKS OF RALPH WALDO EMERSON</b>. Globe 8vo. Price 5<i>s.</i> each Volume.</p> + +<p> +1. <b>Miscellanies.</b> With an Introductory Essay by <span class="smcap">John Morley</span>.<br /> +2. <b>Essays.</b><br /> +3. <b>Poems.</b><br /> +4. <b>English Traits</b>: and <b>Representative Men</b>.<br /> +5. <b>Conduct of Life</b>: and <b>Society and Solitude</b>.<br /> +6. <b>Letters</b>: and <b>Social Aims</b>, &c.<br /> +</p> + +<blockquote><p class="thin">"Messrs. Macmillan and Co.'s edition of Emerson's works has the +advantage of an Introductory Essay by Mr. John Morley, which seems +to supply precisely the information and the comment which an +English reader needs."—<i>Athenæum.</i></p></blockquote> +<p class="thin"> </p> + +<p class="thin"><b>ENGLISH POETS.</b> Selections, with Critical Introductions by Various +Writers, and a General Introduction by <span class="smcap">Matthew Arnold</span>. Edited by <span class="smcap">T. H. +Ward</span>, M.A. 4 vols. New Edition. Crown 8vo. 7<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> each.</p> + + +<p class="thin"> +<span style="margin-left: .8em;">I. CHAUCER TO DONNE.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.4em;">II. BEN JONSON TO DRYDEN.</span><br /> +III. ADDISON TO BLAKE.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0em;">IV. WORDSWORTH TO ROSSETTI.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p class="thin"> </p> + + +<h3><i>A Selection from MACMILLAN'S Popular Novels.</i></h3> + +<p>In Crown 8vo., cloth. Price 6<i>s.</i> each Volume.</p> + + +<p>BY CHARLES KINGSLEY. <br /> +<b>Westward Ho!</b><br /> +<b>Hereward the Wake.</b><br /> +<b>Hypatia.</b><br /> +<b>Two Years Ago.</b><br /> +<b>Alton Locke.</b><br /> +<b>Yeast.</b><br /> +</p> + +<p>BY CHARLOTTE M. YONGE.<br /> +<b>The Heir of Redclyffe.</b><br /> +<b>Heartsease.</b><br /> +<b>Hopes and Fears.</b><br /> +<b>The Daisy Chain.</b><br /> +<b>Dynevor Terrace.</b><br /> +<b>Pillars of the House.</b> 2 vols.<br /> +<b>Clever Woman of the Family.</b><br /> +<b>The Young Stepmother.</b><br /> +<b>The Trial.</b><br /> +<b>My Young Alcides.</b><br /> +<b>The Three Brides.</b><br /> +<b>The Caged Lion.</b><br /> +<b>The Dove in the Eagle's Nest.</b><br /> +<b>The Chaplet of Pearls.</b><br /> +<b>Lady Hester: and the Danvers Papers.</b><br /> +<b>Magnum Bonum.</b><br /> +<b>Love and Life.</b><br /> +<b>Unknown to History.</b><br /> +</p> + +<p>BY WILLIAM BLACK.<br /> +<b>A Princess of Thule.</b><br /> +<b>Madcap Violet.</b><br /> +<b>Strange Adventures of a Phaeton.</b><br /> +<b>The Maid of Killeena</b>: &c.<br /> +<b>Yolande.</b><br /> +<b>Green Pastures and Piccadilly.</b><br /> +<b>Macleod of Dare.</b><br /> +<b>White Wings.</b><br /> +<b>The Beautiful Wretch</b>: &c.<br /> +<b>Shandon Bells.</b><br /> +<br /> +<b>Tom Brown at Oxford.</b><br /> +<b>Tom Brown's School Days.</b><br /> +<b>John Inglesant.</b> By <span class="smcap">J. H. Shorthouse</span>.<br /> +</p> + +<p>BY THE AUTHOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN."<br /> +<b>The Ogilvies.</b> Illustrated.<br /> +<b>The Head of the Family.</b> Illus.<br /> +<b>Olive.</b> Illus. by <span class="smcap">G. Bowers</span>.<br /> +<b>Agatha's Husband.</b> Illustrated.<br /> +<b>My Mother and I.</b> Illustrated.<br /> +<b>Miss Tommy.</b><br /> +</p> + +<p class="thin">BY HENRY JAMES.<br /> +<b>The American.</b><br /> +<b>The Europeans.</b><br /> +<b>Daisy Miller</b>, &c.<br /> +<b>Roderick Hudson.</b><br /> +<b>The Madonna of the Future: and other Tales.</b><br /> +<b>Washington Square</b>, &c.<br /> +<b>The Portrait of a Lady.</b><br /> +</p> + +<p class="thin"> </p> +<h3><i>MACMILLAN'S Two Shilling Novels.</i></h3> + +<p>BY THE AUTHOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN."<br /> +<b>Olive.</b><br /> +<b>Agatha's Husband.</b><br /> +<b>The Ogilvies.</b><br /> +<b>Patty.</b> By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Macquoid</span>.<br /> +<b>The Head of the Family.</b><br /> +<b>Two Marriages.</b><br /> +</p> + +<p>BY GEORGE FLEMING.<br /> +<b>A Nile Novel.</b><br /> +<b>Mirage.</b><br /> +<b>The Head of Medusa.</b><br /> +<b>Vestigia.</b><br /> +</p> + +<p>BY MRS. OLIPHANT.<br /> +<b>The Curate in Charge.</b><br /> +<b>A Son of the Soil.</b><br /> +<b>Young Musgrave.</b><br /> +<b>A Beleaguered City.</b><br /> +</p> + +<p class="thin">BY THE AUTHOR OF "HOGAN, M.P."<br /> +<b>Hogan, M.P.</b><br /> +<b>Christy Carew.</b><br /> +<b>The Hon. Miss Ferrard.</b><br /> +<b>Flitters, Tatters, and the Counsellor, Weeds, and Other Sketches.</b> +</p> + + +<p class="thin"> </p> + +<p class="likeh2nb"><span class="smcap">Messrs.</span> MACMILLAN & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS.</p> + + +<p class="likeh5tighttobelow">A NEW AMERICAN NOVEL.</p> + +<p><b>RAMONA.</b> A Story. By <span class="smcap">Helen Jackson</span>. Two Vols. Globe 8vo. 12<i>s.</i></p> + + +<p class="likeh5tighttobelow">A NEW GIFT BOOK.</p> + +<p><b>THE ENGLISH ILLUSTRATED MAGAZINE</b>, 1884. A Handsome Volume, consisting of +792 closely printed pages, and containing 428 Woodcut Illustrations of +various sizes, bound in extra cloth, coloured edges, 7<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p> + +<p class="blockquot">The Volume contains a COMPLETE SERIES of DESCRIPTIVE SKETCHES by +the Author of "John Halifax, Gentleman," with Illustrations by C. +Napier Hemy; a complete HISTORICAL NOVEL, by Charlotte M. Yonge, +author of "The Heir of Redclyffe"; and numerous Short Stories and +Essays on Popular Subjects by well-known writers.</p> + + +<p class="likeh5tighttobelow">NEW BOOK BY MR. PHILIP GILBERT HAMERTON.</p> + +<p><b>HUMAN INTERCOURSE.</b> A Series of Essays. By <span class="smcap">Philip Gilbert Hamerton</span>, +Author of "Thoughts about Art," "Etchers and Etching," &c. Crown 8vo. +8<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p> + +<p><b>CHARLES LAMB'S POEMS, PLAYS, AND MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS.</b> With Introduction +and Notes by <span class="smcap">Alfred Ainger</span>, Editor of "The Essays of Elia," &c. Globe +8vo. 5<i>s.</i></p> + + +<p class="likeh4tighttobelow">NEW BOOKS FOR CHILDREN.</p> + +<p class="likeh6tight">MRS. MOLESWORTH'S NEW BOOK.</p> + +<p><b>CHRISTMAS TREE LAND.</b> By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Molesworth</span>, Author of "Carrots," "Cuckoo +Clock," "Two Little Waifs." With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Walter Crane</span>. Crown +8vo. 4<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p> + +<p class="likeh5tight">NEW STORY BOOKS FOR BOYS.</p> + +<p><b>CHARLIE ASGARDE.</b> A Tale of Adventure. By <span class="smcap">Alfred St. Johnstone</span>, Author of +"Camping among Cannibals." With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Hugh Thomson</span>. Crown +8vo. 5<i>s.</i></p> + +<p><b>THE FRENCH PRISONERS.</b> A Story for Boys. By <span class="smcap">Edward Bertz</span>. Crown 8vo. +4<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p> + + +<p class="likeh5tighttobelow">BY THE AUTHOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN."</p> + +<p><b>ALICE LEARMONT</b>; A Fairy Tale. By the Author of "John Halifax, +Gentleman." With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">James Godwin</span>. New Edition, revised by +the Author. Globe 8vo. 4<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p> + +<p class="thin"> </p> +<p class="likeh4">MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<div class='tnote'> +<h2><a name="Transcribers_note" id="Transcribers_note">Transcriber's note:</a></h2> +<p>In general every effort has been made to replicate the original text as +faithfully as possible, including some instances of no longer standard +spelling. However, obvious punctuation errors have been +repaired. Hyphenation has been standardized. The following +changes were made to repair apparently typographical errors (in both cases, +the letter 't' was missing although a space had been left for it):</p> + +<p> +p. 131 "My grandfather is an importan man" 'importan ' changed to <a href="#importan">'important'</a><br /> +p. 274 "he could not realise tha his" 'tha ' changed to <a href="#tha">'that'</a><br /> +</p> +</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mitchelhurst Place, Vol. I (of 2), by +Margaret Veley + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MITCHELHURST PLACE, VOL. 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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: Mitchelhurst Place, Vol. I (of 2) + A Novel + +Author: Margaret Veley + +Release Date: April 2, 2012 [EBook #39345] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MITCHELHURST PLACE, VOL. I (OF 2) *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Paula Franzini and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by The Internet Archive) + + + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and + bold text by =equal signs=. + + + + + MITCHELHURST PLACE + + A Novel + + BY + MARGARET VELEY + + AUTHOR OF "FOR PERCIVAL" + + "Que voulez-vous? Helas! notre mere Nature, + Comme toute autre mere, a ses enfants gates, + Et pour les malvenus elle est avare et dure!" + + IN TWO VOLUMES + + VOL. I. + + London + MACMILLAN AND CO. + 1884 + + _The Right of Translation and Reproduction is Reserved._ + + + + + Bungay: + + CLAY AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS. + + + + + TO + + BARBARA'S BEST FRIEND + + _ELFRIDA IONIDES_ + + HER STORY IS MOST AFFECTIONATELY + AND GRATEFULLY INSCRIBED. + + + + +CONTENTS OF VOL. I. + + + CHAPTER I. PAGE + TREASURES DROPPED AND PICKED UP 1 + + CHAPTER II. + AN UNEXPECTED INVITATION 19 + + CHAPTER III. + "WELCOME TO MITCHELHURST PLACE" 48 + + CHAPTER IV. + DINNER AND A LITTLE MUSIC 73 + + CHAPTER V. + AN OLD LOVE STORY 95 + + CHAPTER VI. + REYNOLD'S RESOLUTION 124 + + CHAPTER VII. + A GAME AT CHESS 160 + + CHAPTER VIII. + BARBARA'S TUNE 192 + + CHAPTER IX. + OF MAGIC LANTERNS 209 + + CHAPTER X. + AN AFTER-DINNER DISCUSSION 237 + + + + +MITCHELHURST PLACE + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +TREASURES DROPPED AND PICKED UP. + + "Dans l'air pale, emanant ses tranquilles lumieres + Rayonnait l'astre d'or de l'arriere-saison." + + +There was nothing remarkable in the scene. It was just a bit of country +lane, cut deeply into the side of a hill, and seamed with little pebbly +courses, made by the streams of rain which had poured across it on their +downward way. The hill-side faced the west, and, standing on this ledge +as on a balcony, one might look down into a valley where cattle were +feeding in the pastures, and where a full and softly-flowing river +turned the wheel of a distant mill, and slipped quietly under the arched +bridge of the lower road. Sometimes in summer the water lay gleaming, +like a curved blade, in the midst of the warm green meadows, but on this +late October day it was misty and wan, and light vapours veiled the pale +globe of the declining sun. Looking upward from the valley, a broad +slope of ploughed land rose above the road, and the prospect ended in a +hedge, a gate, through whose bars one saw the sky, and a thin line of +dusky, red-trunked firs. But from the road itself there was nothing to +be seen in this direction except a steep bank. This bank was crowned +with hawthorn bushes, and here and there a stubborn stunted oak, which +held its dry brown leaves persistently, as some oaks do. With every +passing breath of wind there was a crisp rustling overhead. + +This bit of road lay deserted in the faint yellow gleams. But for a wisp +of straw, caught on an overhanging twig, and some cart-tracks, which +marked the passage of a load, one might have fancied that the pale sun +had risen, and now was about to set, without having seen a single +wayfarer upon it. But there were four coming towards it, and, slowly as +two of them might travel, they would yet reach it while the sunlight +lasted. The little stage was to have its actors that afternoon. + +First there appeared a man's figure on the crest of the hill. He swung +himself over the gate, and came with eager strides down the field, till +he reached the hedge which divided it from the road. There he stopped, +consulted his watch, and sheltering himself behind one of the little +oaks, he rested one knee on a mossy stump, and thus, half-standing, +half-kneeling, he waited. The attitude was picturesque, and so was the +man. He had bright grey-blue eyes, hair and moustache brown, with a +touch of reddish gold, a quick, animated face, and a smiling mouth. It +was easy to see that he was sanguine and fearless, and on admirable +terms with himself and the world in general. He was young, and he was +pleasant to look at, and, though he could hardly have dressed with a +view to occupying that precise position, his brown velvet coat was +undeniably in the happiest harmony with the tree against which he +leaned, and the withered foliage above his head. + +To wait there, with his eyes fixed on that unfrequented way, hardly +seemed a promising pastime. But the young fellow was either lucky or +wise. He had not been there more than five minutes by his watch, when a +girl turned the corner, and came, with down-bent head, slowly sauntering +along the road below him. His clasping hand on the rough oak-bark +shifted slightly, to allow him to lean a little further and gain a wider +range, though he was careful to keep in the shelter of his tree and the +hawthorn hedge. A few steps brought the girl exactly opposite his +hiding-place. There she paused. + +She sauntered because her hands and eyes were occupied, and she took no +heed of the way she went. She paused because her occupation became so +engrossing that she forgot to take another step. She wore long, loose +gloves, to guard her hands and wrists, and as she came she had pulled +autumn leaves of briony and bramble, and brier sprays with their bunches +of glowing hips. These she was gathering together and arranging, partly +that they might be easier to carry, and partly to justify her pleasure +in their beauty by setting it off to the best advantage. As she +completed her task, a tuft of yellow leaves on the bank beside her +caught her eye. She stretched her hand to gather it, and the man above +looked straight down into her unconscious upturned face. + +She was not more than eighteen or nineteen, and by a touch of innocent +shyness in her glances and movements she might have been judged to be +still younger. She was slight and dark, with a soft loose cloud of dusky +hair, and a face, not flower-like in its charm, but with a healthful +beauty more akin to her own autumn berries--ripe, clear-skinned, and +sweet. As she looked up, with red lips parted, it was hardly wonderful +that the lips of the man in ambush, breathlessly silent though he was, +made answer with a smile. She plucked the yellow leaves and turned away, +and he suffered his breath to escape softly in a sigh. Yet he was +smiling still at the pretty picture of that innocent face held up to +him. + +It was all over in a minute. She had come and gone, and he stood up, +still cautiously, lest she should return, and looked at the broad brown +slope down which he had come so eagerly. Every step of that +lightly-trodden way must be retraced, and time was short. But even as he +faced it he turned for one last glance at the spot where she had stood. +And there, like coloured jewels on the dull earth, lay a bunch of hips, +orange and glowing scarlet, which she had unawares let fall. In a moment +he was down on the road, had caught up his prize, and almost as quickly +had pulled himself up again, and was standing behind the sheltering tree +while he fastened it in his coat. And when he had secured it, it seemed, +after all, as if he had needed just that touch of soft bright colour, +and would not have been completely himself without it. + +"Barbara's gift," he said to himself, looking down at it. "I'll tell her +of it one of these days, when the poor things are dead and dry! No, that +they never shall be!" He quickened his pace. "They shall live, at any +rate, for me. It would not be amiss for a sonnet. _Love's +Gleaning_--yes, or _Love's Alms_," and before the young fellow's eyes +rose the dainty vision of a creamy, faintly-ribbed page, with strong yet +delicately-cut Roman type and slim italics. Though not a line of it was +written, he could vaguely see that sonnet in which his rosy spoil should +be enshrined. He could even see Barbara reading it, on some future day, +while he added the commentary, which was not for the world in general, +but for Barbara. It became clearer to him as he hurried on, striking +across the fields to reach his destination more directly. Snatches of +musical words floated on the evening air, and he quickened his pace +unconsciously as if in actual pursuit. To the east the sky grew cold and +blue, and the moon, pearl white, but as yet not luminous, swam above him +as he walked. + +So the poet went in quest of rhymes, and Barbara, strolling onward, +looked for leaves and berries. She had not gone far when she spied some +more, better, of course, than any she had already gathered. This time +they were on the lower bank which sloped steeply downward to a muddy +ditch. Barbara looked at them longingly, decided that they were +attainable, and put her nosegay down on the damp grass that she might +have both hands free for her enterprise. + +She was certain she could get them. She leaned forward, her finger-tips +almost brushed them, when a man's footsteps, close beside her, startled +her into consciousness of an undignified position, and she sprang back +to firmer ground. But a thin chain she wore had caught on a thorny +spray. It snapped, and a little gold cross dropped from it, and lay, +rather more than half-way down, among the briers and withered leaves. +She snatched at the dangling chain, and stood, flushed and +disconcerted, trying to appear absorbed in the landscape, and +unconscious of the passer-by who had done the mischief. If only he +_would_ pass by as quickly as possible, and leave her to regain her +treasure and gather her berries! + +But the steps hesitated, halted, and there was a pause--an immense +pause--during which Barbara kept her eyes fixed on a particular spot in +the meadow below. It appeared to her that the eyes of the unknown man +were fixed on the back of her head, and the sensation was intolerable. +After a moment, however, he spoke, and broke the spell. It was a +gentleman's voice, she perceived, but a little forced and hard, as if +the words cost him something of an effort. + +"I--I beg your pardon, but can I be of any service? I think you dropped +something--ah! a little cross." He came to her side. "Will you allow me +to get it for you?" + +Barbara went through the form of glancing at him, but she did not meet +his eyes. "Thank you," she said, "but I needn't trouble you, really." +And she returned to her pensive contemplation of that spot where the +meadow grass grew somewhat more rankly tufted. + +He paused again before speaking. It seemed to Barbara that this young +man did nothing but pause. "I don't think you can get it," he said, +looking at the brambles. "I really don't think you can." + +If Barbara had frankly uttered her inmost sentiments she would have +said, "Great idiot--no--not if you don't go away!" But, as it was, she +coloured yet more in her shyness, and stooped to pick up her nosegay +from the ground. He had been within an inch of treading on it. + +"Oh, I beg your pardon!" he exclaimed, starting back. "How clumsy of +me!" + +Something in his tone disarmed her. She feared that she had been +ungracious, and moreover she was a little doubtful whether she would not +find it difficult to regain her trinket without his help. "You haven't +done any harm," she said. Then, glancing downward, "Well, if you will be +so kind." + +The new-comer surveyed the situation so intently that Barbara took the +opportunity of surveying him. + +She was familiar, in novels, with heroes and heroines who were not +precisely beautiful, yet possessed a nameless and all-conquering charm. +Perhaps for that very reason she was slow to recognize good looks where +this charm was absent. The tall young fellow who stood a few steps away, +gazing with knitted brows at the little wilderness of briers, was really +very handsome, but he was not certain of the fact. Beauty should not be +self-conscious, but it should not despondently question its own +existence. This man seemed to be accustomed to a chilly, ungenial +atmosphere, to be numbed and repressed, to lack fire. Barbara fancied +that if he touched her his hand would be cold. + +In point of actual features he was decidedly the superior of the young +fellow who was climbing the hill-side, but the pleasant colour and grace +were altogether wanting. Yet he was not exactly awkward. Neither was he +ill-dressed, though his clothes did not seem to express his +individuality, except perhaps by the fact that they were black and grey. +Any attempt at description falls naturally into cold negatives, and the +scarlet autumn berries which were just a jewel-like brightness in the +first picture would have been a strange and vivid contrast in the +second. + +His momentary hesitation on the brink of his venture was not in reality +indecision, but the watchful distrust produced by a conviction that +circumstances were hostile. He wished to take them all into account. +Having briefly considered the position of the cross, and the steepness +of the bank, he stepped boldly down. In less than half a second the +treacherous earth had betrayed him; his foot slipped, he fell on his +back, and slid down the short incline to the muddy ditch at the bottom, +losing his hat by the way. + +Barbara, above him, uttered a silvery little "Oh!" of dismay and +surprise. She was not accustomed to a man who failed in what he +undertook. + +The victim of the little accident was grimly silent. With a scrambling +effort he recovered his footing and lost it again. A second attempt was +more successful; he secured the cross, clambered up, and restored it to +its owner, turning away from her thanks to pick up his hat, which +luckily lay within easy reach. Barbara did not know which way to look. +She was painfully, burningly conscious of his evil plight. His boots +were coated with mire, his face was darkly flushed and seamed with a +couple of brier scratches, a bit of dead leaf was sticking in his hair, +and "Oh," thought Barbara, "he cannot possibly know how muddy his back +is!" + +She stood, turning the little cross in her fingers. "Thank you very +much," she said nervously. "I should never have got it for myself." + +"Are you quite sure?" he asked, with bitter distinctness. "I think you +would have managed it much better." + +"I'm sure I would rather not try." She dared not raise her eyes to his +face, but she saw that he wore no glove, and that the thorns had torn +his hand. He was winding his handkerchief round it, and the blood +started through the white folds. "Oh, you have hurt yourself!" she +exclaimed. He answered only with an impatient gesture of negation. + +"How am I to thank you?" she asked despairingly. + +"Don't you think the less said the better, at any rate for me?" he +replied, picking a piece of bramble from his sleeve, and glancing aside, +as if to permit her to go her way with no more words. + +But Barbara held her ground. "I should have been sorry to lose that +cross. I--I prize it very much." + +"Then I am sorry to have given you an absurd association with it." + +"Please don't talk like that. I shall remember your kindness," said the +girl hurriedly. She felt as if she must add something more. "I always +fancy my cross is a kind of--what do they call those things that bring +good luck?" + +"Amulet? Talisman?" + +"Yes, a talisman," she repeated, with a little nod. "It belonged to my +godmother. I was named after her. She died before I was a year old, but +I have heard my mother say she was the most beautiful woman she ever +saw. Oh, I should hate to lose it!" + +"Would your luck go with it?" He smiled as he asked the question, and +the smile was like a momentary illumination, revealing the habitual +melancholy of his mouth. + +"Perhaps," said Barbara. + +"Well, you would not have lost it this afternoon, as it was quite +conspicuously visible," he rejoined. + +By this time he had brushed his hat, and, passing his hand over his +short waves of dark hair, had found and removed the bit of leaf which +had distressed Barbara. She advanced a step, perhaps emboldened a little +by that passing smile. "Oh, I beg your pardon," she said, "but when you +slipped you got some earth on your coat." (She fancied that "earth" +sounded a little more dignified than "mud" or "dirt," and that he might +not mind it quite so much.) "Please let me brush it off for you." She +looked up at him with a pleading glance and produced a filmy little +feminine handkerchief. + +He eyed her, drawing back. "No!" he ejaculated; and then, more mildly, +"No, thank you. I can manage. No, thank you." + +"I wish----" Barbara began, but she said no more, for the expression of +his face changed so suddenly that she looked over her shoulder to +discover the cause. + +A gentleman stood a few steps away, gazing at them in unconcealed +surprise. A small, neat, black-clothed gentleman, with bright grey eyes +and white hair and whiskers, who wore a very tall hat and carried a +smart little cane. + +"Uncle!" the girl exclaimed, and her uplifted hand dropped loosely by +her side. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +AN UNEXPECTED INVITATION. + + +The old gentleman's face would have been a mere note of interrogation, +but for a hint of chilly displeasure in its questioning. The young +people answered with blushes. The word was the same for both, but the +fact was curiously different. The colour that sprang to Barbara's cheek +was light and swift as flame, while the man at her side reddened slowly, +as if with the rising of a dark and sullen tide, till the lines across +his face were angrily swollen. The bandage, loosely wound round his +hand, showed the wet stains, and the new-comer's bright gaze, travelling +downwards, rested on it for a moment, and then passed on to the muddy +boots and trousers. + +"Uncle," said Barbara, "I dropped my gold cross, and this gentleman was +so kind as to get it back for me." + +"It was nothing--I was very glad to be of any service, but it isn't +worth mentioning," the stranger protested, again with a rough edge of +effort in his tone. + +"On the contrary," said the old gentleman, "I fear my niece has given +you a great deal of trouble. I am sure we are both of us exceedingly +obliged to you for your kindness." He emphasised his thanks with a neat +little bow. To the young man's angry fancy it seemed that his glance +swept the landscape, as if he sought some perilous precipice, which +might account for the display of mud and wounds. + +"Yes," said Barbara, quickly, "the bank is so slippery, and there are +such horrid brambles--look, uncle! I came to meet you, and I was +gathering some leaves, and my chain caught and snapped." + +"Ah! that bank! Yes, a very disagreeable place," he assented, looking up +at the stranger. "I am really very sorry that you should have received +such----" he hesitated for a word, and then finished, "such injuries." + +"The bank is nothing. I was clumsy," was the reply. + +"I think, Barbara, we must be going home," her uncle suggested. The +young man stood aside to let them pass, with a certain awkwardness and +irresolution, for their road was the same as his own. + +"I beg your pardon," he said, abruptly, "but perhaps, if you are going +that way, you can tell me how far it is to Mitchelhurst." + +They both looked surprised. "About a mile and a half. Were you going to +Mitchelhurst?" + +"Yes, but if you know it----" + +"We live there," said Barbara. + +"Perhaps you could tell me what I want to know. I would just as soon not +go on this afternoon. Is there a decent inn, or, better still, could one +be tolerably sure of getting lodgings in the place, without securing +them beforehand?" + +"You want lodgings there?" + +"Only for a few days. I came by train a couple of hours ago"--he named a +neighbouring town--"and they told me at the hotel that it was uncertain +whether I should find accommodation at Mitchelhurst; so I left my +luggage there, and walked over to make inquiries." + +"I do not think that I can recommend the inn," said the other, +doubtfully. "I fear you would find it beery, and smoky, and noisy--the +village alehouse, you understand. Sanded floors, and rustics with long +clay pipes--that's the kind of thing at the 'Rothwell Arms.'" + +"Ah! the 'Rothwell Arms'!" + +"And as for lodgings," the old man continued, with something alert and +watchful in his manner, "the fact is people _don't_ care to lodge in +Mitchelhurst. They live there, a few of them--myself for instance--but +there is nothing in the place to attract ordinary visitors." + +He paused, but the only comment was-- + +"Indeed?" + +"Nothing whatever," he affirmed. "A little, out-of-the-way, +uninteresting village--but you are anxious to stay here?" + +The stranger was re-arranging the loosened handkerchief with slender, +unskilful fingers. + +"For a few days--yes," he repeated, half absently, as he tried to tuck +away a hanging end. + +"Uncle," said Barbara, with timid eagerness, "doesn't Mrs. Simmonds let +lodgings? When that man came surveying, or something, last summer, +didn't he have rooms in her house? I'm very nearly sure he did." + +Her uncle intercepted, as it were, the stranger's glance of inquiry. + +"Perhaps. But I don't think Mrs. Simmonds will do on this occasion." + +"Why not?" the other demanded. "I don't suppose I'm more particular than +the man who came surveying. If the place is decently clean, why not?" + +"Because your name is Harding. I don't know what his might happen to +be." + +The young man drew himself up, almost as if he repelled an accusation. +Then he seemed to recollect himself. + +"Yes," he said, "it is. How did you know that?" + +The little Mitchelhurst gentleman found such pleasure in his own +acuteness that it gave a momentary air of cordiality to his manner. + +"My dear sir," he replied, looking critically at Harding's scratched +face, "I knew the Rothwells well. I recognise the Rothwell features." + +"You must be a keen observer," said the other curtly. + +"Voice too," the little man continued. "Especially when you repeated the +name of the inn--the Rothwell Arms." + +Harding laughed. + +"Upon my word! The Rothwells have left me more of the family property +than I was aware of." + +"Then there was your destination. Who but a Rothwell would ever want to +stay at Mitchelhurst?" + +"I see. I appear to have betrayed myself in a variety of ways." The +discovery of his name seemed to have given him a little more ease of +manner of a defiant and half-mocking kind. "What, is there something +more?" he inquired, as his new acquaintance recommenced, "And then----" + +"Yes, enough to make me very sure. You wear a ring on your little finger +which your mother gave you. She used to wear it thirty years ago." + +"True!" said Harding, in a tone of surprise. "You knew my mother then?" + +"As I say--thirty years ago. She is still living, is she not? And in +good health, I trust?" + +"Yes." The young man looked at his ring. "You have a good memory," he +said, with an inflection which seemed to convey that he would have ended +the sentence with a name, had he known one. + +The little gentleman took the hint. + +"My name is Herbert Hayes." He spoke with careful precision, it was +impossible to mistake the words, yet there was something tentative and +questioning in their utterance. The young man's face betrayed a puzzled +half-recognition. + +"I've heard my mother speak of you," he said. + +"But you don't remember what she said?" + +"Not much, I'm afraid. It is very stupid of me. But that I have heard +her speak of you I'm certain. I know your name well." + +"There was nothing much to say. We were very good friends thirty years +ago. Mrs. Harding might naturally mention my name if she were speaking +of Mitchelhurst. Does she often talk of old days?" + +"Not often. I shall tell her I met you." + +Barbara stood by, wondering and interested, glancing to and fro as they +spoke. At this moment she caught her uncle's eye. + +"By the way," he said, "I have not introduced you to my niece--my +great-niece, to be strictly accurate--Miss Barbara Strange." + +Harding bowed ceremoniously, and yet with a touch of self-contemptuous +amusement. He bowed, but he remembered that she had seen him slide down +a muddy bank on his back by way of an earlier introduction. + +"Mr. Rothwell Harding, I suppose I should say?" the old man inquired. + +"No. I'm not named Rothwell. I'm Reynold Harding." + +"Reynold?" + +"Yes. It's an old name in my father's family. That is," he concluded, in +the dead level of an expressionless tone, "as old a name as there is in +my father's family, I believe." + +"I suppose his grandfather was named Reynold," said Mr. Hayes to +himself. Aloud he replied, "Indeed. How about Adam?" + +Harding constrained himself to smile, but he did it with such an ill +grace that Mr. Hayes perceived that he was a stupid prig, who could not +take a joke, and gave himself airs. + +"About these lodgings?" the young man persisted, returning to the point. +"If Miss Strange knows of some, why won't they do for me?" + +Mr. Hayes gulped down his displeasure. + +"There is only one roof that can shelter you in Mitchelhurst," he said +magnificently, "and that is the roof of Mitchelhurst Place." + +"Of Mitchelhurst Place?" Reynold was taken by surprise. He made a little +step backward, and Barbara, needlessly alarmed, cried, "Mind the ditch!" +Her impulsive little scream nearly startled him into it, but he +recovered himself on the brink, and they both coloured again, he +angrily, she in vexation at having reminded him of his mishap. "How can +I go to Mitchelhurst Place?" he demanded in his harshly hurried voice. + +"As my guest," said Mr. Hayes. "I am Mr. Croft's tenant. I live +there--with my niece." + +The young man's eyes went from one to the other. Barbara's face was +hardly less amazed than his own. + +"Oh thank you!" he said at last. "It's exceedingly good of you, but I +couldn't think of troubling you--I really couldn't. The lodgings Miss +Strange mentioned will do very well for me, I am sure, or I could manage +for a day or two at the inn." + +"Indeed--" Mr. Hayes began. + +"But I am not particular," said Harding with his most defiant air and in +his bitterest tone, "I assure you I am not. I have never been able to +afford it. I shall be all right. Pray do not give the matter another +thought. I'm very much obliged to you for your kindness, but it's quite +out of the question, really." + +"No," said Mr. Hayes, resting his little black kid hands on the top of +his stick and looking up at the tall young man, "it is out of the +question that you should go anywhere else. Pray do not suggest it. You +intended to go back to your hotel this evening and to come on to +Mitchelhurst to-morrow? Then let us have the pleasure of seeing you +to-morrow as early as you like to come." + +"Indeed--indeed," protested Harding, "I could not think of intruding." + +The little gentleman laughed. + +"My dear sir, who is the intruder at Mitchelhurst Place? Answer me that! +No," he said, growing suddenly serious, "you cannot go to the pot +house--you--your mother's son--while I live in the Rothwells' old home. +It is impossible--I cannot suffer it. I should be for ever ashamed and +humiliated if you refused a few days' shelter under the old roof. I +should indeed." + +"If you put it so----" + +"There is no other way to put it." + +"I can say no more. I can only thank you for your kindness. I will +come," said Reynold Harding, slowly. Urgent as the invitation was, and +simply as it was accepted, there was yet a curious want of friendliness +about it. Circumstances constrained these two men, not any touch of +mutual liking. One would have said that Mr. Hayes was bound to insist +and Harding to yield. + +"That is settled then," said the elder man, "and we shall see you +to-morrow. I am a good deal engaged myself, but Barbara is quite at home +in Mitchelhurst, and can show you all the Rothwell memorials--the +Rothwells are the romance of Mitchelhurst, you know. She'll be delighted +to do the honours, eh, Barbara?" + +The girl murmured a shy answer. + +"Oh, if I trespass on your kindness I think that's enough; I needn't +victimise Miss Strange," said the young man, and he laughed a little, +not altogether pleasantly. "And I can't claim any of the romance. My +name isn't Rothwell." + +"The name isn't everything," said Mr. Hayes. "Come, Barbara, it's +getting late, and I want my dinner. Till to-morrow, then," and he held +out his hand to their new acquaintance. + +Young Harding bowed stiffly to Barbara. "Till to-morrow afternoon." + +The old man and the girl walked away, he with an elderly sprightliness +of bearing which seemed to say, "See how active I still am!" she moving +by his side with dreamy, unconscious grace. They came to a curve in the +road, and she turned her head and looked back before she passed it. Mr. +Reynold Harding had taken but a couple of steps from the spot where they +had left him. He had apparently arranged his bandage to his +satisfaction at last, and was pulling at the knot with his teeth and his +other hand, but his face was towards them, and Barbara knew that he saw +that backward glance. She quickened her steps in hot confusion, and +looked straight before her for at least five minutes. + +During that time it was her uncle who was the hero of her thoughts. His +dramatic recognition of Harding and Harding's ring, his absolute refusal +to permit the young man to go to any house in Mitchelhurst but the +Place, something in the tone of his voice when he uttered his "thirty +years ago," hinted a romance to Barbara. The conjecture might or might +not be correct, but at any rate it was natural. Girls who do not +understand love are apt to use it to explain all the other things they +do not understand. She waited till her cheeks were cool, and her +thoughts clear, and then she spoke. + +"I didn't know you knew the Rothwells so well, uncle." + +"My dear," said her uncle, "how should you?" + +"I suppose you might have talked about them." + +"I might," said Mr. Hayes. "Now you mention it, I might, certainly. But +I haven't any especial fancy for the gossip of the last generation." + +"Well, I have," said the girl. And after a moment she went on. "How long +is it since they left the Place?" + +Her uncle put his head on one side with a quick, birdlike movement, and +apparently referred to a cloud in the western sky before he made answer. + +"Nineteen years last Midsummer." + +"And when did you take it?" + +"A year later." + +The two walked a little way in silence, and then Barbara recommenced. + +"This Mr. Harding--he is like the Rothwells, then?" + +"Rothwell from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot. The old +people, who knew the family, will find him out as he walks through the +village--see if they don't. The same haughty, sulky, sneering way with +him, and just the same voice. Only every Rothwell at the Place, even to +the last, had an air of being a _grand seigneur_, which this fellow +can't very well have. Upon my word, I begin to think it was the +pleasantest thing about them. I don't like a pride which is conscious of +being homeless and out at elbows." + +Barbara undauntedly pursued her little romance. + +"You are talking about the men," she said. "Is Mr. Harding like his +mother?" + +"Well, she was a handsome woman," Mr. Hayes replied indifferently, "but +she had the same unpleasant manner." + +The girl was thrown back on an utter blankness of ideas. A woman beloved +may have a dozen faults, and be the dearer for them; but she cannot +possibly have an unpleasant manner. Barbara could frame no theory to fit +the perplexing facts. + +As they turned into the one street of Mitchelhurst, Mr. Hayes spoke +musingly. + +"To-morrow afternoon, Barbara, let that young man have the blue +room--the large room. You know which I mean?" + +"Yes, uncle." + +"See that everything is nice and in order. And, Barbara----" + +"Yes, uncle," said Barbara again, for he paused. + +"Mr. Reynold Harding will probably look down on you. I suspect he thinks +that you and I are about fit to black his boots. Be civil, of course, +but you needn't do it." + +"I'm sure I don't want," said the girl quietly; "and at that rate I +should hope he would come with them tolerably clean to-morrow." + +Mr. Hayes laughed suddenly, showing his teeth. + +"By Jove!" he said, "they were dirty enough this afternoon!" + +"In my service," said Barbara. "Now I come to think of it, it seems to +me that I ought to clean them." + +"Nonsense!" her uncle exclaimed, still smiling at the remembrance. "And +you saw him roll into the ditch?--Barbara, the poor fellow must hate you +like poison!" + +She looked down as she walked, drawing her delicate brows a little +together. + +"I dare say he does," she said softly, as if to herself. + + * * * * * + +Between ten and eleven that evening Mr. Reynold Harding sat by his +fireside, staring at the red coals as they faded drearily into ashes. +Being duly washed and brushed, he showed but slight traces of his +accident. The scratches on his face were not deep, and his torn hand was +mended with little strips of black plaster. Intently as he seemed to +think, his thoughts were not definite. Had he been questioned concerning +them he could have answered only "Mitchelhurst." Anger, tenderness, +curiosity, pride, and bitter self-contempt were mixed in silent strife +in the shadows of his soul. The memory of the Rothwells had drawn him on +his pilgrimage--a vain, hopeless, barren memory, and yet the best he +had. He had intended to wander about the village, to look from a +distance at the Rothwells' house, to stand by the Rothwells' graves in +the churchyard, and to laugh at his own folly as he did so. And now he +was to sleep under their roof, to know the very rooms where they had +lived and died, and for this he was to thank these strangers who played +at hospitality in the old home. He thought of the morrow with curious +alternations of distaste and eagerness. + +Mr Hayes, meanwhile, with the lamplight shining on his white hair, was +studying a paper in the Transactions of the County Archaeological +Society, "On an Inscription in Mitchelhurst Church." Mr Hayes had a +theory of his own on the subject, and smiled over the vicar's view with +the tranquil enjoyment of unalloyed contempt. + +And Barbara, in the silence of her room, opposite a dimly-lighted +mirror, sat brushing her shadowy hair, whose waves seemed to melt into +the dusk about the pale reflection of her face. As she gazed at it she +was thinking of some one who was gone, and of some one who was to come. +Dwelling among the old memories of Mitchelhurst Place, her girlish +thoughts had turned to them for lack of other food, till the Rothwells +were real to her in a sense in which no other fancies ever could be +real. She was so conscious that her connection with the house was +accidental and temporary, that she felt as if it still belonged to its +old owners, and she was only their guest. They were always near, yet, +whimsically enough, in point of time they were nearest when they were +most remote. Barbara's phantoms mostly belonged to the last century, and +they faded and grew pale as they approached the present day, till the +latest owner of the Place was merely a name. The truth was that at the +end of their reign the Rothwells, impoverished and lonely, had simply +lived in the house as they found it, and were unable to set the stamp of +any individual tastes upon their surroundings. They were the Rothwells +of the good old times who left their autographs in the books in the +library, their patient needlework on quilts and bell-pulls, their +mouldering rose-leaves in great china jars, their pictures still hanging +on the walls, and traces of their preferences in the names of rooms and +paths. There were inscriptions under the bells that had summoned +servants long ago, which told of busy times and a full house. The +lettering only differed from anything in the present day by being subtly +and unobtrusively old-fashioned. "MR. GERALD" and "MR. THOMAS" had given +up ringing bells for many a long day, and if the one suspended above +MISS SARAH'S name sometimes tinkled through the stillness, it was only +because Barbara wanted some hot water. Miss Sarah was one of the most +distinct of the girl's phantoms. Rightly or wrongly, Barbara always +believed her to be the beautiful Miss Rothwell of whom an old man in +the village told her a tradition, told to him in his boyhood. It seemed +that a Rothwell of some uncertain date stood for the county ("and pretty +nigh ruined himself," said her informant, with a grim, yet admiring, +enjoyment of the extravagant folly of the contest), and in the very heat +of the election Miss Rothwell drove with four horses to the +polling-place, to show herself clothed from head to foot in a startling +splendour of yellow, her father's colour. + +"They said she was a rare sight to see," the old man concluded +meditatively. + +"And did Mr. Rothwell get in?" asked Barbara. + +"No, no!" he said, shaking his head. "No Rothwell ever got in for the +county, though they tried times. But he pretty nigh ruined himself." + +Had she cared to ask her uncle, Barbara might very possibly have +ascertained the precise date of the election, and identified the darkly +beautiful girl who was whirled by her four spirited horses into the +roaring, decorated town. But she was not inclined to talk of her fancies +to Mr. Hayes. So, assuming the heroine to be Miss Sarah, she remained in +utter ignorance concerning her after life. Did she ever wear the white +robes of a bride, or the blackness of widow's weeds? Barbara often +wondered. But at night, in her room, which was Sarah Rothwell's, she +could never picture her otherwise than superbly defiant in the +meteor-like glory of that one day. + +As she brushed her dusky cloud of hair that evening she called up the +splendour of her favourite vision, and then her thoughts fell sadly away +from it to Reynold Harding, the man who had kindred blood in his veins, +but no inheritance of name or land. Those iron horse-hoofs, long ago, +had thundered over the bit of road where Barbara gathered her autumn +nosegay, and where young Harding--oh, poor fellow!--slipped in the mire, +and scrambled awkwardly to his feet, a pitiful, sullen figure to put +beside the beautiful Miss Rothwell. + +Was she glad he was coming? She laid down her brush and mused, looking +into the depths of her mirror. Yes, she was glad. She did not think she +should like him. She felt that he was hostile, scornful, dissatisfied. +But Mitchelhurst was quiet--so few people ever came to it, and if they +_did_ come they went away without a word--and at eighteen quiet is +wearisome, and a spice of antagonism is refreshing. Did he hate her as +her uncle had said? Time would show. She took her little cross from the +dressing table, and looked at it with a new interest. No, she did not +like him. "But, after all," said Barbara to herself, "he is a Rothwell, +and my fairy godmother introduced us!" + +Many miles away a bunch of hips, scarlet and orange, lay by a scribbled +paper. They had had adventures since they were pulled from a +Mitchelhurst brier that afternoon. They had been lost and found, and +travelling by rail had nearly been lost again. A clumsy porter, +shouldering a load, had blundered against an absorbed young man, who was +just grasping a rhyme; and the red berries fell between them to the +dusty platform, and were barely saved from perils of hurrying feet. +Still, though a little bruised and spoilt, they glowed ruddily in the +candle-light, and the paper beside them said-- + + "_Speech was forbidden me; I could but stay, + Ambushed behind a leafless hawthorn screen, + And look upon her passing. She had been + To pluck red berries on that autumn day, + And Love, who from her side will never stray, + Stole some for pity, seeing me unseen, + And sighing, let them fall, that I might glean-- + 'Poor gift,' quoth he, 'that Time shall take away!' + Nay, but I mock at Time! It shall not be + That, fleet of foot, he robs me of my prize; + Her smile has kindled all the sullen skies, + Blessed the dull furrows, and the leafless tree, + And year by year the autumn, ere it dies, + Shall bring my rosy treasure back to me!_" + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +"WELCOME TO MITCHELHURST PLACE." + + +Mitchelhurst was, as Mr. Hayes had said, a dull little village, by no +means likely to attract visitors. It was merely a group of houses, for +the most part meanly built, set in a haphazard fashion on either side of +a wide road. Occasionally a shed would come to the front, or two or +three poplars, or a bit of garden fence. But the poplars were apt to be +mercilessly lopped, with just a tuft at the extreme tip, which gave each +unlucky tree a slight resemblance to a lion's tail, and the gardens, if +not full of cabbages, displayed melancholy rows of stumps where cabbages +had been. There was very little traffic through Mitchelhurst Street, as +this thoroughfare was usually called, yet it showed certain signs of +life. Fowls rambled aimlessly about it, with a dejected yet inquiring +air, which seemed to say that they would long ago have given up their +desultory pecking if they could have found anything else to do. A +windmill, standing on a slight eminence a little way from the road, +creaked as its sails revolved. Sounds of hammering came from the +blacksmith's forge. Children played on the foot-path, a little knot of +loungers might generally be seen in front of the "Rothwell Arms," and at +most of the doorways stood the Mitchelhurst women, talking loudly while +their busy fingers were plaiting straws. This miserably paid work was +much in vogue in the village, where generation after generation of +children learned it, and grew up into stunted, ill-fed girls, fond of +coarse gossip, and of their slatternly independence. + +At the western end of the village, beyond the alehouse, stood the +church, with two or three yews darkening the crowded graveyard. The +vicarage was close at hand, a sombre little house, with a flagged path +leading to its dusky porch. Mitchelhurst was not happy in its vicars. +The parish was too small to attract the heroic enthusiasts who are ready +to live and die for the unhealthy and ignorant crowds of our great +cities. And the house was too poor, and the neighbourhood too +uninteresting, for any kindly country gentleman, who chanced to have +"the Reverend" written before his name, to come and stable his horses, +and set up his liberal housekeeping, and preach his Sunday sermons +there. No one chose Mitchelhurst, so "those few sheep in the wilderness" +were left to those who had no choice, and the vicars were almost always +discontented elderly men. As a rule they died there, a vicar of +Mitchelhurst being seldom remembered by the givers of good livings. The +incumbent at this time was a feeble archaeologist, who coughed drearily +in his damp little study, and looked vaguely out at the world from a +narrow and mildewed past. As he stepped from the shadowy porch, blinking +with tired eyes, he would pause on the path, which looked like a row of +flat unwritten tombstones, and glance doubtfully right and left. +Probably he had some vague idea of going into the village, but in nine +cases out of ten he turned aside to the graveyard, and sauntered +musingly in the shadow of the old yews, or disappeared into the church, +where there were two or three inscriptions just sufficiently defaced to +be interesting. He fancied he should decipher them one day, and leave +nothing for his successor to do, and he haunted them in that hope. + +When he went into the street he spoke kindly to the women at the doors, +with an obvious forgetfulness of names and circumstances which made him +an object of contemptuous pity. They could not conceive how any one in +his senses could make such foolish mistakes, and were inclined to look +on the Established Church as a convenient provision for weak-minded +gentlefolks. They grinned when he had gone by, and repeated his +well-meant inquiries, plaiting all the time. It was only natural that +the vicar should prefer his parishioners dead. They did not then indulge +in coarse laughter, they never described unpleasant ailments, and they +were neatly labelled with their names, or else altogether silent +concerning them. + +The vicar's shortcomings might have been less remarked had the tenants +of Mitchelhurst Place taken their proper position in the village. But +where, seventy or eighty years before, the great gates swung open for +carriages and horses, and busy servants, and tradesmen, there came now +down the mossy drive only an old man on foot, and a girl by his side, +with eyes like dark waters, and a sweet richness of carnation in her +cheeks. Mr. Hayes and his niece lived, as the later Rothwells had lived, +in a corner of the old house. It was queer that a man should choose to +hire a place so much too big for him, people said, but they had said it +for nineteen years, and they never seemed to get any further. Herbert +Hayes might be eccentric, but he was shrewd, he knew his own business, +and the villagers recognised the fact. He was not popular, there was +nothing to be got by begging at the Place, and he would not allow +Barbara to visit any of the cottages. But it was acknowledged that he +was not stingy in payment for work done. And if he lived in a corner he +knew how to make himself comfortable there, which was more than the last +Rothwell had been able to do. + +The church and vicarage were at one end of Mitchelhurst, and the Place, +which stood on slightly rising ground, was at the other. It was a white +house, and in a dim light it had a sad and spectral aspect, a pale +blankness as of a dead face. The Rothwell who built it intended to have +a stately avenue from the great ironwork gates to the principal +entrance, and planted his trees accordingly. But the site was cruelly +exposed, and the soil was sterile, and his avenue had become a vista of +warped and irregular shapes, leaning in grotesque attitudes, dwarfed and +yet massive with age. In the leafiness of summer much of this +singularity was lost, but when winter stripped the boughs it revealed a +double line of fantastic skeletons, a fit pathway for the strangest +dreams. + +The gardens, with the exception of a piece close to the house, had been +so long neglected that they seemed almost to have forgotten that they +had ever been cultivated. Almost, but not quite, for they had not the +innocence of the original wilderness. There were tokens of a contest. +The plants and grasses that possessed the soil were obviously weeds, and +the degraded survivals of a gentler growth lurked among them overborne +and half strangled. There was a suggestion of murderous triumph in the +coarse leaves of the mulleins and docks that had rooted themselves as in +a conquered inheritance, and the little undulations which marked the +borders and bits of rock-work of half a century earlier looked curiously +like neglected graves. + +It seemed to Barbara Strange, as she stood looking over it all, on the +day on which Mr. Harding was to come to Mitchelhurst, that there was +something novel in this aspect of desolation. She knew the place well, +for it was rather more than a year since she came, at her uncle's +invitation, to live there, and she had seen it with all the changes of +the seasons upon it. She knew it well, but she had never thought of it +as home. The little Devonshire vicarage which held father and mother, +and a swarm of young sisters and brothers--almost too many to be +contained within its walls--was home in the past and the present. And if +the girl had dreams of the future, shy dreams which hardly revealed +themselves even to her, they certainly never had Mitchelhurst Place for +a background. To her it was just a halting-place on her journey into the +unknown regions of life. It was like some great out-of-the-way ruinous +old inn, in which one might chance to sleep for a night or two. She had +merely been interested in it as a stranger, but on this October day she +looked at it curiously and critically for Mr. Harding's sake. She would +have liked it to welcome him, to show some signs of stately hospitality +to this son of the house who was coming home, and for the first time a +full sense of its dreariness and hopelessness crept into her soul. She +could do nothing, she felt absurdly small, the great house seemed to +cast a melancholy shadow over her, as she went to and fro in the bit of +ground that was still recognised as a garden, gathering the few blossoms +that autumn had spared. + +Barbara meant the flowers to brighten the rooms in which they lived, but +she looked a little doubtfully into her basket while she walked towards +the house. They were so colourless and frail, it seemed to her that they +were just fit to be emptied out over somebody's grave. "Oh," she said to +herself, "why didn't he come in the time of roses, or peonies, or tiger +lilies? If it had been in July there might have been some real sunshine +to warm the old place. Or earlier still, when the apple blossom was +out--why didn't he come then? It is so sad now." And she remembered +what some one had said, a few weeks before, loitering up that wide path +by her side: "An old house--yes, I like old houses, but this is like a +whited sepulchre, somehow. And not his own--I should not care to set up +housekeeping in a corner of somebody else's sepulchre." Barbara, as her +little lonely footsteps fell on the sodden earth, thought that he was +perfectly right. She threw back her head, and faced the wide, blind gaze +of its many-windowed front. Well, it _was_ Mr. Harding's own family +sepulchre, if that was any consolation. + +Her duty as a housekeeper took her to the blue room, which Mr. Hayes had +chosen for their guest, a large apartment at the side of the house, not +with the bleak northern aspect of the principal entrance, but looking +away towards the village, and commanding a wide prospect of meadow +land. The landscape in itself was not remarkable, but it had an +attraction as of swiftly varying moods. Under a midsummer sky it would +lie steeped in sunshine, and dappled with shadows of little, +lightly-flying clouds, content and at peace. Seen through slant lines of +grey rain it was beyond measure dreary and forlorn, burdening the +gazer's soul with its flat and unrelieved heaviness. One would have said +at such times that it was a veritable Land of Hopelessness. Then the +clouds would part, mass themselves, perhaps, into strange islands and +continents, and towering piles, and the sun would go down in wild +splendours of flame as of a burning world, and the level meadows would +become a marvellous plain, across which one might journey into the heart +of unspeakable things. Then would follow the pensive sadness of the +dusk, and the silvery enchantment of moonlight. And after all these +changes there would probably come a grey and commonplace morning, in +which it would appear as so many acres of very tolerable grazing land, +in no wise remarkable or interesting. + +Barbara did not trouble herself much about the prospect. She was anxious +to make sure that soap and towels had been put ready for Mr. Harding, +and candles in the brass candlesticks on the chimney-piece, and ink and +pens on the little old-fashioned writing-table. With a dainty instinct +of grace she arranged the heavy hangings of the bed, and, seeing that a +clumsy maid had left the pillow awry, she straightened and smoothed it +with soft touches of a slender brown hand, as if she could +sympathetically divine the sullen weariness of the head that should lie +there. Then, fixing an absent gaze upon the carpet, she debated a +perplexing question in her mind. + +Should she, or should she not, put some flowers in Mr. Harding's room? +She wanted to make him feel that he was welcome to Mitchelhurst Place, +and, to her shyness, it seemed easier to express that welcome in any +silent way than to put it into words. And why not? She might have done +it without thinking twice about it, but her uncle's little jests, and +her own loneliness, while they left her fearless in questions of right +and wrong, had made her uneasy about etiquette. As she leaned against +one of the carved pillars of the great bed, musing, with lips compressed +and anxious brow, she almost resolved that Mr. Reynold Harding should +have nothing beyond what was a matter of housewifely duty. Why should +she risk a blush or a doubt for him? But even with the half-formed +resolution came the remembrance of his unlucky humiliation in her +service, and Barbara started from her idle attitude, and went away, +singing softly to herself. + +When she came back she had a little bowl of blue and white china in her +hands, which she set on the writing-table near the window. It was filled +with the best she could find in her basket--a pale late rosebud, with +autumnal foliage red as rust (and the bud itself had lingered so long, +hoping for sunshine and warmth, that it would evidently die with its +secret of sweetness folded dead in its heart), a few heads of +mignonette, green and run to leaf, and rather reminding of fragrance +than actually breathing it; a handful of melancholy Michaelmas daisies, +and two or three white asters. The girl, with warm young life in her +veins, and a glow of ripe colour on her cheek stooped in smiling pity +and touched that central rosebud with her lips. No doubt remained, if +there had been any doubt till then--it was already withered at the core, +or it must have opened wide to answer that caress. + +"Don't tell me!" said Barbara to herself with a little nod. "If such a +drearily doleful bouquet isn't strictly proper, it ought to be!" + +It was late in the afternoon before the visitor came. There was mist +like a thin shroud over the face of the earth, and little sparks of +light were gleaming in the cottage windows. Reynold Harding held the +reins listlessly when the driver got down to open the great wrought-iron +gate, and then resigned his charge as absently as he had accepted it. He +stared straight before him while the dog-cart rattled up the avenue, and +suffered himself to sway idly as they bumped over mossy stones in the +drive. The trees, leaning overhead, dropped a dead leaf or two on his +passive hands, as if that were his share of the family property held in +trust for him till that moment. + +There was something coldly repellent in the stony house front, where was +no sign of greeting or even of life. The driver alighted again, pulled +a great bell which made a distant clangour, and then busied himself at +the back of the cart with Harding's portmanteau, while the horse stood +stretching its neck, and breathing audibly in the chilly stillness. +There was a brief pause, during which Harding, who had not uttered a +word since he started, confronted the old house with a face as neutral +as its own. + +Then the door flew open, a maid appeared, the luggage was carried into +the hall, and Mr. Hayes came hurrying out to meet his guest. "Welcome to +Mitchelhurst Place!" he exclaimed. That "Welcome to Mitchelhurst Place!" +had been in his thoughts for a couple of hours at least, and now that it +was uttered it seemed very quickly over. Harding, who was paying the +driver out of a handful of change, dropped a couple of coins, made a +hurried attempt to regain them, and finally shook hands confusedly with +Mr. Hayes, while the man and the maid pursued the rolling shillings +round their feet. "Thank you--you are very kind," he said, and then saw +Barbara in the background. She had paused on the threshold of a firelit +room, and behind her the warm radiance was glancing on a bit of +white-panelled wall. Reynold hastily got rid of his financial +difficulties and went forward. + +"Oh, what a cold drive you must have had!" she cried, when their hands +met. "You are like ice! Do come to the fire." + +"We thought you would have been here sooner," said Mr. Hayes. "The days +draw in now, and it gets to be very cold and damp sometimes when the sun +goes down." + +Harding murmured something about not having been able to get away +earlier. + +"This isn't the regular drawing-room, you know," his host explained. "I +like space, but there is a little too much of it in that great +room--you must have a look at it to-morrow. I don't care to sit by my +fireside and see Barbara at her piano across an acre or two of carpet. +To my mind this is big enough for two or three people." + +"Quite," said Reynold. + +"The yellow drawing-room they called this," the other continued. + +The young man glanced round. The room was lofty and large enough for +more than the two or three people of whom Mr. Hayes had spoken. But for +the ruddy firelight it might have looked cold, with its cream-white +walls, its rather scanty furniture, and the yellow of its curtains and +chairs faded to a dim tawny hue. But the liberal warmth and light of the +blazing pile on the hearth irradiated it to the furthest corner, and +filled it with wavering brightness. + +"It's all exactly as it was in your uncle's time," said Mr. Hayes. +"When he could not go on any longer, Croft took the whole thing just as +it stood, with all the old furniture. But for that I would not have come +here." + +"All the charm would have been lost, wouldn't it?" said Barbara. + +"The charm--yes. Besides, one had need be a millionnaire to do anything +with such a great empty shell. I suspect a millionnaire would find +plenty to do here as it is." + +"I suppose it had been neglected for a long while?" Reynold questioned +with his hard utterance. + +Mr. Hayes nodded, arching his brows. + +"Thirty or forty years. Everything allowed to go to rack and ruin. By +Jove, sir, your people must have built well, and furnished well, for +things to look as they do. Well, they shall stay as they are while I am +here; I'll keep the wind and the rain out of the old house, but I can +do no more, and I wouldn't if I could. And when I'm gone, Croft, or +whoever is master then, must see to it." + +"Yes," said the young man, still looking round. "I'm glad you've left it +as it used to be." + +"Just as your mother would remember it. Except, of course, one must make +oneself comfortable," Mr. Hayes explained apologetically. "Just a chair +for me, and a piano for Barbara, you see!" + +Reynold saw. There was a large eastern rug spread near the fire-place, +and on it stood an easy-chair, and a little table laden with books. A +shaded lamp cast its radiance on a freshly-cut page. By the fire was a +low seat, which was evidently Barbara's. + +"That's the way to enjoy old furniture," said Mr. Hayes. "Sit on a +modern chair and look at it--eh? There's an old piano in that further +corner; that's very good to look at too." + +"But not to hear?" said Harding. + +"You may try it." + +"That's more than I may do," said Barbara, demurely. + +"You tried it too much--you tried me too much," Mr. Hayes made answer. +"You did not begin in a fair spirit of investigation. You were +determined to find music in it." + +The girl laughed and looked down. + +"And I did," she murmured to herself. + +"Ah, you are looking at the portraits," Mr. Hayes went on. "There are +better ones than the two or three we have here. I believe your Uncle +John took away a few when he left. Your grandmother used to hang over +there by the fire-place. The one on the other side is good, I +think--Anthony Rothwell. You must come a little more this way to look at +it." + +Harding followed obediently, and made various attempts to find the right +position, but the picture was not placed so as to receive the full +firelight, and being above the lamp it remained in shadow. + +"Stay," said the old gentleman, "I'll light this candle." + +He struck a match as he spoke, and the sudden illumination revealed a +scornful face, and almost seemed to give it a momentary expression, as +if Anthony, of Mitchelhurst Place, recognised Reynold of nowhere. + +The younger man eyed the portrait coldly and deliberately. + +"Well," he said, "Mr. Anthony Rothwell, my grandfather, I suppose?" + +"Great-grandfather," Mr. Hayes corrected. + +"Oh, you are well acquainted with the family history. Well, then, I +should say that my great-grandfather was remarkably handsome, but----" + +"If it comes to that you are uncommonly like him," said his host, with +a little chuckle, as he looked from the painted face to the living one, +and back again. + +Reynold started and drew back. + +"Oh, thank you!" he said, with a short laugh. If he had been permitted +to continue his first remark, he would have said, "but as +unpleasant-tempered a gentleman as you could find in a day's journey." + +The words had been so literally on his lips that he could hardly realise +that they had not been uttered when Mr. Hayes spoke. + +For the moment the likeness had been complete. Then he saw how it was, +laughed, and said-- + +"Oh, thank you." + +But he flashed an uneasy glance at Barbara, who was lingering near. Was +he really like that pale, bitter-lipped portrait? He fancied that her +face would tell him, but she was looking fixedly at Anthony Rothwell. + +"Mind you are not late for dinner, Barbara," said her uncle quickly. + +She woke to radiant animation. + +"_I_ won't be," she said. "But if you are going to introduce Mr. Harding +to all the pictures first----" + +"I'm not going to do anything of the kind." + +"That's right. Mr. Harding's ancestors won't spoil if they are kept +waiting a little, but I can't answer for the fish." + +"Pray don't let any dead and gone Rothwells interfere with your dinner," +said Reynold. "If one's ancestors can't wait one's convenience, I don't +know who can." + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +DINNER AND A LITTLE MUSIC. + + +Barbara was the first to reappear in the yellow drawing-room. She had +gone away, laughing carelessly; she came back shyly, with flushed cheeks +and downcast eyes. She had put on a dress which was reserved for +important occasions, and she was conscious of her splendour. She felt +the strings of amber beads that were wound loosely round her throat, and +that rose and fell with her quickened breathing. Nay, she was conscious +to the utmost end of the folds of black drapery, that followed her with +a soft sound, as of a summer sea, when she crossed the pavement of the +hall. For Barbara's dress was black, and its special adornment was some +handsome black lace that her grandmother had given her. Something of +lighter hue and texture might have better suited her age, but there was +no questioning the fact that the dignified richness of her gown was +admirably becoming to the girl. One hardly knew whether to call her +childish or stately, and the perplexity was delightful. + +Her heart was beating fast, half in apprehension and half in defiance. +Over and over again while she waited she said to herself that she had +_not_ put on her best dress for Mr. Harding's sake, she had _not_. She +did not care what he thought of her. He might come and go, just as other +people might come and go. It did not matter to her. But his coming +seemed somehow to have brought all the Rothwells back to life, and to +have revealed the desolate pride of the old house. When she looked from +Reynold's face to Anthony's, she suddenly felt that she must put on her +best dress for their company. It was no matter of personal feeling, it +was an instinctive and imperative sense of what the circumstances +demanded. She had never been to such a dinner party in all her life. + +The feeling did her credit, but it was difficult to express. Feelings +are often difficult to express, and a woman has an especial difficulty +in conveying the finer shades of meaning. There is an easy masculine way +of accounting for her every action by supposing it aimed at men in +general, or some man in particular; and thus all manner of delicate +fancies and distinctions, shaped clearly in a woman's mind, may pass +through the distorting medium to reach a man's apprehension as sheer +coquetry. The knowledge of this possibility is apt to give even +innocence an air of hesitating consciousness. Barbara was by no means +certain that her uncle would understand this honour paid, not to any +living young man, but to the traditions of Mitchelhurst Place, and her +blushes betrayed her shame at his probable misreading of her meaning. +And what would Mr. Harding himself think? + +He came in with his languid, hesitating walk, looking very tall and +slender in his evening dress. He had telegraphed home for that dress +suit the day before. The fact that he was travelling for a week or two, +with no expectation of dining anywhere but in country inns, might +naturally have excused its absence, but the explanation would have been +an apology, and Harding could not apologise. He would have found it +easier to spend his last shilling. Perhaps, too, he had shared Barbara's +feeling as to the fitness of a touch of ceremony at Mitchelhurst. + +At any rate he shared her shyness. He crossed the room with evident +constraint, and halted near the fire without a word. Barbara's shyness +was palpitating and aflame; his was leaden and chill. She did not know +what to make of his silence; she waited, and still he did not speak; she +looked up and felt sure that his downcast eyes had been obliquely fixed +on her. + +"Uncle is last, you see," she said. "I knew he would be." + +"I was afraid I might be," he replied. "A clock struck before I expected +it. I suppose my watch loses, but I hadn't found it out." + +"Oh, I ought to have told you," she exclaimed penitently. "That is the +great clock in the hall, and it is always kept ten minutes fast. Uncle +likes it for a warning. So when it strikes, he says, 'That's the hall +clock; then there's plenty of time, plenty of time, I'll just finish +this.' And he goes on quite happily." + +"I fancied somehow that Mr. Hayes was a very punctual man." + +"Because he talks so much about it. I think he reminds other people for +fear they should remind him. When I first came he was always saying, +'Don't be late,' till I was quite frightened lest I should be. I +couldn't believe it when he said, 'Don't be late,' and then wasn't +ready." + +"You are not so particular now?" + +"Oh yes, I am," she answered very seriously. "It doesn't do to be late +if you are the housekeeper, you know." + +A faint gleam lighted Harding's face. + +"Of course not; but I never was," he replied, in a respectful tone. "How +long is it since you came here?" + +"I came with my mother to see uncle a great many years ago, but I only +came to live here last October. Uncle wanted somebody. He said it was +dull." + +"I should think it was. Isn't it dull for you?" + +"Sometimes," said Barbara. "It isn't at all like home. That's a little +house with a great many people in it--father and mother, and all my +brothers and sisters, and father's pupils. And this is a big house with +nobody in it." + +"Till you came," said Reynold, hesitating over the little bow or glance +which should have pointed his words. + +"Well, there's uncle," said Barbara with a smile, "he must count for +somebody. But _I_ feel exactly like nobody when I am going in and out of +all those empty rooms. You must see them to-morrow." + +The clock on the chimney-piece struck, and she turned her head to look +at it. "_That's_ five minutes slow," she said. + +"And the other was more than ten minutes fast." + +"Yes, it gains. Do you know," said Barbara, "I always feel as if the +great clock were _the_ time, so when it fairly runs away into the +future and I have to stop it, to let the world come up with it again, it +seems to me almost as if I stopped my own life too." + +"Some people would be uncommonly glad to do that," said Harding; "or +even to make time go backward for a while." + +"Well, I don't mind for a quarter of an hour. But I don't want it to go +back, really. Not back to pinafores and the schoolroom," said Barbara +with a laugh, which in some curious fashion turned to a deepening flush. +The swift, impulsive blood was always coming and going at a thought, a +fancy, a mere nothing. + +Harding smiled in his grim way. "I suppose it's just as well _not_ to +want time to run back," he said at last. + +"Uncle might find himself punctual for once if it did. Oh, here he +comes!" The door opened as she spoke, and Mr. Hayes appeared on the +threshold with an inquiring face. + +"Ah! you are down, Barbara! That's right. Dinner's ready, they tell me." + +Reynold looked at Barbara, hesitated, and then offered his arm. Mr. +Hayes stood back and eyed them as they passed--the tall young man, pale, +dark-browed, scowling a little, and the girl at his side radiantly +conscious of her dignity. Even when they had gone by he was obliged to +wait a moment. The sweeping folds of Barbara's dress demanded space and +respect. His glance ran up them to her shoulders, to the amber beads +about her neck, to the loose coils of her dusky hair, and he followed +meekly with a whimsical smile. + +They dined in the great dining-room, where a score of guests would have +seemed few. But they had a little table, with four candles on it, set +near a clear fire, and shut in by an overshadowing screen. "We are +driven out of this in the depth of winter," said Mr. Hayes. "It is too +cold--nothing seems to warm it, and it is such a terrible journey from +the drawing-room fire. But till the bitter weather comes I like it, and +I always come back as soon as the spring begins. We were here by March, +weren't we, Barbara?" + +The girl smiled assent, and Harding had a passing fancy of the windy +skies of March glancing through the tall windows, the upper part of +which he saw from his place. But his eyes came back to Barbara, who was +watching the progress of their meal with an evident sense of +responsibility. The crowning grace of an accomplished housekeeper is to +hide all need of management, but this was the pretty anxiety of a +beginner. "Mary, the currant jelly," said Miss Strange in an intense +undertone, and glanced eloquently at Reynold's plate. She was so +absorbed that she started when her uncle spoke. + +"Why do you wear those white things--asters, are they not? They don't +go well with your dress." + +Barbara looked down at the two colourless blossoms which she had +fastened among the folds of her black lace. "No, I know they don't, but +I couldn't find anything better in the garden to-day." + +"It wouldn't have mattered what it was," Mr. Hayes persisted, with his +head critically on one side. "Anything red or yellow--just a bit of +colour, you know." + +"But that was exactly what I couldn't find. All the red and yellow +things in the garden are dead." + +"Why not some of those scarlet hips you were gathering yesterday?" said +Reynold. + +"Oh! Those!" exclaimed Barbara, looking hurriedly away from the scratch +on the cheek nearest her, and then discovering that she had fixed her +eyes on his wounded hand. "Do you think they would have done? Well, yes, +I dare say they might." + +"I should think they would have done beautifully, but you know best. +Perhaps you did not care for them? You threw them away?" He was smiling +with a touch of malice, as if he had actually seen Barbara in her room, +gazing regretfully at a little brown pitcher which was full of autumn +leaves and clusters of red rose-fruit. + +"Of course they would have done," said Mr. Hayes. + +"Yes, perhaps they might. I must bear them in mind another time. Uncle, +Mr. Harding's plate is empty." And Barbara went on with her dinner, +feeling angry and aggrieved. "He might have let me think I had spared +his feelings by giving them up," she said to herself. "It would have +been kinder. And I should like to know what I was to do. If I had worn +them he would have looked at me to remind me. I can't think what made +uncle talk about the stupid things." + +During the rest of the meal conversation was somewhat fitful. The three, +in their sheltered, firelit nook, sat through pauses, in which it almost +seemed as if it would be only necessary to rise softly and glance round +the end of the screen to surprise some ghostly company gathered silently +at the long table. The wind made a cheerless noise outside, seeking +admission to the great hollow house, and died away in the hopelessness +of vain endeavour. At last Miss Strange prepared to leave the gentlemen +to their wine, but she lingered for a moment, darkly glowing against the +background of sombre brown and tarnished gold, to bid her uncle remember +that coffee would be ready in the drawing-room when they liked to come +for it. + +Mr. Hayes pushed the decanter to his guest. "Where is John Rothwell +now?" he asked. + +"I don't know," said Harding, listlessly. He was peeling a rough-coated +pear, and he watched the long, unbroken strip gliding downward in +lengthening curves. "Somewhere on the Continent--in one of those places +where people go to live shabbily." + +Mr. Hayes filled the pause with an inquiring "Yes?" and his bright eyes +dilated. + +"Yes," the other repeated. "Didn't you say he took some pictures away +with him? They must be all gone long ago--pawned or sold. How would you +raise money on family portraits? It would look rather queer going to the +pawnbroker's with an ancestor under your arm." + +"But there was his mother's portrait. He would not----" + +"Hm!" said Harding, cutting up his pear. "Well, perhaps not. Perhaps he +had to leave in a hurry some time or other. A miniature would have been +more convenient." + +"But this is very sad," said Mr. Hayes. He spoke in an abstract and +impersonal manner. + +Harding assented, also in a general way. + +"Very sad," the other repeated. Then, quickening to special +recollection--"And your uncle was always such a proud man. I never knew +a prouder man than John Rothwell five-and-twenty years ago. And to think +that he should come to this!" + +He leaned back in his chair and slowly sipped his wine, while he tried +to reconcile old memories with this new description. The wine was very +good, and Mr. Hayes seemed to enjoy it. Reynold Harding rested his elbow +on the table, and looked at the fire with a moody frown. + +"Some pride can't be carried about, I suppose," he said at last. "It's +as bad as a whole gallery of family portraits--worse, for you cannot +raise money on it." + +Mr. Hayes nodded. "I see. Rooted in the Mitchelhurst soil, you think? +Very possibly." He looked round, as far as the screens permitted. "And +so, when this went, all went. But how very sad!" + +The young man did not take the trouble to express his agreement a second +time. + +"And your other uncle," said Mr. Hayes briskly, after a pause. "How is +he?" + +"My other uncle?" + +"Yes, your uncle on your father's side--Mr. Harding." + +"Oh, he is very well--getting to be an old man now." + +"But as prosperous as ever?" + +"More so," said Harding in his rough voice. "His money gathers and grows +like a snowball. But he is beginning to think about enjoying it--he is +evidently growing old. He says it is time for him to have a holiday. He +never took one for some wonderful time--eighteen years I think it was; +but he has not worked quite so hard of late." + +"Well, he deserves a little pleasure now." + +"I don't know about that. If a man makes himself a slave to +money-getting I don't see that he deserves any pleasure. He deserves his +money." + +The old gentleman laughed. "Let the poor fellow amuse himself a +little--if he can. The question is whether he can, after a life of hard +work. What is his idea of pleasure?" + +"Yachting. He discovered quite lately that he wasn't sea-sick; he hadn't +leisure to find it out before. So he took to yachting. He can enjoy his +dinner as well on board a boat as anywhere else, he can talk about his +yacht, and he can spend any amount of money." + +"You haven't any sympathy with his hobby?" + +"I? I've no money to spend, and I _am_ sea-sick." + +"You are? I remember now," said Mr. Hayes, thoughtfully, "that your +grandfather and John Rothwell had a great dislike to the water." + +"Ah? It's a family peculiarity? A proud distinction?" Harding laughed +quietly, looking away. He was accustomed to laugh at himself and by +himself. "It's something to be able to invoke the Rothwell ancestry to +give dignity to one's qualms," he said. + +Mr. Hayes smiled a little unwillingly. He did not really require respect +for the Rothwell sea-sickness, but it hardly pleased him that the young +fellow should scoff at his ancestry, just when it had gained him +admission to Mitchelhurst Place. "Bad taste," he said to himself, and he +returned abruptly to the money-making uncle. "I suppose Mr. Harding has +a son to come after him?" + +"Yes, there's one son," Reynold replied, with a contemptuous intonation. + +"And does he take to the business?" + +"I don't know much about that. I fancy he wants to begin at the yachting +end, anyhow." + +"Only one son." Mr. Hayes glanced at young Harding as if a question were +on his lips; but the other's face did not invite it, and the subject +dropped. There was a pause, and then the elder man began to talk of some +Roman remains which had been discovered five miles from Mitchelhurst. +Reynold crossed his long legs, balanced himself idly, and listened with +dreary acquiescence. + +It was some time before the Roman remains were disposed of and they +rejoined Barbara. They startled her out of her uncle's big easy-chair, +where she was half-lying, half-sitting, with all her black draperies +about her, too much absorbed in a novel to hear their approach. +Harding, on the threshold, caught a glimpse of the nestling attitude, +the parted lips, the hand that propped her head, before Miss Strange was +on her feet and ready for her company. + +Mr. Hayes, stirring his coffee, demanded music. He liked it a little for +its own sake, but more just then because it would take his companion off +his hands. He was tired of entertaining this silent young man, who +stood, cup in hand, on the rug, frowning at the portraits of his +forefathers, and he sent Barbara to the piano with the certainty that +Harding would follow her. As soon as he saw them safely at the other end +of the room he dropped with a sigh of relief into the chair which she +had quitted, and took up his book. + +The girl, meanwhile, turned over her music and questioned Reynold. He +did not sing?--did not play? No; and he understood very little, but he +liked to listen. He turned the pages for her, once or twice too fast, +generally much too slowly, never at the right moment. Then Barbara began +to play something which she knew by heart, and he stood a little aside, +with his moody face softening, and his downward-glancing eyes following +her fingers over the keys, as if she were weaving the strands of some +delicate tissue. When she stopped, rested one hand on the music-stool on +which she sat, and turned from the piano to hear what her uncle wished +for next, he saw, as she leaned backward, the pure curve of her averted +cheek, and the black lace and amber beads about her softly-rounded +throat. + +"Oh, I know that by heart, too!" she exclaimed. + +He took up a sheet of music from the piano, and gazed vaguely at it +while she struck the first notes. He read the title without heeding it, +and then saw pencilled above it in a bold, but somewhat studied, hand, + + "ADRIAN SCARLETT." + +For a moment the name held his glance; and when he laid the paper down +he looked furtively over his shoulder. He knew that it was an absurd +fancy, but he felt as if some one had come into the room and was +standing behind Barbara. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +AN OLD LOVE STORY. + + +The next morning saw the three at breakfast in a little room adjoining +the drawing-room. The sky was overcast, and before the meal was over +Barbara turned her head quickly as the rain lashed the window in sudden +fury. She arched her brows, and looked at Mr. Harding with anxious +commiseration. + +"It's going to be a wet day," she said. + +He raised his eyes to the blurred prospect. + +"It looks like it, certainly." + +Her expression was comically aghast. + +"I never thought of its being wet!" + +"Yet such a thing does happen occasionally." + +"Yes, but it needn't have happened to-day. I thought you would want to +go out. What _will_ you do?" + +"Stay indoors, if you have no objection." + +"But there is nothing to amuse you. You will be so dull." + +"Less so than usual, I imagine," said Reynold. "Do you find it so +difficult to amuse yourself on a wet day?" + +"No, but I have a great deal to do. Besides, it is different. Don't men +always want to be amused more than women?" + +"Poor men!" said he. + +Mr. Hayes read his letters and seemed to take no heed of his niece's +trouble. But it appeared, when breakfast was finished, that he had +arranged how the morning should be spent. He announced his intention of +taking young Harding over the Place, and he carried it out with a +thoroughness which would have done honour to a professional guide, +showing all the pictures, mentioning the size of the rooms, and relating +the few family traditions--none of which, by the way, reflected any +especial credit on the Rothwells. He stopped with bright-eyed +appreciation before a cracked and discoloured map, where the +Mitchelhurst estate was shown in its widest extent. Reynold looked +silently at it, and then stalked after his host through all the chilly +faded splendour of the house, shivering sometimes, sneering sometimes, +but taking it all in with eager eyes, and glancing over the little man's +white head at the sombre shelves of the library or the portraits on the +walls. Mr. Hayes was fluent, precise, and cold. Only once did he +hesitate. They had come to a small sitting-room on the ground floor, +which, in spite of long disuse, still somehow conveyed the impression +that it had belonged to a young man. + +"This was John Rothwell's favourite room," he said. He looked round. "I +remember, yes, I remember, as if it were yesterday, how he used----" + +Harding waited, but he stood staring at the rusty grate, and left the +sentence unfinished. + +"And to think that now he should be living from hand to mouth on the +Continent!" he said at last, and compressed his lips significantly. + +He took the young man to the servants' hall, across which the giggling +voices of two or three maids echoed shrilly, till they were suddenly +silenced by the master's approach. Reynold followed him down long stone +passages, and thought, as he went, how icy and desolate they must be on +a black winter night. He was oppressed by the size and dreariness of the +place, and bewildered by the multiplicity of turnings. + +"I think," said Mr. Hayes suddenly, "that I have shown you all there is +to see indoors." + +And, as Reynold replied that he was much obliged, he pushed a door, and +motioned to his guest to precede him. Reynold stepped forward, and +discovered that he was in the entrance hall, facing Barbara, who had +just come down the broad white stairs, and still had her hand upon the +balustrade. It seemed to him as if he had come through the windings of +that stony labyrinth, the hollow rooms and pale corridors, to find a +richly-coloured blossom at the heart of all. + +"Oh, Barbara, I'll leave Mr. Harding to you now," said the old +gentleman. "I'm going to my study--I must write some letters." + +He crossed the black and white pavement with brisk, short steps, and +vanished through a doorway. + +"Has uncle shown you everything?" she asked. + +"I should think so." + +"It's a fine place, isn't it?" + +"Very fine, and very big," said Harding slowly. "Very empty, and +ghostly, and dead." + +"Oh, you don't like it! I thought it would be different to you. I +thought it would seem like home, since it belonged to your own people." + +"Home, sweet home!" he answered with a queer smile. "Well, it is a fine +place, as you say. And what have you been doing all the morning?" + +"Housekeeping," said Barbara. "And now"--she set down a small basket of +keys on the hall table, as if she were preparing for action--"now I am +going to set the clock right." + +"I'll stay for that if you'll allow me," said Reynold. "I remember what +you told me last night. It is _the_ time, and the world stands still +when it stops." + +"For me, not for you," the girl replied. "You have your watch--you don't +believe in the big clock." + +"Yes, I do. Here, in Mitchelhurst, what does one want with any but +Mitchelhurst time? What have I to do with Greenwich? But as for +Mitchelhurst, your uncle has talked to me till I feel as if I were all +the Rothwells who ever lived here. Why, what's this? Sunshine!" + +"Yes," said Barbara. "It's going to clear up." + +It could hardly be called actual sunlight, but there certainly was a +touch of pale autumn gold growing brighter about them as they stood. + +Harding was listening to the monotonous tick--tick--tick--tick. + +"I remember a man in some book," he said, "who didn't like to hear a +clock going--always counting out time in small change." + +"Oh, but that's a worrying idea! I should hate to think of my life doled +out to me like that!" + +"I'm afraid you must," he answered, with his little rough-edged laugh. +"It would be very delightful to take one's life in a lump, but how are +you going to have more than a moment in a moment? There are plenty of us +always trying to do it. If you could find out the way----" + +"How, trying?" said Barbara. + +"Trying to keep the past and grasp the future," Harding replied. +"Working and waiting for some moment which is to hold at least half a +lifetime--when it comes! Oh, I quite agree with you; I should like a +feast, and I am fed by spoonfuls!" + +She looked up at him a little doubtfully, and the clock went on +ticking. "I always thought it was like a heart beating," she said, +swerving from the idea he had presented as if it were distasteful. +"Now!" + +There was silence in the empty hall, as if, in very truth, she had laid +her brown young hand upon Time's flying pulse, and stilled it. + +"Talk of killing time!" said Harding. + +"No," Barbara answered, without turning her head. "Time's asleep--that's +all--asleep and dreaming. He'll soon wake up again." + +She had so played with the idle fancy that, quite unconsciously, she +spoke in a hushed voice, which deepened the impression of stillness. +Harding said no more, he simply watched her. His imagination had been +quickened by the sight of the Place; its traditional memories, its +pride, and its decay had touched him more deeply than he knew. Life, +with its hardness and its haste, its obscure and ugly miseries and +needs, had relaxed its grasp, and left him to himself for a little space +in the midst of that curious loneliness. He felt as if the wide, living, +wind-swept world beyond its walls were something altogether alien and +apart. Everything about him was pale and dim; the very sunlight was +faded, as if it were the faint reflection of a glory that was gone; +everything rested as if in the peace of something that was neither life +nor death. Everything was faded and dim, except the girl who stood, +softly breathing, a couple of steps away, and even she seemed to be held +by the enchantment of the place, and to wait in passive acquiescence. +Reynold's grey eyes dilated and deepened. + +But as she stood there, unconscious of his gaze, Barbara smiled. It was +just the slightest possible smile, as if she answered some smiling +memory; a curve of the lip, hardly more than hinted, which might +betoken nothing deeper than the recollection of some melodious scrap of +rhyme or music. Yet Reynold drew back as if it stung him. "That's not +for me!" he said to himself. + +The movement startled Barbara from her reverie. "Oh, how like you are to +that picture in the drawing-room!" she exclaimed, impulsively. + +He knew what she meant, and the innocent utterance was a second sting. +But he laughed. "What, the good-looking one?" + +It seemed to her that she could have found a light answer but for his +eyes upon her. As it was, he had the gratification of seeing her colour +and hesitate. "I--I wasn't thinking--I didn't mean--" she stammered, +shyly. "Oh, of course!" And then, angry with herself for her +unreadiness, she stepped forward, and, with a gesture of impatience, +set the pendulum swinging. + +"Time is to go on again?" said he. + +"Yes," Barbara replied, decidedly. "It would be tiresome if it stood +still long. It had better go on. Besides, I'm cold," and she turned away +with a pretty little shiver. "I want to go to the fire; I can't stay to +attend to it any longer." + +Harding lingered, and after an instant of irresolution she left him to a +world which had resumed its ordinary course. + +At luncheon there was the inevitable mention of the weather, and Mr. +Hayes, with his eyes fixed upon his plate, said, "Yes, it has cleared up +nicely. I suppose you are going into the village?" + +The young people hesitated, not knowing to whom the question was +addressed. Miss Strange waited for Mr. Harding, and Mr. Harding for Miss +Strange. Then they said "Yes" at the same moment, and felt themselves +pledged to go together. + +"I thought so," said Mr. Hayes, and began to remind his niece of this +thing and that which she was to be sure and show their visitor. "And the +sooner you go the better," he added when the meal was over. "The days +grow short." + +Barbara looked questioningly at Mr. Harding. "If you like to go----" + +"I shall be delighted, if you will allow me," said the young man, and a +few minutes later they went together down the avenue. + +"The days grow short," Mr. Hayes had said, and everything about them +seemed set to that sad autumnal burden. The boughs above their heads, +the ground under foot, were heavy with moisture, the bracken was +withered and brown, there were no more butterflies, but at every breath +the yellowing leaves took their uncertain flight to the wet earth. The +young people, each with a neatly furled umbrella, walked with something +of ceremonious self-consciousness, making little remarks about the +scenery, and Mr. Hayes, from his window, followed them with his eyes. + +"Rothwell, every inch of him," he said to himself, as Reynold turned and +looked backward at the Place. "I never knew one of the lot yet who +didn't think that particular family had a right to despise all the rest +of the world. The only difference I can see is that this fellow despises +the family too. Well, _let_ him! Why not? But, good Lord! what an end of +all his mother's hopes!" And Mr. Hayes went back to his fireside--_his_, +while John Rothwell was dodging his creditors on the Continent! There +was unutterable dreariness in the thought of such a destiny, but the +little old man regretted it with a complacent rubbing of his hands and a +remembrance of Rothwell's arrogance. There is a belief, engendered by +the moral stories of our childhood, that it is good for a man that his +unreasonable pride should be broken--a belief which takes no heed of the +chance that its downfall may hurl the whole fabric of life and conduct +into the foulness of the gutter. Mr. Hayes naturally took the moral +story view of a pride by which he had once been personally wounded; yet +he wore a deprecating air, as if Fate, in too amply avenging him, had +paid a compliment to his importance which was almost overpowering. + +It was more than a quarter of a century since Rothwell and he had been +antagonists, though they had not avowed the fact in so many words, and +Rothwell, with no honour or profit to himself, had baffled him. Herbert +Hayes was then over forty and unmarried. The Mitchelhurst gossips had +made up their minds that he would live and die a bachelor. But one +November Sunday he came, dapper, bright-eyed, and self-satisfied, to +Mitchelhurst church, gazed with the utmost propriety into his glossy +hat, stood up when the parson's dreary voice broke the silence with +"When the wicked man----" and, looking across at the Rothwells' great +pew, met his fate in a moment. + +The pew held its usual occupants--the old squire, grey, angular, and +scornful; young Rothwell, darker, taller, paler, less politely +contemptuous, and more lowering; Kate, erect and proud, sulkily +conscious of a beauty which the rustic congregation could not +understand. These three Hayes had often seen. But there was a fourth, a +frail, colourless girl, burdened rather than clothed with sombre +draperies of crape, pale to the very lips, and swaying languidly as she +stood, who unconsciously caught his glance and held it. She suffered her +head, with the little black bonnet set on the abundance of her pale +hair, to droop over her Prayer-book, and she slid downward when the +exhortation was ended as if she could stand no longer. The time seemed +interminable to him until she rose again. + +His instantaneous certainty that there was no drop of Rothwell blood in +her veins was confirmed by later inquiry. He learnt that she was +distantly related to the squire's wife, and had recently lost her +parents. Though she had not been left absolutely penniless, her little +pittance was not enough to keep her in idleness, and she was staying at +Mitchelhurst while the question of her future was debated. It was +difficult to see what Minnie Newton was to do in a hardworking world. +She could sink into helplessly graceful attitudes, she could watch you +with a softly troubled gaze, anxious to learn what she ought to think or +say; she was delicate, gentle, and very slightly educated. She had not +a thought of her own, and she was pure with the kind of purity which +cannot grasp the idea of evil, and fails to recognise it, unless indeed +vice is going in rags and dirt to the police-station, and using shocking +language by the way. Her simplicity was touching. She thought nothing of +herself; she would cling to the first hand that happened to be held out +to her. She might be saved by good luck, but nature had obviously +designed her for a victim. + +Miss Newton was polite to Mr. Hayes as to everybody else, but she was +the last person at Mitchelhurst Place to suspect the little gentleman's +passion. The very servants found it out, and wondered at her innocence. +John Rothwell laughed. + +"What a fool she is!" he said to his sister, as he stood by the window +one day, and saw Hayes coming up the avenue. + +"That's an undoubted fact," said the magnificent Kate. + +"And what a fool he is!" John continued. + +"Well, we won't quarrel about that either," she replied liberally. "They +will be all the better matched." + +"Matched?" said Rothwell. "No." + +She looked up hastily. + +"Eh?" she said. "Not matched? And why not?" + +Instead of answering, he deliberately lighted a cigarette and smoked, +gazing darkly at her. + +Kate shrugged her shoulders. + +"What difference can it possibly make to you?" + +He took his cigarette from his lips and looked at it. + +"It will make a difference to him," he said at last. + +The bell rang, and the knocker added its emphatic summons. One of +Rothwell's dogs began to bark. Kate had risen, and stood with her eyes +fixed on her brother's face. + +"It would be a very good thing for the girl," she remarked meditatively. +"I don't see what is to become of her, poor thing, unless she marries." + +"Damn him!" said Rothwell. + +The answer was not so irrelevant as it appeared. His gaze was as steady +as Kate's own, and seemed to prolong his words as a singer prolongs a +note. She drew her brows together, as if perplexed. + +"Well," she said, turning away, "I must go and look after our lovers!" + +"And I," he said. + +The dapper, contented little man had done Rothwell no harm, but the +young fellow cherished a black hatred, born of the dulness of his vacant +life. Hayes, without being rich, was very comfortably off, and he was +apt to betray the fact with innocent ostentation. A sovereign was less +to him than a shilling to John Rothwell, and it seemed to the latter +that he could always hear the gold chinking when Hayes talked. One could +do so much with a sovereign, and so little with a shilling. Rothwell was +hungry, with a hunger which only just fell short of being a literal +fact, and he had to stand by, with his hands in his empty pockets, while +Hayes could have good dinners, good wine, good clothes, good horses, +whatever he liked in the way of pleasure--and was "such a contemptible +little cad with it all," the young man snarled. His own poverty would +have been more bearable had it not been for his neighbour's ease and +security. And now, heaven be praised!--heaven?--the prosperous man had +set his heart on this whitefaced, fair-haired, foolish girl who was +under the roof of Mitchelhurst Place, and for once he should be baffled. + +Rothwell set to work with evil ingenuity--it seemed almost fiendish, +but, really, he had nothing else to do--to ruin Hayes's chance of +success. But for him it must have been almost a certainty. Kate was +inclined to favour the suitor. The old squire disliked him, perhaps with +a little of his son's feeling, but would have been very well satisfied +to see the girl provided for. And Minnie Newton was there for any man, +who had a will of his own, and was not absolutely repulsive, to take if +he pleased. The course of true love seemed about to run with perfect +smoothness till young Rothwell stepped in and troubled it. + +Mockery, not slander, was his weapon. As Miss Newton idled over her +embroidery he would lounge near her and make little jests about Hayes's +age, size, and manners. She listened with a troubled face. Of course Mr. +Rothwell was talking very cleverly, and she tried not to remember that +she had found Mr. Hayes very kind and pleasant when he called the day +before. Of course it was absurd that a man of that age should want to be +taken for five-and-twenty--yes, and he had a _very_ ridiculous way of +putting his head on one side like a bird--when Mr. Rothwell had +insisted on having her opinion, she had said, "Yes, it was _very_ +ridiculous"--and a gentleman, a real gentleman, would not talk so much +about his money, and what he could do with it--Mr. Rothwell said so, and +he certainly knew. And as she had agreed to it she supposed it was quite +right that he should repeat this at dinner-time, as if it were her own +remark, though she wished he wouldn't, because his father turned sharply +and looked at her. But, no doubt, Mr. Hayes did look absurdly small by +the side of John Rothwell, and there was something common in his +manners. Many people might think they were all very well, but a lady +would feel that there was something wanting. And so on, and so on, till +she began to ask herself what John Rothwell would say of her if, after +all this, she showed more than the coldest civility to Mr. Hayes. + +Kate perfectly understood the position of affairs, but did not choose +openly to oppose her brother. If Hayes would have come and carried +Minnie off, young Lochinvar fashion, she would have been secretly +pleased. As it was, she was contemptuously kind to the girl, and if the +little suitor met the two young women in the village, Miss Rothwell +shook hands and looked away. Once she found herself some business to do +at the Mitchelhurst shop, and sent Minnie home, lest she should be out +too long in the December cold. She had spied Herbert Hayes coming along +the street, and had rightly guessed that he would see and pursue the +slim, black-clothed figure. And, indeed, he used his walk with Miss +Newton to such good purpose that he might have won her promise then and +there if a tall young man had not suddenly sprung over a stile and +confronted them. Minnie fairly cowered in embarrassment as she met +Rothwell's meaning glance, which assumed that she would be delighted to +be rid of a bore, and she suffered him to give her his arm and to take +her home, leaving poor Hayes to feel very small indeed as he stood in +the middle of the road. He tried a letter, but it only called forth a +little feebly-penned word of refusal as faint as an echo. + +Hayes never suspected the young man's deliberate malice. He fancied the +old squire, if anybody, was his enemy; but he was more inclined to set +the difficulty down to the Rothwells' notorious pride than to any +special ill-will to himself. + +"No one is good enough for them, curse them!" he said over the little +note. "They won't give me a chance of winning her. I'm not beaten yet +though!" + +But he was. Early in January Minnie Newton took cold, drooped in the +chilly dreariness of the old house, and died before the spring came in. + +One day Kate Rothwell came upon Hayes as he lingered, a melancholy +little figure, by the girl's grave. + +"Ah, Miss Rothwell," he said, looking up at her, "I wanted to have had +the right to care for her and mourn her, but it was not to be!" + +"No," said Kate. "I'm sorry," she added, after a moment. It was just at +the time when she herself was about to defy all the barren traditions of +the Rothwells to marry Sidney Harding with his brilliant prospects of +wealth. Harding's half-brother, who had made the great business, was +pleased with the match, and promised Sidney a partnership in a couple +of years. Everything was bright for Kate, and she could afford a +regretful thought to poor Hayes. "I'm sorry," she said. + +Her voice was hard, but the slightest proffer of sympathy was enough. +"Ah! I knew you wished me well--God bless you!" said the little man, +"and help you as you would have helped me!" + +Perhaps Kate Rothwell felt that at that rate Providence would not take +any very active interest in her affairs. She turned aside impatiently. +"Pray keep your thanks for some one who deserves them, Mr. Hayes. I +don't." + +"You could not do anything, but I know you were good to _her_. She told +me, that afternoon----" He spoke in just the proper tone of emotion. + +"Nonsense!" Kate answered, sharply. "How could she? there was nothing to +tell." Mr. Hayes might well say, even a quarter of a century later, +that Miss Rothwell had an unpleasant manner. + +Nevertheless she held a place in that idealised picture of his love +which in his old age served him for a memory. In Sidney Harding's death, +within a year of the marriage, he saw a kindred stroke to that which had +robbed him of his own hope, and he never thought of Kate without a touch +of sentimental loyalty. When he met Kate's son that October afternoon, +with the familiar face and voice, on his way to Mitchelhurst, he had +felt that, Rothwell though he was, he must be welcomed for his mother's +sake. And yet it had almost seemed as if it were John Rothwell himself +come back to sneer in a new fashion. + +How came he to be so evidently poor while old Harding was rolling in +wealth? Mr. Hayes, sitting over the fire, wondered at this failure of +Kate's hopes. People had called it a fair exchange, her old name for +the Hardings' abundance of newly-coined gold. But where was the gold? +Plainly not in this young Harding's pockets. What did he do for a +living? Why was he not in his uncle's office, a man of business with the +world before him? There was no stamp of success about this listless, +long-legged fellow, who had come, as hopeless as any Rothwell, to linger +about that scene of slow decay. "He'll do no good," said Mr. Hayes to +himself, stirring up a cheerful blaze. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +REYNOLD'S RESOLUTION. + + +Meanwhile the young people had passed through the great gate and turned +to the right. "Do you mind which way you go?" Barbara asked, and Reynold +replied that he left it entirely to her. "Then," she said, "we will go +this way, and come back by the village; you will get a better view so." + +At first, however, it seemed that a view was the one thing which was +certainly not to be had in the road they had chosen. On their left was a +tangled hedge, on their right a dank and dripping plantation of firs. +The slim, straight stems, seen one beyond another, conveyed to Reynold +the impression of a melancholy crowd, pressing silently to the boundary +of the road on which he walked. It was one of those fantastic pictures +which reveal themselves in unfamiliar landscapes, and Barbara, who had +seen the wood under a score of varying aspects, took no especial heed of +this one, as she picked her way daintily by the young man's side. Indeed +she did not even note the moment when the trees were succeeded by a +turnip-field, lying wide and wet under the pale sky. But when in its +turn the field gave place to an open gateway and a drive full of deep +ruts, in which the water stood, she paused. "You see that house?" she +said. + +It was evident from its surroundings of soaked yard, miscellaneous +buildings, dirty tumbrils, and clustered stacks, that it was a +farmhouse. Harding looked at it and turned inquiringly to her. "It was +much larger once," said Barbara. "Part of it was pulled down a long +while ago. Your people lived here before they built Mitchelhurst Place." + +He pushed out his lower lip. "Well," he said, "I think they showed their +good taste in getting out of this." + +"But it was better then," said the girl. "And even now, sometimes in the +spring when I come here for cowslips----" + +She stopped short, for he was smiling. "Oh, no doubt! Everything looks +better then. But I have come too late." He had to step aside as he spoke +to let a manure cart go by, labouring along the miry way. "And what do +you call this house?" he asked. + +"Mitchelhurst Hall. I don't think there is anything much to see, but if +you would like to look over it or to walk round it----" + +"No, thank you; I am content." He took off his hat in mocking homage to +the home of the Rothwells, and turned to go. "And have you any more +decayed residences to show me, Miss Strange?" + +"Only some graves," she answered, simply. + +"Oh, they are all graves!" said Harding with his short laugh, swinging +his umbrella as they resumed their walk. Already Barbara had become +accustomed to that little jarring laugh, which had no merriment in it. +She did not like it, but she was curiously impressed by it. When the +young man was grave and stiff and shy she was sorry for him; she +remembered that he was only Mr. Reynold Harding, their guest for a week. +But when he was sufficiently at his ease to laugh she felt as if all the +Rothwells were mocking, and she were the interloper and inferior. + +"I suppose it does seem like that to you--as if they were all graves," +she said timidly, as she led the way across the road to a gate in the +tangled hedge; the field into which it led sloped steeply down. "That +is what people call the best view of Mitchelhurst," she explained. + +To the left was Mitchelhurst Place, gaunt and white among its warped and +weather-beaten trees. Before them lay the dotted line of Mitchelhurst +Street, and they looked down into the square cabbage-plots. The sails of +the windmill swung heavily round, and the smoke went up from the +blacksmith's forge. To the right was the church, with its thickset +tower, and the sun shining feebly on the wet surface of its leaden roof. +Barbara pointed out a small oblong patch of grass and evergreens as the +vicarage garden, while a bare building, of the rawest red brick, was the +Mitchelhurst workhouse. The view was remarkably comprehensive. +Mitchelhurst lay spread below them in small and melancholy completeness. + +"Yes, it's all there, right enough," said Reynold, leaning on the gate. +"An excellent view. All there, from the Place where my people spent +their money, to the workhouse, where----By Jove!" his voice dropped +suddenly, "I'm not Rothwell enough to have a right to be taken into the +Mitchelhurst workhouse! They'd send me on somewhere, I suppose. I wonder +which they would call my parish!" + +"Are you sorry?" Barbara asked, after a pause. + +"Sorry not to be in the workhouse?" indicating it with a slight movement +of his finger. "No, not particularly." + +"I didn't mean that," said the girl, a little shortly. "I meant, of +course, are you sorry you are not a Rothwell?" + +"I don't know." + +He spoke slowly, half reluctantly, and still leaned on the gate, with +his eyes wandering from point to point of the little landscape, which +was softened and saddened by the pale light and paler haze of October. +It was Barbara who finally broke the silence. "You didn't like the +house this morning, and you didn't like the old hall just now, so I +thought most likely you wouldn't care for this." + +"Well, it isn't beautiful," he replied, without turning his head. "Do +you care much about it, Miss Strange? Why should anybody care about it? +There are wonderful places in the world--beautiful places full of +sunshine. Why should we trouble ourselves about this little grey and +green island where we happened to be born? And what are these few acres +in it more than any other bit of ploughed land and meadow?" + +"I thought you didn't care for it," said Barbara, sagely. "I thought you +scorned it." + +"Scorn it--I can't scorn it! It isn't mine!" He turned away from it, as +if in a sudden movement of impatience, and lounged with his back to the +gate. "It's like my luck!" he said, kicking a stone in the road. + +Barbara was interested. Harding's tone revealed the strength and +bitterness of his feelings. He had never seemed to her so much of a +Rothwell as he did at that moment. "What is like your luck?" she +ventured to ask. + +He jerked his head in the direction of Mitchelhurst. "I may as well be +honest," he said. "Honest with myself--if I can! Look there--I have +mocked at that place all my life; for very shame's sake I have kept away +from it because I had vowed I didn't care whether one stone of it was +left upon another. What was it to me? I am not a Rothwell. I'm Reynold +Harding, son of Sidney Harding, son of Reynold Harding--there my +pedigree grows vague. My grandfather is an important man--we can't get +beyond him. He died while my father was in petticoats. He was a +pork-butcher in a small way. I believe he could write his name--_my_ +name--and that he always declared that his father was a Reynold too. But +we don't know anything about my great-grandfather--perhaps he was a +pork-butcher in a smaller way. My uncle Robert went to London as a boy +and made all the money, pensioned his father, and afterwards educated +his half-brother Sidney, who was twenty years younger than himself. He +would have made my father his partner if he had lived. If my father had +lived I might have been rich. As it is, I'm not rich, and I'm not a +Rothwell." + +"Well, you look like one!" said Barbara. She was not very wise. It +seemed to her a cruel thing that this earlier Reynold should have been a +pork-butcher--a misfortune on which she would not comment. She looked up +at the younger Reynold with the sincerest sympathy shining in her eyes, +and in an unreasoning fashion of her own took part with him and with the +old family, as if his grandfather were an unwarranted intruder who had +thrust himself into their superior society. "You look like one!" she +exclaimed, and Reynold smiled. + +"And after all," she said, pursuing her train of thought, "you are half +Rothwell, you know. As much Rothwell as Harding, are you not?" + +He was still smiling. "True. But that is a kind of thing which doesn't +do by halves." + +She assented with a sigh. She had never before talked to a man whose +grandfather was a pork-butcher, and she did not know what consolation to +offer. She could only look shyly and wistfully at Mr. Harding, as he +leaned against the gate with his back to the prospect, while she +resolved that she would never tell her uncle. She did not think her +companion less interesting after the revelation. This discord, this +irony of fate, this mixing of the blood of the Rothwells and the small +tradesman, seemed to her to explain much of young Harding's sullen +discontent. He was the last descendant of the old family of which she +had dreamed so often, and he was the victim of an unmerited wrong. She +wanted him to say more. "And you wouldn't come to Mitchelhurst before?" +she said, suggestively. + +"No; but the thought of the place was pulling at me all the time. I +couldn't get rid of it. And so--here I am! And I have seen the dream of +my life face to face--it's behind my back just at this minute, but I can +see it as well as if I were looking at it. I'm very grateful to you for +showing me this view, Miss Strange, but you'll excuse me if I don't turn +round while I speak of it?" + +"Oh, yes," said Barbara, wonderingly. + +He had his elbows on the top rail of the gate, and looked downward at +the muddy way, rough with the hoof marks of cattle. "You see," he +explained, "I want to say the kind of thing one says behind a--a +landscape's back." + +"I'm sorry to hear it," she answered. She had drawn a little to one +side, and had laid a small gloved hand on one of the gate posts. +Somebody, many years before, had deeply cut a clumsy M on the cracked +and roughened surface of the wood. The letter was as grey and as +weather-worn as the rest. Barbara touched it delicately with a +finger-tip, and followed its ungainly outline. Probably it was his own +initial that the rustic had hacked, standing where he stood, but she +recognised the possibility that the rough carving might be the utterance +of the great secret of joy and pain, and the touch was almost a caress. + +"Some people follow their dreams through life, and never get more than a +glimpse of them, even as dreams," said Harding, slowly. "Well, I have +seen mine. I have had a good look at it. I know what it is like. It is +dreary--it is narrow--cold--hideous." + +"Oh!" cried Barbara, as if his words hurt her. Then, recovering herself, +"I'm sorry you dislike it so much. Well, you must give it up, mustn't +you?" + +He laughed. "Life without a fancy, without a desire?" he said. + +"Find something else to wish for." + +"What? If there were anything else, should I care twopence for +Mitchelhurst? No, it is my dream still--a dream I'm never likely to +realise, but the only possible dream for me. Only now I know how poor +and dull my highest success would be." + +"You had better have stayed away," said the girl. + +He took his elbows off the gate, and bowed in acknowledgment of the +polite speech. "Oh, you know what I mean," she said hurriedly. + +"Yes, I know. And, except for the kindness of your fairy godmother, I +believe you are perfectly right. _That_, of course, is a different +question." + +Barbara would not answer what she fancied might be a sneer. "You see the +place at its worst," she said, "and there is nobody to care for it; +everything is neglected and going to ruin. Don't you think it would be +different if it belonged to some one who loved it? Why don't you make +your fortune," she exclaimed, with sanguine, bright-eyed directness, as +if the fortune were an easy certainty, "and come back and set everything +right? Don't you think you could care for Mitchelhurst if----" + +She would have finished her sentence readily enough, but Reynold caught +it up. + +"_If!_" he said, with a sudden startled significance in his tone. Then, +with an air of prompt deference, "Shall I go and make the fortune at +once, Miss Strange? Shall I? Yes, I think I could care for Mitchelhurst, +as you say, _if_--" He smiled. "One might do much with a fortune, no +doubt." + +"Make it then," said Barbara, conscious of a faint and undefined +embarrassment. + +"Must it be a very big one?" + +"Oh, I think it may as well be a tolerable size, while you are about it. +Hadn't we better be moving on?" + +Mr. Harding assented. "Where are we going now?" + +"To the church. That is, if you care to go there." + +"Oh, I like to go very much. I wonder what you would call a tolerable +fortune," he said in a meditative tone. + +"My opinion doesn't matter." + +"But you are going to wish me success while I am away making it?" + +"Oh, certainly." + +"That will be a help," he said gravely. "I shan't look for an omen in +the sky just now--do you see how threatening it is out yonder?" + +The clouds rolled heavily upwards, and massed themselves above their +heads as they hastened down a steep lane which brought them out by the +church. Barbara stopped at the clerk's cottage for a ponderous key, and +then led the way through a little creaking gate. The path along which +they went was like a narrow ditch, the mould, heaped high on either +side, seemed as if it were burdened with his imprisoned secrets. The +undulating graves, overgrown with coarse grasses, rose up, wave-like, +against the buttressed walls of the churchyard, high above the level of +the outer road. The church itself looked as if it had been dug out of +the sepulchral earth, so closely was it surrounded by these shapeless +mounds. Barbara, to whom the scene was nothing new, and who was eager to +escape the impending shower, flitted, alive, warm, and young, through +all this cold decay, and never heeded it. Harding followed her, looking +right and left. They passed under two dusky yew trees, and then she +thrust her big key into the lock of the south door. + +"Are my people buried in the churchyard?" he asked. + +"Oh, no!" she exclaimed reverentially. "Your people are all inside." + +He stepped in, but when he was about to close the door he stood for a +moment, gazing out through the low-browed arch. It framed a picture of +old-fashioned headstones fallen all aslant, nettles flourishing upon +forgotten graves, the trunks of the great yews, the weed-grown crest of +the churchyard wall, defined with singular clearness upon a wide band of +yellow sky. The gathered tempest hung above, and its deepening menace +intensified the pale tranquillity of the horizon. "I say," said Harding +as he turned away, "it's going to pour, you know!" + +"Well, we are under shelter," Barbara answered cheerfully, as she laid +her key on the edge of one of the pews. "If it clears up again so that +we get back in good time it won't matter a bit. And anyhow we've got +umbrellas. The font is very old, they say." + +Harding obediently inspected the font. + +"And there are two curious inscriptions on tablets on the north wall. +Mr. Pryor--he's the vicar--is always trying to read them. Do you know +much about such things?" + +"Nothing at all." + +"Oh!" in a tone of disappointment. "I'm afraid you wouldn't get on with +Mr. Pryor then." + +"I'm afraid not." + +"Perhaps you wouldn't care to look at them." + +"Oh, let us look, by all means." + +They walked together up the aisle. "_I_ don't care about them," said +Barbara, "but I suppose Mr. Pryor would die happy if he could make them +out." + +"Then I suspect he is happy meanwhile, though perhaps he doesn't know +it," Reynold replied, looking upward at the half effaced lettering. + +"He can read some of it," said the girl, "but nobody can make out the +interesting part." + +Harding laughed, under his breath. Their remarks had been softly uttered +ever since the closing of the door had shut them in to the imprisoned +silence. He moved noiselessly a few steps further, and looked round. + +Mitchelhurst Church, like Mitchelhurst Place, betrayed a long neglect. +The pavement was sunken and uneven, cobwebs hung from the sombre arches, +the walls, which had once been white, were stained and streaked, by damp +and time, to a blending of melancholy hues. The half light, which +struggled through small panes of greenish glass, fell on things +blighted, tarnished, faded, dim. The pews with their rush-matted seats +were worm-eaten, the crimson velvet of the pulpit was a dingy rag. There +was but one bit of vivid modern colouring in the whole building--a slim +lancet window at the west end, a discord sharply struck in the shadowy +harmony. "To the memory of the vicar before last," said Barbara, when +the young man's glance fell on it. Such gleams of sunlight as lingered +yet in the stormy sky without irradiated Michael, the church's patron +saint, in the act of triumphing over a small dragon. The contest +revealed itself as a mere struggle for existence; a Quaker, within such +narrow limits, must have fought for the upper hand as surely as an +archangel. Harding as he looked at it could not repress a sigh. He fully +appreciated the calmness of the saint, and the neatness with which the +little dragon was coiled, but it seemed to him a pity that the vicar +before last had happened to die; and he was glad to turn his back on the +battle, and follow Miss Strange to the north chancel aisle. "These are +all the Rothwell monuments," she said. "Their vault is just below. This +is their pew, where we sit on Sunday." + +Having said this she moved from his side, and left him gazing at the +simple tablets which recorded the later generations of the old house, +and the elaborate memorials of more prosperous days. More than one +recumbent figure slept there, each with upturned face supported on a +carven pillow; the bust of a Rothwell was set up in a dusty niche, with +lean features peering out of a forest of curling marble hair; carefully +graduated families of Rothwells, boys and girls, knelt behind their +kneeling parents; the little window, half blocked by the florid grandeur +of a grimy monument, had the Rothwell arms emblazoned on it in a dim +richness of colour. In this one spot the dreariness of the rest of the +building became a stately melancholy. Harding looked down. His foot was +resting on the inscribed stone which marked the entrance to that silent, +airless place of skeletons and shadows, compared to which even this dim +corner, with its mute assemblage, was yet the upper world of light and +life. If he worked, if fortune favoured him, if he succeeded beyond all +reasonable hope, if he were indeed predestined to triumph, that little +stone might one day be lifted for him. + +The windows darkened momentarily with the coming of the tempest. Through +the dim diamond panes the masses of the yew-trees were seen, and their +movement was like the stirring of vast black wings. The effigies of the +dead men frowned in the deepening gloom, and their young descendant +folded his arms, and leaned against the high pew, with a slant gleam of +light on his pale Rothwell face. Barbara went restlessly and yet +cautiously up and down the central aisle, and paused by the reading-desk +to turn the leaves of the great old-fashioned prayer-book which lay +there. When its cover was lifted it exhaled a faint odour, as of the +dead Sundays of a century and more. While she lingered, lightly +conscious of the lapse of vague years, reading petitions for the welfare +of "Thy servant _GEORGE_, our most gracious King and Governour," "her +Royal Highness the Princess Dowager of _Wales_, and all the Royal +Family," the page grew indistinct in the threatening twilight, as if it +would withdraw itself from her idle curiosity. She looked up with a +shiver, as overhead and around burst the multitudinous noises of the +storm, the rain gushing on the leaden roof, the water streaming drearily +from the gutters to beat on the earth below, and, in a few moments, the +quick, monotonous fall of drops through a leak close by. This lasted for +ten minutes or a quarter of an hour. Then the sky grew lighter, the +downpour slackened, a sense of overshadowing oppression seemed to pass +away, and St. Michael and his dragon brightened cheerfully. Barbara went +to the door and threw it open, and a breath of fresh air came in with a +chilly smell of rain. + +As she stood in the low archway she heard Harding's step on the +pavement behind her. It was more alert and decided than usual, and when +she turned he met her glance with a smile. + +"Well?" she said. "I didn't like to disturb you, you looked so serious." + +"I was thinking," he admitted. "And it was a rather serious occasion. My +people are not very cheerful company." + +"And now you have thought?" + +"Yes," he said, still smiling. "Yes, I have thought--seriously, with my +serious friends yonder." + +Barbara, as she stood, with her fingers closed on the heavy handle of +the door, and her face turned towards Harding, fixed her eyes intently +on his. + +"I know!" she exclaimed. "You have made up your mind to come back to +Mitchelhurst." + +"Who knows?" said he. "I'm not sanguine, but we'll see what time and +fortune have to say to it. At any rate my people are patient +enough--they'll wait for me!" + +To the girl, longing for a romance, the idea of the young man's +resolution was delightful. She looked at him with a little quivering +thrill of impatience, as if she would have had him do something towards +the great end that very moment. Her small, uplifted face was flushed, +and her eyes were like stars. The brightening light outside shone on the +soft brown velvet of her dress, and something in her eager, +lightly-poised attitude gave Reynold the impression of a dainty +brown-plumaged, bright-eyed bird, ready for instant flight. He almost +stretched an instinctive hand to grasp and detain her, lest she should +loose her hold of the iron ring and be gone. + +"I know you will succeed--you will come back!" she exclaimed. "How long +first, I wonder?" + +"_Shall_ I succeed?" said Reynold, half to himself, but +half-questioning her to win the sweet, unconscious assurance, which +meant so little, yet mocked so deep a meaning. + +"Yes!" she replied. "You will! You must be master here." + +Master! She might have put it in a dozen different ways, and found no +word to waken the swift, meaning flash in his eyes which that word did. +Her pulses did not quicken, she perfectly understood that he was +thinking of Mitchelhurst. She could not understand what mere dead earth +and stone Mitchelhurst was to the man at her side. + +"You will have to restore the church one of these days," she said. + +Harding nodded. + +"Certainly. But it will be very ugly, anyhow." + +"Well, at least you must have the roof mended. And now, please, will you +get the key? It is on the ledge of that pew just across the aisle. I +think we had better be going--it has almost left off raining." + +She stepped outside and put up her umbrella, while he locked up his +ancestors, smiling grimly. It seemed rather unnecessary to turn the key +on the family party in that dusty little corner. They were quiet folks, +and, as he had said, they would wait for him and his fortune not +impatiently. If he could have shut in the brightness of youth, the +warmth and life and sweetness which alone could make the fortune worth +having, if he could have come back in the hour of success to unfasten +the door and find all there--then indeed his big key would have been a +priceless talisman. Unfortunately one can shut nothing safely away that +is not dead. The old Rothwells were secure enough, but the rest was at +the mercy of time and change, and all the winds that blow. + +The pair were silent as they turned into Mitchelhurst Street. Reynold +looked at the small, shabby houses, and noted the swinging sign of the +"Rothwell Arms," though his deeper thoughts were full of other things. +But about half way through the village he awoke to a sudden +consciousness of eyes. Eyes peered through small-paned windows, stared +boldly from open doorways, met him inquisitively in the faces of +loiterers on the path, or were lifted from the dull task of mending the +road as he walked by with Barbara. He looked over his shoulder and found +that other people were looking over their shoulders, after which he felt +himself completely encompassed. + +"People here seem interested," he remarked to Miss Strange, while a +pale-faced, slatternly girl, with swiftly-plaiting fingers, leaned +forward to get a better view. + +"Why, of course they are interested. You are a stranger, you know. It +is quite an excitement for them." + +"You call that an excitement?" said he. + +"Yes. If you spent your life straw-plaiting in one of these cottages you +would be excited if a stranger went by. It would be kinder of you if you +did not walk so fast." + +"No, no," said Harding, quickening his steps. "I don't profess +philanthropy." + +"Besides, you are not altogether a stranger," she went on. "I dare say +they think you are one of the old family come to buy up the property." + +"Why should they think anything of the kind?" he demanded incredulously. + +"Well, they know you are staying at the Place. Every child in the street +knows that. And, you see, Mr. Harding, nobody comes to Mitchelhurst +without some special reason, so perhaps they have a right to be curious. +I remember how they stared a few months ago--it was at a gentleman who +was just walking down the road----" + +"Indeed," said Harding. "And what was _his_ special reason for coming? I +suppose," he added quickly, "I've as good a right to be curious as other +Mitchelhurst people." + +"Oh, I don't know. He was a friend of Uncle Herbert's--he came to see +him." + +"And did _he_ walk slowly from motives of pure kindness?" the young man +persisted. + +"Yes," said Barbara defiantly. "He stood stock still and looked at the +straw plaiting. I don't know about the kindness; perhaps he liked it." + +"Well, I don't like it." + +"But you needn't take such very long steps: these three cottages are the +last. Do you know I'm very nearly running?" + +Of course he slackened his pace and begged her pardon; but in so doing +he relapsed into the uneasy self-consciousness of their first +interview. When they reached the gate of the avenue he held it open for +her to pass, murmuring something about walking a bit further. Barbara +looked at him in surprise, and then, with a little smiling nod, went +away under the trees, wondering what was amiss. "I can't have offended +him--how could I?" she said to herself, and she made up her mind that +her new friend was certainly queer. It was the Rothwell temper, no +doubt, and yet his awkward muttering had been more like the manner of a +sullen schoolboy. A Rothwell should have been loftily superior, even if +he were disagreeable. It was true, as Barbara reflected, almost in spite +of herself, that Mr. Harding had no such hereditary obligation on the +pork-butcher side of his pedigree. + +Reynold had spoken out of the bitterness of his heart, and a bitter +frankness is the frankest of all. But perhaps he had not shown his +wisdom when he so quickly confided his grandfather to Miss Strange. +Because we may have tact enough to choose the mood in which our friend +shall listen to our secret, we are a little too apt to forget that the +secret, once uttered, remains with him in all his moods. In this case +the girl had been a sympathetic listener, but young Harding scarcely +intended that the elder Reynold should be so vividly realised. + +Later, when all outside the windows was growing blank and black, Barbara +went up to dress for dinner. She was nearly ready when there came a +knock at her door, and she hurried, candle in hand, to open it. In the +gloom of the passage stood the red-armed village girl who waited on her. + +"Please, miss, the gentleman told me to give you this," said the +messenger, awkwardly offering something which was only a formless mass +in the darkness. + +"What?" said Miss Strange, and turned the light upon it. The wavering +little illumination fell on a confusion of autumn leaves, rich with +their dying colours, and shining with rain. Among them, indistinctly, +were berries of various kinds, hips and haws, and poison clusters of a +deeper red, vanishing for a moment as the draught blew the candle flame +aside, and then reappearing. One might have fancied them blood drops +newly shed on the wet foliage. + +"Oh!" Barbara exclaimed in surprise, and after a moment's pause, "give +them to me." She gathered them up, despite some thorny stems, with her +disengaged hand, and went back into her room. So that was the meaning of +Mr. Harding's solitary walk! She stood by the table, delicately picking +out the most vivid clusters, and trying their effect against the soft +cloud of her hair, cloudier than ever in the dusk of her mirror. "I +hope he hasn't been slipping into any more ditches!" she said to +herself. + +With that she sighed, for the thought recalled to her the melancholy of +an autumnal landscape. She remembered an earlier gift, roses and myrtle, +a summer gift, the giver of which had gone when the summer waned. She +had seen him last on a hot September day. "We never said good-bye," +Barbara thought, and let her hand hang with the berries in it. "He said +he should not go till the beginning of October. When he came that +afternoon and I was out, and he only saw uncle, I was sure he would come +again. Well, I suppose he didn't care to. He could if he liked--a girl +can't; there are lots of things a girl can't do; but a man can call if +he pleases. Well, he must have gone away before now. And he didn't even +write a line, he only sent a message by uncle, his kind regards--Who +wants his kind regards?--and he was sorry not to see me. Very well, my +kind regards, and I'm sure I don't want to see him!" + +She ended her meditations with an emphatic little nod, but the girl in +the mirror who returned it had such a defiantly pouting face that she +quite took Barbara by surprise. + +"I'm not angry," Miss Strange declared to herself after a pause. "Not +the least in the world. The idea is perfectly absurd. It was just a bit +of the summer, and now the summer is gone." And so saying she put Mr. +Harding's autumn berries in her hair, and fastened them at her throat, +and, with her candle flickering dimly through the long dark passages, +swept down to the yellow drawing-room to thank him for his gift. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +A GAME AT CHESS. + + +When Kate Rothwell promised to be Sidney Harding's wife she was very +honestly in love with the handsome young fellow. But this happy frame of +mind had been preceded by a period of revolt and disgust when she did +not know him, and had resolved vaguely on a marriage--any +marriage--which should fulfil certain conditions. And that she should be +in love with the man she married was not one of them. In fact, the +conditions were almost all negative ones. She had decreed that her +husband should not be a conspicuous fool, should not be vicious, should +not be repulsively vulgar, and should not be an unendurable bore. On +the other hand he should be fairly well off. She did not demand a large +fortune, she was inclined to rate the gift and prospect of making money +as something more than the possession of a certain sum which its owner +could do nothing but guard. Given a fairly cultivated man, and she felt +that she would absolutely prefer that he should be engaged in some +business which might grow and expand, stimulating the hopes and energies +of all connected with it. The sterility and narrowness of life at +Mitchelhurst had sickened her very soul. She was conscious of a fund of +rebellious strength, and she demanded liberty to develop herself, +liberty to live. She knew very well how women fared among the Rothwells. +She had seen two of her father's sisters, faded spinsters, worshipping +the family pride which had blighted them. Nobody wanted them, their one +duty was to cost as little as possible. That they would not disgrace the +Rothwell name was taken for granted. Kate used to look at their pinched +and dreary faces, and recognise some remnants of beauty akin to her own. +She listened to their talk, which was full of details of the pettiest +economy, and remembered that these women had been intent on shillings +and half-pence all their lives, that neither of them had ever had a +five-pound note which she could spend as it pleased her. And their +penurious saving had been for--what? Had it been for husband or child it +would have been different, the half-pence would have been glorified. But +they paid this life-long penalty for the privilege of being the Misses +Rothwell of Mitchelhurst. Life with them was simply a careful picking of +their way along a downward slope to the family vault, and it was almost +a comfort to think that the poor ladies were safely housed there, with +their dignity intact, while Kate was yet in her teens. + +Later came the little episode of Minnie Newton and her admirer. Kate +perceived her brother's indifference to the girl's welfare, and the +brutality of his revenge on the man whose crime was his habit of +chinking the gold in his waistcoat pocket. Probably, with her finer +instincts, she perceived all this more clearly than did John Rothwell +himself. She did not actively intervene, because, in her contemptuous +strength, she felt very little pity for a couple whose fate was +ostensibly in their own hands. Minnie was not even in love with Hayes, +and Kate did not care to oppose her brother in order to force a pliant +fool to accept a fortunate chance. She let events take their course, but +she drew from them the lesson that her future depended on herself. And, +miserably as life at Mitchelhurst was maintained, she was, perhaps, the +first of the family to see that the time drew near when it would not be +possible to maintain it at all, partly from the natural tendency of all +embarrassments to increase, and partly from John Rothwell's character. +He could not be extravagant, but he had a dull impatience of his +father's minute supervision. Kate made up her mind that the crash would +come in her brother's reign. + +She had already looked round the neighbourhood of her home and found no +deliverer there. Had there been any one otherwise suitable the Rothwell +pride was so notorious that he would never have dreamed of approaching +her. An invitation from a girl who had been a school friend offered a +possible chance, and Kate coaxed the necessary funds from the old +squire, defied her brother's grudging glances, and went, with a secret, +passionate resolve to escape from Mitchelhurst for ever. She saw no +other way. She was not conscious of any special talent, and she said +frankly to herself that she was not sufficiently well educated to be a +governess. Moreover, the independence which achieves a scanty living was +not her ideal. She was cramped, she was half-starved, she wanted to +stretch herself in the warmth of the world, and take its good things +while she was young. + +Fate might have decreed that she should meet Mr. Robert Harding, a +successful man of business in the city, twenty years older than herself, +slightly bald, rather stout, keen in his narrow range, but with very +little perception of anything which lay right or left of the road by +which he was travelling to fortune. The beautiful Miss Rothwell would +have thanked Fate and set to work to win him. But it is not only our +good resolutions that are the sport of warring chances. Our unworthy +schemes do not always ripen into fact. Kate did not meet Mr. Robert +Harding, she met his brother Sidney, a tall, bright-eyed, red-lipped +young fellow, with the world before him, and the pair fell in love as +simply and freshly as if the croquet ground at Balaclava Lodge were the +Garden of Eden, or a glade in Arcady. In a week they were engaged to be +married, and were both honestly ready to swear that no other marriage +had ever been possible for either. To her he appeared with the golden +light of the future about his head; to him she came with all the charm +and shadowy romance of long descent, and of a poverty far statelier than +newly-won wealth. Friends reminded Sidney that with his liberal +allowance from his brother, and his prospect of a partnership at +twenty-five, he might have married a girl with money had he chosen. +Friends also mentioned to Kate, with bated breath, that the Hardings' +father, dead twenty years earlier, had been a pork-butcher. Sidney +laughed, and Kate turned away in scorn. She was absolutely glad that +she could make what the world considered a sacrifice for her darling. + +At Mitchelhurst her engagement, though not welcomed, was not strongly +opposed. John Rothwell sneered as much as he dared, but he knew his +sister's temper, and it was too like his own for him to care to trifle +with it. So he stood aside, very wisely, for there was a touch of the +lioness about Kate with this new love of hers, and he saw mischief in +the eyes that were so sweet while she was thinking about Sidney. It was +at that time that she spoke her word of half-scornful sympathy to +Herbert Hayes. + +And in a year her married life, with all its tender and softening +influences, was over. An accident had killed Sidney Harding before he +was twenty-five, before his child was born, and Kate was left alone in +comparatively straitened circumstances. For her child's sake she endured +her sorrow, demanding almost fiercely of God that He would give her a +son to grow up like his dead father, and when the boy was born she +called him Reynold. Sidney was too sacred a name; there could be but one +Sidney Harding for her, but she remembered that he had once said that he +wished he had been called Reynold, after his father. + +It was pathetic to see her dark eyes fixed upon the baby features, +trying to trace something of Sidney in them, trying hard not to realise +that it was her own likeness that was stamped upon her child. "He is +darker, of course," she used to say, "but--" He could not be utterly +unlike his father, this child of her heart's desire! It was not +possible--it must not be--it would be too monstrous a cruelty. But month +by month, and year by year, the little one grew into her remembrance of +her brother's solitary boyhood, and faced her with a moody temper that +mocked her own. No one knew how long she waited for a tone or a glance +which should remind her of her dead love, remind her of anything but the +old days that she hated. None ever came. The boy grew tall and slim, +handsome after the Rothwell type, with a curious instinctive avidity for +any details connected with Mitchelhurst and his mother's people. He +would not confess his interest, but she divined it and disliked it. And +Reynold, on his side, unconsciously resented her eternal unspoken demand +for something which he could not give. He would scowl at her over his +shoulder, irritated by his certainty that her unsatisfied eyes were upon +him. Mother and son were so fatally alike that they chafed each other +continually. Every outbreak of temper was a pitched battle, the +combatants knew the ground on which they fought, and every barbed speech +was scientifically planted where it would rankle most. + +A crisis came when it was decided that Reynold should leave school and +go into his uncle's office. The boy did not oppose it by so much as a +word; but as he stood, erect and silent, while Mr. Harding enlarged on +his prospects, he looked aside for a moment, and Kate's keener eyes +caught his contemptuous glance. To her it was an oblique ray, revealing +his soul. He despised the Hardings; he was ashamed of his father's name. +She did not speak, but in that moment with a pang of furious anguish she +chose once and for ever between her husband and her son, and sealed up +all her tenderness in Sidney's grave. + +Reynold's stay in Robert Harding's office was short, but it was not +unsatisfactory while it lasted. He never professed to like his work, but +he went resignedly through the daily routine. He was not bright or +interested, but he was intelligent. What was explained to him he +understood, what was told him he remembered, as a mere matter of +course. He acquiesced in his life in a city counting-house, as his +grandfather at Mitchelhurst had acquiesced in his narrow existence +there. It seemed as if the men of the family were apathetic and weary by +nature, and only Kate had had energy enough to revolt. + +An unexpected chance, the freak of a rich old man who had business +relations with Robert Harding, and who remembered Sidney, made Reynold +the possessor of a small legacy a few months after he had entered his +uncle's service. He at once announced his intention of going to Oxford. +Of course, as he said, without his mother's consent he could not go till +he was of age, and if she chose to refuse it he must wait. Kate +hesitated, but Mr. Harding, who was full of schemes for the advancement +of his own son, did not care for an unwilling recruit, and the young +fellow was coldly permitted to have his way. His mother, in spite of +her disapproval, watched his course with an interest which she would +never acknowledge. Was he really going to achieve success in his own +fashion, perhaps to make the name she loved illustrious? + +Nothing was ever more commonplace and unnoticeable than Reynold's +university career. He spent his legacy, and came back as little changed +as possible. It seemed as if he had felt that he owed himself the +education of a gentleman, and had paid the debt, as a mere matter of +course, as soon as he had the means. "What do you propose to do now?" +Kate inquired. He answered listlessly that he had secured a situation as +under-master in a school. And for three or four years he had maintained +himself thus, making use of his mother's house in holiday time, or in +any interval between two engagements, but never taking anything in the +shape of actual coin from her. She suspected that he hated his +drudgery, but he never spoke of it. + +Thus matters might have remained if it had not been for Robert Harding's +son. The old man, whose dream had been to found a great house of +business which should bear his name when he was gone, was unlucky enough +to have an idle fool for his heir. Reynold's record was not brilliant, +but it showed blamelessly by the side of his cousin's folly and +extravagance. Mr. Harding hinted more than once that his nephew might +come back if he would, but his hints did not seem to be understood. +Little by little it became a fixed idea with him that Reynold alone +could save the name of Harding, and keep his cousin from utter ruin. He +recognised a kind of scornful probity in his nephew, which would secure +Gerald's safety in his hands, and perhaps he exaggerated the promise of +Reynold's boyhood. At last he stooped to actual solicitation. Kate gave +the letter to her son, silently, but with a breathless question in her +eyes. + +The old man offered terms which were almost absurdly liberal, but he +tried to mask his humiliation by clothing the proposal in dictatorial +speech. He gave Reynold a clear week in which to consider his reply, and +almost commanded him to take that week. But Mr. Harding wrote, if in ten +days he had not signified his acceptance, the situation would be filled +up. He should give it, with the promise of the partnership, to a distant +connection of his wife's. "Understand," said the final sentence, "that I +speak of this matter for the first and last time." + +"I think," said Reynold, looking round for writing materials, "that I +had better answer this at once." + +"Not to say 'No!'" cried Kate. "You shall not!" She stood before him, +darkly imperious, with outstretched hand. It seemed to her as if the +whole house of Harding appealed to her son for help. He was asked to do +the work that Sidney would have done if he had lived. "You shall not +insult him by refusing his offer without a moment's thought--I forbid +it!" she exclaimed. + +"Very well," said Reynold. "I will wait." He turned aside to the +fire-place, and stood gazing at the dull red coals. + +His mother followed him with her glance, and after a moment's silence +she made an effort to speak more gently. "He is your father's brother," +she said. + +"Yes," Reynold replied, in an absent tone. "Such an offer couldn't come +from the other side." + +The words were a simple statement of fact, the utterance was absolutely +expressionless, but a sudden flame leapt into Kate's eyes. "Answer when +and as you please!" she cried. Her son said nothing. + +He was waiting at the time to hear about a tutorship which had been +mentioned to him. The matter was not likely to be settled immediately, +and the next morning he appeared with his bag in his hand, and announced +that he was going into the country for a few days, and would send his +address. In due time the letter came with "Mitchelhurst" stamped boldly +on it, like a defiance. + +When Barbara Strange bade young Harding go and make his fortune, she did +not know the curious potency of her advice. The words fell, like a gleam +of summer sunshine, across a world of stony antagonisms and smouldering +fires. And, with all the bright unconsciousness of sunshine, they +transformed it into a place of life and hope. She had called her little +cross her talisman, but Harding's talisman--for there are such +things--was the folded letter in his pocketbook. As she stood beside +him, flushed, eager, radiant, pleading with him, "Could not you care for +Mitchelhurst, _if_--" she awakened a sudden craving for action, a sudden +desire of possession in his ice-bound heart. To any other woman he could +have been only Reynold Harding, a penniless tutor, recognised, perhaps, +as a kind of degenerate offshoot of the Rothwell tree. But to Barbara he +was the one remaining hope of the old family of which she had thought so +much; he was the king who was to enjoy his own again, and her shining +glances bade him go and conquer his kingdom without delay. And in +Mitchelhurst Church, as he stood among his dead people, with the rain +beating heavily on-- + + "The lichen-crusted leads above," + +he had made up his mind. He would cast in his lot with the Hardings till +he should have earned the right to come back to the Rothwells' +inheritance. He would do it, but not for the Rothwells' sake--for a +sweeter sake--breathing and moving beside him in that place of tombs. He +looked up at the marble countenance of his wigged ancestor, considering +it thoughtfully, yet not asking himself if that dignified personage +would have approved of his resolution. Reynold, as he stared at the +aquiline features, wondered idly whether the lean-faced gentleman had +ever known and loved a Barbara Strange, and whether he had kissed her +with those thin, curved lips of his. Of course they were not as grimy +and pale in real life as in their sculptured likeness. And yet it was +difficult to picture him alive, with blood in his veins, stooping to +anything as warm and sweet as Barbara's damask-rose mouth. It seemed to +Reynold that only he and Barbara, in all the world, were truly alive, +and he only since he had known her. + +When he went back into the lanes alone, after leaving her at the gate, +the full meaning of the decision which had swiftly and strangely +reversed the whole drift of his life rushed upon him and bewildered him. +He hastened away like one in a dream. It was as if he had broken through +an encircling wall into light and air. Ever since his boyhood he had +held his fancy tightly curbed, he had reminded himself by night and day +that he had nothing, was nothing, would be nothing; in his fierce +rejection of empty dreams he had chosen always to turn his eyes from the +wonderful labyrinthine world about him, and to fix them on the dull grey +thread of his hopeless life. Now for the first time in his remembrance +he relaxed his grasp, and his fancy, freed from all control, flashed +forward to visions of love and wealth. He let it go--why should he +hinder it, since he had resolved to follow where it led? In this sudden +exaltation his resolution seemed half realised in its very conception, +and as he gathered the berries from the darkening hedgerows he felt as +if they were his own, the first-fruits of his inheritance. He hurried +from briar to briar under the pale evening sky, tearing the rain-washed +sprays from their stems, hardly recognising himself in the man who was +so defiantly exultant in his self-abandonment. Nothing seemed out of +reach, nothing seemed impossible. When the darkness overtook him he went +back with a triumphant rhythm in his swinging stride, feeling as if he +could have gathered the very stars out of the sky for Barbara. + +This towering mood did not last. It was in the nature of things that +such loftiness should be insecure, and indeed Reynold could hardly have +made a successful man of business had it been permanent. It would not do +to add up Barbara and the stars in every column of figures. But the +very fact of passing from the open heavens to the shelter of a roof had +a sobering effect, the process of dressing for dinner recalled all the +commonplace necessities of life, and in his haste he had a difficulty +with his white necktie, which was distinctly a disenchantment. The +shyness and reserve which were the growth of years could not be shaken +off in a moment of passion. They closed round him more oppressively than +ever when he found himself in the yellow drawing-room, face to face with +Mr. Hayes, and, being questioned about his walk, he answered stiffly and +coldly, and then was silent. Yet enough of the exaltation remained to +kindle his eyes, though his lips were speechless, when he caught sight +of Barbara standing by the fireside, with a cluster of blood-red berries +in her hair, and another nestling in the dusky folds of lace close to +her white throat. The vivid points of colour held his fascinated gaze, +and seemed to him like glowing kisses. + +He had a game of chess with his host after dinner. As a rule he was a +slow and meditative player, scanning the pieces doubtfully, and +suspecting a snare in every promising chance. But that evening he played +as if by instinct, without hesitation. Everything was clear to him, and +he pressed his adversary closely. Mr. Hayes frowned over his +calculations, apprehending defeat, though the game as yet had taken no +decisive turn. Presently Barbara came softly sweeping towards them in +her black draperies, set down her uncle's coffee-cup at his elbow, and +paused by Harding's side to watch the contest. Her presence sent a +thrill through him which disturbed his clear perception of the game. It +made a bright confusion in his mind, such as a ripple makes in lucid +waters. He put out his hand mechanically towards the pawn which he had +previously determined to move. + +"Dear me!" said Barbara, strong in the traditional superiority of the +looker-on, "why don't you move your bishop?" + +Reynold moved his bishop. + +Quick as lightning Mr. Hayes made his answering move, and, when it was +an accomplished fact, he said-- + +"Thank you, Barbara." + +Reynold and Barbara looked at each other. The aspect of affairs was +entirely changed. A white knight occupied a previously guarded square, +and simply offered a ruinous choice of calamities. + +"Oh, what have I done?" the girl exclaimed. + +Reynold laughed his little rough-edged laugh. + +"Nothing," he said. "Don't blame yourself, Miss Strange. You only asked +me why I didn't move my bishop. I ought to have explained why I +_didn't_. Instead of which--I _did_. It certainly wasn't your fault." + +Barbara lingered and bit her under-lip as she gazed at the board. + +"I've spoilt your game," she said remorsefully. "I think I'd better go +now I've done the mischief." + +"No, don't go!" Harding exclaimed, and Mr. Hayes, rubbing his hands, +chimed in with a mocking-- + +"No, don't go, Barbara!" + +The girl looked down with an angry spark in her eyes. + +"Well, I'll give you some coffee," she said to the young man; "you +haven't had any yet." + +"And then come back, Barbara!" her uncle persisted. + +She did come back, flushed and defiant, determined to fight the battle +to the last. But for her obstinacy Mr. Hayes would have had an easy +triumph, for young Harding's defence collapsed utterly. Apparently he +could not play a losing game, and a single knock-down blow discouraged +him once for all. Barbara, taking her place by his side, showed twice +his spirit, and at one time seemed almost as if she were about to +retrieve his fallen fortunes. Mr. Hayes ceased to taunt her, and sat +with a puckered forehead considering his moves. He kept his advantage, +however, in spite of all she could do, and presently unclosed his lips +to say "Check!" at intervals. But it was not till he had uttered the +fatal "Mate!" that his face relaxed. Then he got up, and made his niece +a little bow. + +"Thank you, Barbara!" he said, and walked away to the fire-place. + +The young people remained where he had left them. Barbara trifled with +the chessmen, moving them capriciously here and there. Reynold, with his +head on his hand, did not lift his eyes above the level of the board, +but watched her slim fingers as they slipped from piece to piece, or +lingered on the red-stained ivory. She brought back all their slain +combatants, and set them up upon the battle-field. + +"I wish I hadn't meddled!" she said suddenly. "I spoilt your game." + +She spoke in a low voice, and Reynold answered in the same tone, + +"What _did_ it matter?" + +"No, but I hate to be beaten. I wanted you to win." + +"Well," said he, still with his head down, "you set me to play a bigger +game to-day." + +"Ah!" said Barbara, decidedly. "I won't meddle with that!" + +"No?" he said, looking up with a half-hinted smile. Her cheeks were +still burning with the excitement of her long struggle, and her bright +eyes met his questioning glance. + +"Perhaps you think I can't help meddling?" she suggested. + +"Perhaps you can't. You are superstitious, aren't you? You believe in +amulets and that kind of thing--or half believe. Perhaps you are +foredoomed to meddle, and destiny won't let you set me down to the game +and go quietly away." + +Barbara was holding the king between her fingers. She replaced it on its +square so absently, while she looked at Reynold, that it fell. His words +seemed to trouble her. + +"Well, if this game is an omen, you had better not _let_ me meddle," she +said at last. + +"How am I to help it?" + +"Thank you!" she exclaimed resentfully; "I'm not so eager to interfere +in your affairs as you seem to take for granted!" + +"Indeed I thought nothing of the kind. I thought we were talking of +destiny. And, you see, you were good enough to take a little interest +this afternoon." + +She uttered a half-reluctant "Yes." She had a dim feeling that she was, +in some inexplicable way, becoming involved in young Harding's fortunes. + +The notion half-frightened, half-fascinated her. When they began their +low-voiced talk she had unconsciously leaned a little towards him. Now +she did not precisely withdraw, but she lifted her face, and there was a +touch of shy defiance in the poise of her head. + +Mr. Hayes, as he stood by the fire, was warming first one little +polished shoe, and then the other, and contemplating the blazing logs. + +"Barbara," he said suddenly, "did we have this wood from Jackson? It +burns much better than the last." + +Barbara was the little housekeeper again in a moment. She crossed the +room, and explained that it was not Jackson's wood, but some of a load +which Mr. Green had asked them to take. "You said I could do as I +pleased," she added, "and I thought they looked very nice logs when they +came." + +"Green--ah! Jacob Green knows what he's about. Made you pay, I dare say. +No, no matter." The girl's eyes had gone to a little table, where an +account-book peeped out from under a bit of coloured embroidery. "I'm +not complaining; I don't care about a few extra shillings, if things are +good. Get Green to send you some more when this is burnt out." + +Reynold had risen when Barbara left him, and after lingering for a +moment, a tall black and white figure, in the lamplight by the +chessboard, he followed her, and took up his position on the rug. The +interruption to their talk had been unwelcome, but it was not, in +itself, unpleasant. He liked to see Barbara playing the part of the +lady of the Place. It was a sweet foreshadowing of the home, the dear +home, that should one day be. There should be logs enough on the hearths +of Mitchelhurst in October nights to come, and, though the fields and +copses round might be wet and chill, the old house should be filled to +overflowing with brightness and warmth and love. Some wayfarer, plodding +along the dark road, would pause and look up the avenue, and see the +lights shining in the windows beyond the leafless trees. Reynold +pictured this, and pictured the man's feelings as he gazed. It was +curious how, by a kind of instinct, he put himself in the outsider's +place. He did not know that he always did so, but in truth he had never +dreamed anything for himself till Barbara taught him, and his old way of +looking at life was not to be unlearnt in a day. Still he was happy +enough as he stood there, staring at the fire, and thinking of those +illuminated windows. + +He could not sleep when he went to bed that night. The head which he +laid on the chilly softness of his pillow was full of a joyous riot of +waking visions, and he closed his eyes on the shadows only to see a +girl's shining glances and rose-flushed cheeks. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +BARBARA'S TUNE. + + +Harding fell asleep towards morning, and woke from his slumber with a +vague sense that the world had somehow expanded into a wide and pleasant +place, and that he had inherited a share of it. And though the facts +were not quite so splendid when he emerged from his drowsy reverie, +enough remained of possibilities, golden or rosy, to colour and brighten +that Saturday. It is something to wake to a conviction that one's feet +are set on the way to love and wealth. + +While he dressed, he thought of the letter he had to write, and then of +its consequences. How long would it be before he would have the right +to come and say to Barbara, "I have begun the fortune you ordered. I am +not rich yet, but I have fairly started on the road to riches and +Mitchelhurst--will you wait for me there?" Or might he not say, "Will +you travel the rest of the way with me?" How long must it be before he +could say that? Two years? Surely in two years he might unclose his +lips; for he would work--it would be no wearisome task. A longing, new +and strange, to labour for his love flooded the inmost recesses of his +soul. The man's whole nature was suddenly broken up, and flowing forth +as a stream in a springtide thaw. It seemed to him that he could give +himself utterly to the most distasteful occupations; in fact, that he +would reject and scorn any remnant of himself that had not toiled for +Barbara. + +The girl herself woke up, a room or two away, and lay with her eyes +fixed on the tester of the great shadowy bed. It was early, she need not +get up for a few minutes more. The pale autumn morning stole in between +the faded curtains, and lighted her vivid little face, a little face +which might have been framed in a couple of encircling hands. And yet, +small as it was, where it rested, with a cloud of dusky hair tossed +round it over the pillow, it was the centre and the soul of that +melancholy high-walled room. She had dreamed confusedly of Reynold +Harding, and hardly knew where her dream ended and her waking thought +began--perhaps because there was not much more reality in the one than +in the other. + +Girls have an ideal which they call First Love. It is rather a +troublesome ideal, involving them in a thousand little perplexities, +self-deceits, half-conscious falsehoods; but they adore it through them +all. First Love is the treasure which must be given to the man they +promise to marry; the bloom would be off the fruit, the dewdrop dried +from the flower, if they could not assure him that the love they feel +for him was the earliest that ever stirred within their hearts. The +utmost fire of passion must have the freshness of shy spring blossoms. +Love, in his supreme triumphant flight from soul to soul, must swear he +never tried his wings before. + +But, to be honest, how often can a girl speak confidently of her first +love? She reads poems and stories, and the young fellows who come about +her, while she is yet in her teens, are hardly more than incarnate +chapters of her novels. How did she begin? She loved Hector, it may be, +and King Arthur, and Roland, and the Cid. Then perhaps she had a tender +passion for Amyas Leigh, for the Heir of Redclyffe, or for Guy +Livingstone; and the curate, or the squire's son, just home with his +regiment from India, carries on the romance. This she assures herself +is the mystic first love; but the curate goes to another parish, or the +lieutenant's leave comes to an end, and the living novel is forgotten +with the others. She will order more books from Mudie's and take an +interest in them, and in the hero of some private theatricals at a +country house close by. She will meet the young man who lives on the +other side of the county, but who dances so perfectly and talks so well, +at the bachelors' ball. She will think a while first of one, then of the +other; and afterwards, when the time comes to make that assurance of +first love, she will, half unconsciously efface all these memories, and +vow, with innocent, smiling lips, that her very dreams have held no +shape till then. + +Miss Strange was intent on the change in her little world of coloured +shadows. Adrian Scarlett and Reynold Harding rose before her eyes as +pictures, more life-like than she could find in her books, but pictures +nevertheless, figures seen only in one aspect. Adrian, a facile, +warmly-tinted sketch of a summer poet; Reynold, a sombre study in black +and grey--what _could_ the little girl by any possibility know of these +young men more than this? Reynold's romance, with its fuller +development, its melancholy background, its hints of passion and effort, +might well absorb the larger share of her thoughts. Her part was marked +out in it; she was startled to see how a word of hers had awakened a +dormant resolution. She was flattered, and, though she was frightened +too, she felt that she could not draw back; she had inspired young +Harding with ambition, and she must encourage him and believe in him in +his coming fight with fortune. Barbara found herself the heroine of a +drama, and for the sake of her new character she began to rearrange her +first impressions of the hero, to dwell on the pathos of his story, to +deepen the ditch into which he had slipped in her service, till it would +hardly have known itself from a precipice, to soften the chilly +repulsion which she had felt at their meeting into the simple effect of +his proud reserve. She lay gazing upward, with a smile on her lips, +picturing his final home-coming, grouping all the incidents of that +triumphant day about the tall, dark figure with the Rothwell features, +who was just the puppet of her pretty fancies. The vision of his future, +expanding like a soap-bubble, rose from the dull earth, and caught the +gay colours of Barbara's sunny hopes. Everything would go well, +everything must go well; he should make his fortune while he was yet +young, and come back to the flowery arches and clashing bells of +rejoicing Mitchelhurst. Beyond that day her fancy hardly went. Of course +he would have to take the name of Rothwell, the name which, for the +perfection of her romance, should have been his by right. At that +remembrance she paused dissatisfied--the pork-butcher was the one strong +touch of reality in the whole story. In fact the mere thought of him +brought her back to everyday life, and to the certainty that she must +waste no more time in dreams. + +Reynold, consulting his uncle's letter, found with some surprise that he +had pushed silence to its utmost limit, and that another day's delay +would have overstepped the boundary which Mr. Harding had so imperiously +set. The discovery was a shock; it took away his breath for a moment, +and then sent the blood coursing through his veins with a tingling +exhilaration, the sense of a peril narrowly escaped. He was glad--glad +in a defiant, unreasonable fashion--that he had not yielded till the +last day, though at the same time he was uneasy till his answer should +be despatched. He went up to his room immediately after breakfast, and +sat down to his task at the writing-table which faced the great window. + +After one or two unsatisfactory beginnings he ended with the simplest +possible note of acceptance, to which he added a postscript, informing +his uncle that he should remain two or three days longer at Mitchelhurst +Place, and hoped to receive his instructions there. He wrote a few lines +to end the question of the tutorship for which he had been waiting, +addressed the two envelopes, and leaned back in his chair to read his +letters over before folding them. + +As he did so he looked out over the far-spreading landscape. The +sunshine broke through the veil of misty cloud and widened slowly over +the land, catching here the sails of a windmill, idle in the autumn +calm, there a church spire, or a bit of white road, or a group of +poplars, or the red wall of an old farmhouse. The silver grey gave place +to vaporous gold, and a pale brightness illumined the paper in his hand +on which those fateful lines were written. One would have said +Mitchelhurst was smiling broadly at his resolution. Reynold stretched +himself and returned the smile as if the landscape were an old friend +who greeted him, and tilting his chair backward he thrust his letter +into the directed cover. + +"When I come back," he said to himself, "I will take this room for +mine." + +Writing his acceptance of his uncle's offer had not been pleasant, yet +now that it was done he contemplated the superscription, + + "_R. Harding, Esq._," + +with grave satisfaction. Finally, he took up the pen once more, +hesitated, balanced it between his fingers, and then let it fall. "Why +should I write to her?" said he, while a sullen shadow crossed his +face. "She will hear it soon enough. Since she is to have her own way +about my career for the rest of my life, she may well wait a day or two +to know it. Besides, I can't explain in a letter why I have given in. +No, I won't write to-day." He shut up his blotting-case with an +impatient gesture, and there was nothing for Mrs. Sidney Harding by that +afternoon's post. + +He went down the great stone stairs with his letters, and laid them on +the hall table, as Barbara had told him to do. Then, pausing for a +moment to study the weather-glass, a note or two, uncertainly struck, +attracted his attention. The door of the yellow drawing-room was partly +open, and Mr. Hayes was presumably out, for Barbara was at the old +piano. When Harding turned his head he could see her from where he +stood. The light from the south window fell on the simple folds of her +soft woollen dress, and brightened them to a brownish gold. She sat +with her head slightly bent, touching the keys questioningly and +tentatively, till she found a little snatch of melody, which she played +more than once as if she were eagerly listening to it. The piano was +worn out, of that there could be no doubt, yet Reynold found enchantment +in the shallow tinkling sounds. He could not have uttered his feelings +in any words at his command, but that mattered the less since Mr. Adrian +Scarlett had enjoyed _his_ feelings in the summer time, and, touching +them up a little, had arranged them in verse. It was surely honour +enough for that poor little tune that its record was destined to appear +one day in the young fellow's volume of poems. + + _AT HER PIANO._ + + _It chanced I loitered through a room, + Dusk with a shaded, sultry gloom, + And full of memories of old, times-- + I lingered, shaping into rhymes + My visions of those earlier days + 'Mid their neglected waifs and strays + A yellowing keyboard caught my gaze, + And straight I fancied, as I stood + Resting my hand on polished wood, + Letting my eyes, contented, trace + The daintiness of inlaid grace, + That Music's ghost, outworn and spent, + Dreamed, near her antique instrument._ + + _But when I broke its silence, fain + To call an echo back again + Of some old-fashioned, tender strain, + Played once by player long since dead-- + I found my dream of music fled! + The chords I wakened could but speak + In jangled utterance, thin and weak, + In shallow discords, as when age + Reaches its last decrepit stage, + In feeble notes that seemed to chide-- + This was the end! I stepped aside, + In my impatient weariness, + Into the window's draped recess. + Without, was all the joy of June; + Within, a piano out of tune!_ + + _But while, half hidden, thus I stayed, + There came in one who lightly laid + White hands upon the yellow keys + To seek their lingering harmonies. + I think she sighed--I know she smiled-- + And straightway Music was beguiled, + And all the faded bygone years, + With all their bygone hopes and fears, + Their long-forgotten smiles and tears, + Their empty dreams that meant so much, + Began to sing beneath her touch._ + + _The notes that time had taught to fret, + Racked with a querulous regret, + Forsook their burden of complaint, + For melodies more sweetly faint + Than lovers ever dreamed in sleep-- + Than rippling murmurs of the deep-- + Than whispered hope of endless peace-- + Ah, let her play or let her cease, + For still that sound is in the air, + And still I see her seated there!_ + + _Yet, even as her fingers ranged, + I knew those jangled notes unchanged, + My soul had heard, in ear's despite, + And Love had made the music right._ + +So had Master Adrian written, after a good deal of work with note-book +and pencil, during a long summer afternoon, and then had carried his +rhymes away to polish them at his leisure. Reynold Harding merely stood +listening in the hall, as motionless as if he were the ghost of some +tall young Rothwell, called back and held entranced by the sound of the +familiar instrument. Barbara knew no more of his silent presence than +she did of Adrian's verses. When she paused he stepped lightly away +without disturbing her. He was very ignorant of music; he had no idea +what it was that she had played; to him it was just Barbara's tune, and +he felt that, when he left Mitchelhurst, he should carry it in his +heart, to sing softly to him on his way. + +He passed into the garden and loitered there, recalling the notes after +a tuneless fashion of his own. The neglected grounds, which had seemed +so sodden and sad when first he looked out upon them, had a pale, +shining beauty as he walked to and fro, keeping time to the memory of +Barbara's music. The eye did not dwell on their desolation, but passed +through the leafless boughs to bright misty distances of earth and +cloudland. Reynold halted at last by the old sun-dial. The softly +diffused radiance marked no passing hour upon it, but rather seemed to +tell of measureless rest and peace. There was a slight autumnal +fragrance in the air, but the young man perceived a sweeter breath, and +stooping to the black earth, he found two or three violets half hidden +in their clustering leaves. He hardly knew why they gave him the +pleasure they did; he was not accustomed to find such delicate pleasure +in such things. Perhaps if he had analysed his feelings he might have +seen that, for a man who had just pledged himself to a life of hurrying +toil, there was a subtle charm in the very stillness and decay and +indolent content of Mitchelhurst, breathing its odours of box and yew +into the damp, windless air. It was a curious little pause before the +final plunge. Reynold felt it even if he did not altogether understand, +as he stood by the sun-dial which recorded nothing, with the violets at +his feet, and the rooks sailing overhead across the faintly-tinted sky. +A clump of overgrown dock-leaves stirred suddenly, Barbara's cat pushed +its way through them and came to rub itself against him. He bent down +and caressed it. "I'll come again--I'll come home," he said softly, as +he stroked its arching back. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +OF MAGIC LANTERNS. + + +It was fortunate that young Harding demanded little in the way of gaiety +from Mitchelhurst. Such as it could give, however, it gave that evening, +when the vicar, and a country squire who had a small place five or six +miles away, came to dinner. The clergyman was a pallid, undersized man, +who blinked, and twitched his lips when he was not speaking, and had a +nervous trick of assenting to every proposition with an emphatic "Yes, +yes." After the utterance of this formula his conscience usually awoke, +and compelled him to protest, for he considered most things that were +said or done in the world as at any rate slightly reprehensible. This +might happen ten times in one conversation, but the assent did not fail +to come as readily the tenth time as the first. It would only have been +necessary to say, with a sufficient air of conviction, "You see, don't +you, Mr. Pryor, that under these circumstances I was perfectly justified +in cutting my grandmother's throat with a blunt knife?" to secure a +fervent "Yes, yes!" in reply. + +The squire was not half an inch taller, a little beardless man with +withered red cheeks, and brown hair which was curiously like a wig. +Barbara had doubted through two or three interviews whether it was a wig +or not, and she had been pleased when he talked to her, because it gave +her an excuse for looking fixedly in the direction of his head. At last +he arrived one day with his hair very badly cut, and a bit of plaster +on his ear, where the village barber had snipped it, after which she +took no further interest in him. Happily her previous attention had +given him a very high opinion of her intelligence and good taste, and +Mr. Masters remained her loyal admirer. "A very sensible girl, Miss +Strange," he would say, and Mr. Pryor would reply "Yes, yes," and then +add doubtfully that he feared she was rather flighty, and that her +indifference to serious questions was much to be regretted. This meant +that Barbara would not take a class in the Sunday-school, and cared +nothing about old books and tombstones. + +The dinner was not a conversational success. Mr. Masters, on being +introduced to Reynold Harding, was amazed at the likeness to the old +family, and repeatedly exclaimed, "God bless my soul! How very +remarkable!" Harding looked self-conscious and uncomfortable, and the +vicar said "Yes, exactly so." The little squire's eyes kept wandering +from the young man's face to the wall and back again, as if he were +referring him to all the family portraits. By the time they had finished +their fish the resemblance was singularly heightened. Reynold was +scowling blackly, and answering in the fewest possible words, which +seemed to grate against each other as he uttered them. Mr. Hayes, who +did not care twopence for his young guest's feelings, looked on with +indifferent eyes, and would not interfere, while Barbara made a gallant +little attempt to divert attention from Reynold's ill-temper by talking +with incoherent liveliness to the clergyman. As ill-luck would have it, +Mr. Masters, who had more than once addressed his new acquaintance as +"Mr. Rothwell," suddenly grasped the fact that he was not Rothwell at +all, but Harding, and began to take an unnecessary interest in the +Harding pedigree. He was so eager in his investigation that he did not +see the young man's silent fury, but went on recalling different +Hardings he had known or heard of. "That might be about your +grandfather's time," he reckoned. + +"You never knew my Hardings!" said Reynold abruptly, in so unmistakable +a tone that Mr. Masters stopped short, and looked wonderingly at him, +while Barbara faltered in the middle of a sentence. At that moment the +remembrance of his grandfather was an intolerable humiliation to the +poor fellow, tenfold worse because Barbara would understand. The dark +blood had risen to his face and swollen the veins on his forehead, and +his glance met hers. She coloured, and he took it as a confession that +he had divined her thoughts. In truth she was startled and frightened at +her hero of romance under his new aspect. + +"Pryor," said Mr. Hayes sharply, "you are all wrong about that +inscription in the church. Masters and I have been talking it over--eh, +Masters?--and we have made up our minds that your theory won't do." + +"Yes," said the vicar, and Mr. Masters chimed in, following his host's +lead almost mechanically. The worthy little squire concluded that he +must have said something dreadful, and wondered, as he talked, what +these Hardings could have done. "I suppose some of 'em were hanged," he +said to himself, and stole a glance of commiseration at Reynold, who was +gloomily intent upon his plate. "People ought to let one know beforehand +when there's anything disagreeable like that--why, one might talk about +ropes! I shall speak to Hayes, though perhaps he doesn't know. A +deucedly unpleasant young fellow, but so was John Rothwell, and it must +be uncommonly uncomfortable to have anything of that kind in one's +family. God bless my soul! he looked as if he were going to murder me!" + +Barbara breathed again when the inscription was mentioned, recognising a +safe and familiar topic, warranted to wear well. They had not ended the +discussion when she left them to their wine. Mr. Masters was quicker +than Reynold, and held the door open for her to pass, with a little +old-fashioned bow, but he exclaimed over his shoulder as he closed it, +"No, no, Pryor, you are begging the question of the date," and she went +away with those encouraging words in her ears. Mr. Masters and Mr. Pryor +might disagree as much as they pleased. They would never come to any +harm. + +Still, as she waited alone till the gentlemen should come, she could not +help feeling depressed. The yellow drawing-room was more brilliantly +lighted than usual, and the portrait of Anthony Rothwell chanced to be +especially illuminated. Barbara sat down on a low chair, and took a +book, but she turned the leaves idly, and whenever she lifted her eyes +she met the painted gaze of the face that was so like Reynold. By nature +she was happy enough, but her lonely life in the desolate old place, the +lack of sympathy, which threw her back entirely on her own thoughts, the +desires and dreams which she did not herself understand, but which +sprang up and budded in the twilight of her innocent soul, had all +combined to make her unnaturally imaginative. A little careless +irresponsibility, a little healthy fun and excitement, would have cured +her directly. But, meanwhile, the silence and decay of the great hollow +house impressed her as it would not have impressed a heavier nature. She +was like a butterfly in that wilderness of stone, brightening the spot +on which she alighted, but failing to find the sunlight that she +sought. Her moods would vary from one moment to the next, answering the +subtle influences which a breath of wholesome air from the outer world +would have blown away. As she sat there that evening she wished she +could escape from Mitchelhurst and Mr. Harding. His angry glance had +printed itself upon her memory, and it haunted her. She had been playing +with his hopes, trying to awaken his ambition, thinking lightly of the +Rothwell temper as a mere item in the romantic likeness, and suddenly +she had caught sight of something menacing and cruel, beyond all +strength of hers. She lifted her head, and Anthony Rothwell looked as if +he were smiling in malicious enjoyment at her trouble. The very effort +she made to keep her eyes from the picture drew them to it more +certainly, till the firelit room seemed to contract about the portrait +and herself, leaving no chance of escape from the ghostly _tete-a-tete_. + +The sound of steps broke the spell. She threw down her book as the door +opened, and could scarcely help laughing at the queer little company, +the three small elderly men, and the tall young fellow who towered over +them. A covert glance told her that Reynold was as pale, or paler, than +usual, and she noticed that he answered in a constrained but studiously +polite manner when the good-natured little squire made some remark on +the chilliness of the autumn evenings. After a moment he came across to +her, and stood with his elbow on the chimney-piece, looking at the +blazing logs, while Anthony Rothwell smiled over his shoulder. + +Barbara wondered what she should say to the pair of them, and she +tormented her little lace-edged handkerchief in her embarrassment. +Finally she let it fall. Young Harding stooped for it, and as he gave +it back their eyes met, and he smiled. + +"Are you going to play to us?" he asked. + +"I wish Miss Strange would play for me at my entertainment at the +schools next week," said Mr. Pryor plaintively. "Won't you be persuaded, +Miss Strange?" + +"I'll play for you now if you like," she answered, "but you know my +uncle won't let me play at the penny readings. And really it is no loss, +I am nothing of a musician." + +The vicar sighed and looked across at Mr. Hayes. "I wish he would!" he +said. "Couldn't you persuade him? I can't get the programme arranged +properly." + +"Why, haven't you got the usual people?" + +"Yes, yes, I have got the usual people. But perhaps," said Mr. Pryor, +not unreasonably, "it would be as well to have something a little +different--a little new, you know. It is extremely kind of them, but +the audience, the back benches, don't you know?--Well, I suppose they +like variety." + +Barbara looked gravely sympathetic. + +"And it's rather awkward," Mr. Pryor continued, "young Dickson at the +mill has some engagement that evening, and won't be able to sing 'Simon +the Cellarer,' unless I put it the first thing." + +"Why, he sings nothing else!" Miss Strange exclaimed. + +"Yes, he _does_ know two other songs, I believe, but they are, in my +opinion, too broadly comic for such an entertainment as this. He hummed +a little bit of one in my study one evening, in a _very_ subdued manner, +of course, just to give me an idea. I saw at once that it would never +do. I stopped him directly, but I found myself singing the very +objectionable words about the parish for days. Not _aloud_, you know, +not _aloud_!" + +Mr. Pryor looked sternly over the top of Miss Strange's head, and +pressed his lips so tightly together that she was quite sure he was +singing Mr. Harry Dickson's objectionable song to himself at that very +moment. + +"But why shouldn't he sing 'Simon the Cellarer' at the beginning just as +well as at the end?" she questioned. + +"Yes," said the vicar, "but there is my little reading, of course that +must come in early--my position as the clergyman of the parish, you see. +And I thought of something a little improving, a short reading out of a +volume of selections I happen to have, 'Simon the Cyrenian'." + +"Why, you read that before," Barbara began, and then stopped and +coloured. + +"Yes, yes," said Mr. Pryor, "I did, but I don't think they paid much +attention, the back benches were rather noisy that evening, and it is a +nice length, and seems very suitable. But the difficulty is how to keep +'Simon the Cellarer' and 'Simon the Cyrenian' apart on the programme. I +don't know how it is to be managed, I'm sure. I thought perhaps you +would play us something appropriate between the song and the reading. +I'm afraid some of the audience may smile." + +Reynold took his arm from the chimney-piece. "Appropriate to both +Simons?" he inquired. + +"Yes, just so, to both Simons. At least, not exactly that, but something +by way of a transition, I suppose." + +"I wonder what that would be like," Barbara speculated. "I'm really very +sorry I can't help you, Mr. Pryor." + +"Oh never mind," said the clergyman. "I did tell Dickson he might change +the name in his song, but he wouldn't, in fact he answered rather +flippantly. Well, I suppose I must find another reading, but it's a +pity, when I knew of this one. Such a suitable length! Unless," he +looked at Reynold, "unless your friend--" + +Reynold's "No!" was charged with intense astonishment and horror. "I +can't play a note," he added. + +"But you could recite something," Mr. Pryor persisted. "Now that would +really be very kind. Something like the 'Charge of the Light +Brigade'--'Into the valley of death,' don't you know, 'Rode the six +hundred'--that pleases an audience. We had a young man from Manchester +once who did that very well, a _little_ too much action, perhaps, but +remarkably well. Or something American--American humour. If it isn't +flippant I see no objection to it; one should not be too particular, I +think. And it is very popular. Not flippant, and not too broad--but I +needn't say that--I feel very safe with you. I'm sure you would not +select anything broad." + +Harding had recoiled a step or two, and stood with a stony gaze of +unspeakable scorn. "It's out of the question," he said, "I couldn't +think of such a thing. It's utterly impossible. Besides, I shall be +gone." + +"Well, I'm very sorry," said the vicar, "I only thought perhaps you +might." He turned to Barbara, "Your other friend was so very kind at our +little harvest home. Mr.--I forget his name--but it was very good of +him." + +"Mr. Scarlett," said Barbara. She had her hand up, guarding her eyes +from the flickering brightness of a log which had just burst into flame, +and Reynold, looking down at her, questioned within himself whether +there were not a faint reflection of the name upon her cheek. But it +might be his jealous fancy. + +"Yes, yes, Scarlett, so it was. A very amusing young man." + +This soothed the sullen bystander a little, though he hardly knew why, +unless it might be that he fancied that Barbara would not like to hear +Mr. Scarlett described as a very amusing young man. But when she +answered "Very amusing," with a certain slight crispness of tone, it +struck him that he would have preferred that she should be indifferent. + +The vicar took his leave a little later, mentioning the duties of the +next day as a reason for his early departure. "Must be prepared, you +know," he said as he shook hands with the squire. + +Mr. Hayes came back from the door, smiling his little contemptuous +smile. "That means that he has to open a drawer, and take out an old +sermon," he said, turning to Mr. Masters. "Well, as I was saying----" + +"Does he always preach old sermons?" Reynold asked Barbara. + +"I think so. They always look very yellow, and they always seem old." + +"Always preaches old sermons, and has the same old penny readings--do +you go?" + +"Oh yes, we always go. Uncle thinks we ought to go, only he won't let me +do anything." + +"Do you _want_ to do anything?" + +"No," said the girl. It was a truthful answer, but her consciousness of +the intense scorn in Harding's voice made it doubly prompt. + +"But do you like going?" + +She hesitated. "Oh yes, sometimes. I liked going to the harvest home +entertainment." + +"Oh!" A pause. "Did Mr. Scarlett sing 'Simon the Cellarer'?" + +"No, he did not." After a moment she went on. "They are not always penny +readings; a little while ago we had a magic lantern and some sacred +music. They were views of the Holy Land, you know, that was why we had +sacred music." + +"Oh!" said Reynold again. "And did you enjoy the views of the Holy +Land?" + +"Well, not so very much," she owned. "They didn't get the light right at +first, and they were not very distinct, so he told us all about +Bethlehem, and then found out that they had put in the wrong slide, and +it was the woman at the well, so they had to change her, and then he +told us all about Bethlehem over again. Joppa was the best; a fly got in +somewhere and ran about over the roofs of the houses--it looked as big +as a cat. I shall always remember about Joppa now. Poor Mr. Pryor began +quite gravely--" Barbara paused, turned her head to see that her uncle +was sufficiently absorbed, and then softly mimicked the clergyman's +manner. "'Joppa, or Jaffa, may be considered the port of Jerusalem. It +is built on a conical eminence overhanging the sea'--and then he saw us +all whispering and laughing and the fly running about. He told us it +wasn't reverent; he was dreadfully cross about it. He stopped while they +took Joppa out, and, I suppose, they caught the fly. Anyhow it never got +in any more. Oh yes, it was rather amusing altogether." + +"Was it?" + +She threw her head back and looked up at him. "You are laughing at me," +she said in a low voice, "but it isn't always so very amusing at home." + +His face softened instantly. "I oughtn't to have laughed," he said. "I +ought to know--" He could picture Barbara shut up with her smiling, +selfish, unsympathetic little uncle, in the black winter evenings that +were coming, all the fancies and dreams of eighteen pent within those +white-panelled walls, and exhaling sadly in little sighs of weariness +over book or needlework. + +But he saw another picture too, a dull London sitting-room whose +dreariness seemed intensely concentrated on the face of a disappointed +woman. Life had held little more for him than for Barbara, but he had +rejected even its dreams, and had spent his musing hours in distilling +the bitterness of scorn from its sordid realities. He would not have +been cheered by a magnified fly. "You are wiser than I am, Miss +Strange," he said abruptly. + +"What do you mean?" + +"You take what you can get." + +She considered for a moment. "You mean that I go to Mr. Pryor's +entertainments, and hear 'Simon the----'" + +"Cyrenian! Yes, and see Joppa in a magic lantern. That is very wise when +the real Joppa is out of reach." + +"I don't know," said Barbara hesitatingly, "that I ever very +particularly wanted to go to Joppa." + +"Nor I," said Harding, "but being some way off it will serve for all the +unattainable places where we do want to be. 'Joppa may be considered +the port of Jerusalem'--wasn't that what Mr. Pryor said?" He repeated it +slowly as if the words pleased him. "And where do you really want to +go?" + +"To Paris," said Barbara, with a world of longing in the word. "To +Paris, and then to Italy. And then--oh, anywhere! But to Paris first." + +"Paris!" Harding seemed to be recording her choice. "Well, that sounds +possible enough. Surely you may count on Paris one of these days, Miss +Strange; and meanwhile you can have a look at it with the help of the +magic lantern." + +She laughed. "Not Mr. Pryor's." + +"Oh no, not Mr. Pryor's. I shouldn't fancy there were any Parisian +slides in his. But I suspect you have a magic lantern of your own which +shows it to you whenever you please." + +"Pretty often," she confessed. + +The dialogue was interrupted by a tardy request for some music from Mr. +Masters. Barbara went obediently to the piano, and Reynold followed her. +She would rather he had stayed by the fireside; his conscientious +attempts to turn the leaf at the right time confused her dreadfully, and +she dared not say to him, as she might have done to another man, "I like +to turn the pages for myself, please." Suppose he should be hurt or +vexed? She was learning to look upon him as a kind of thundercloud, out +of which, without a moment's warning, came flashes of passion, of +feeling, of resolution, of fury, of scorn. She did not know what drew +them down. So she accepted his attentions, and smiled her gratitude. If +only ("Yes, please!" in answer to an inquiring glance)--if only he would +always be too soon, or always a little too late! Instead of which he +arrived at a tolerable average by virtue of the variety of his +failures. Worst of all was a terrible moment of uncertainty, when, +having turned too soon, he thought of turning back. "No, no!" cried +Barbara. + +"I'm very stupid," said Harding, "I'm afraid I put you out." "No, no," +again from Barbara, while her busy fingers worked unceasingly. "Couldn't +you give me just a little nod when it's time?" A brief pause, during +which his eyes are fixed with agonised intensity on her head, a fact of +which she is painfully conscious, though her own are riveted on the page +before her. She nods spasmodically, and Reynold turns the leaf so +hurriedly that it comes sliding down upon the flying hands, and has to +be caught and replaced. As usual, displeasure at his own clumsiness +makes him sullen and silent, and he stands back without a word when the +performance is over. Mr. Masters thanks, applauds, talks a little in +the style which for the last forty years or so he has considered +appropriate to the young ladies of his acquaintance, and finally says +good night, and bows himself out of the room. + +Mr. Hayes stands on the rug, and hides a little yawn behind his little +hand. "Is Masters trying to make himself agreeable?" he asks. "Let me +know if I am to look out for another housekeeper, Barbara." + +Barbara has no brilliant reply ready. The hackneyed joke displeases her. +As her uncle speaks, she can actually see Littlemere, the village where +the small squire lives; a three-cornered green, tufted with rushy grass, +with a cow and half-a-dozen geese on it; a few cottages, with their +week's wash hung out to dry; a round pond, green with duckweed; a small +alehouse; a couple of white, treeless roads, leading away into the +world, but apparently serving only for the labourers who plod out in +the morning and home at night; an ugly little school-house of red brick +and slate; and Littlemere Hall, square, white, and bare, set down like a +large box in the middle of a dreary garden. She cannot help picturing +herself there, with Mr. Masters, caught and prisoned; the idea is +utterly absurd, but it is hideous, as hateful as if an actual hand were +laid on her. She shrinks back and frowns. "You needn't get anybody just +yet," she says. + +"Very good," her uncle replies. "Give me a month's warning, that's all I +ask." He yawns again, and looks at his watch. Reynold takes the hint, +and his candle, and goes. + +"Good riddance!" says the little man on the rug. "Of all the +ill-mannered, cross-grained fellows I ever met, there goes the worst! A +Rothwell! He's worse than any Rothwell, and not the genuine thing +either! Can't he behave decently to my friends at my own table? What +does he mean by his confounded rudeness? Masters is a better man than +ever he will be!" + +Barbara shuts the piano, and lays her music straight. Poor little +Barbara, trying with little soft speeches and judicious silences to +steer her light-winged course among these angry men, is sorely perplexed +sometimes. Now as Mr. Hayes mutters something about "an unlicked cub," +she thinks it best to say, "Well, uncle, it isn't for very long. Mr. +Harding will soon be going away." + +"Yes, he'll soon be going away, and for good too! Never will _he_ set +foot inside Mitchelhurst Place again--I can tell him that! When he +crosses the threshold he crosses it once for all. Never again--never +again!" + +This time Barbara, who is looking to the fastenings of the windows, is +in no haste to speak. She feels as if she had been conspiring with +Harding, and, remembering their schemes for his return, her uncle's +reiterated assurances ring oddly and mockingly in her ears. "When he +crosses the threshold, he crosses it once for all." No, he does not! He +is going away to work, he will come back and buy the Place of Mr. Croft, +he will be living there for years and years when poor Uncle Hayes is +dead and gone. And she, Barbara, has done it all. With a word and a look +she has given a master to Mitchelhurst. + +But, being a prudent girl, she merely says "Good night." + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +AN AFTER-DINNER DISCUSSION. + + +Mr. Pryor, aloft in his pulpit in Mitchelhurst church, with a +sounding-board suspended above his head, was preaching about the +Amalekites to a small afternoon congregation. The Amalekites had +happened to come out of that drawer in his writing-table of which Mr. +Hayes had spoken, and perhaps did as well as anything else he could have +found there. He was getting over the ground at a tolerable pace, in +spite of an occasional stumble, and was too much absorbed in his +manuscript to be disturbed by an active trade in marbles which was going +on in the front row of the Sunday scholars. Indeed, to Mr. Pryor's +short-sighted eyes, his listeners were very nearly as remote as the +Amalekites themselves. + +Some of the straw-plaiting girls, whose fingers seemed restless during +their Sunday idleness, were nudging and pulling each other, or turning +the leaves of their hymnbooks, or smoothing their dresses. A labourer +here and there sat staring straight before him with a vacant gaze. A +farmer's wife devoted the leisure moments to thinking out one or two +practical matters, over which she frowned a little. The clerk, in his +desk, attended officially to the Amalekites, but that was all. + +Barbara and Reynold were apart from all the rest in the square, +red-lined pew which had always belonged to the Rothwells. When they +stood up their heads and Reynold's shoulders were visible, but during +the sermon no one could see the occupants of the little inclosure except +the preacher. + +Reynold had established himself in a corner, with his head slightly +thrown back and his long legs stretched out. Barbara, a little way off, +had her daintily-gloved hands folded on her lap, and sat with a demurely +respectful expression while the voice above them sent a thin thread of +denunciation through the drowsy atmosphere. Harding did not dislike it. +Anything newer, more real, more living, would have seemed unsuited to +the dusty marble figures which were the principal part of the +congregation in that corner of the church. He had knelt down and stood +up during the service, always with a sense of union between his own few +years of life and the many years of which those monuments were memories; +and the old prayers, the "Lighten our darkness, we beseech Thee, O +Lord," had fallen softly on his ears. Perils and dangers seemed so far +from that sleepy little haven where he hoped to live his later days, and +to come as a grey-haired man, when all the storms and struggles were +over, and hear those words Sunday after Sunday in that very pew. +Barbara, from under her long lashes, stole a meditative, questioning +glance at him while he was musing thus, and the glance lingered. The +young fellow's head rested against the faded red baize, his eyes were +half closed, his brows had relaxed, his mouth almost hinted a smile. He +was not conscious of her scrutiny, and, seeing his face for the first +time as a mere mask, she suddenly awoke to a perception of its beauty. + +Overhead, it appeared that the Amalekites typified many evil things, and +were by no means so utterly destroyed as they should have been. Mr. +Pryor intended his warnings to be as emphatic as those of the fierce old +prophet, and he drew a limp white finger down the faded page lest he +should lose his place in the middle. Time had made the manuscript a +little unfamiliar. "My brethren," said the plaintive voice from beneath +the sounding-board, "we must make terms--ahem!--we must _never_ make +terms with these relentless enemies who lie in wait for us as for the +Israelites of old. Remember"--he turned a leaf and felt the next to +ascertain if it were the last. It was not, and he hurried his +exhortation a little, finding it long, yet afraid to venture on leaving +anything out. Meanwhile a weary Sunday-school teacher awoke to sudden +energy, plunged into the midst of the boys, and captured more marbles +than he could hold, so that two or three escaped him and rolled down the +aisle, amid a general manifestation of interest. The luckless teacher +was young and bashful, and the rolling marbles seemed to him to fill the +universe with reverberating echoes. + +The vicar reached the goal at last, and gave out a hymn. Then the young +people in the red-lined pew appeared once more, Miss Strange singing, +Reynold looking round to deepen and assure his recollection of that +afternoon. When he found himself in the churchyard, passing under the +black-boughed yews with Barbara, he broke the silence. "I shall be far +enough away next Sunday." + +It was so strange to think that by the next Sunday his work would have +begun, the work which he so loathed and so desired. He had directed his +letter to his uncle at his place a few miles out of town, where Mr. +Harding always went from Saturday to Monday, and he remembered as he +spoke that the old gentleman would have received it that morning. +Reynold pictured a little triumph over his surrender, but he did not +care. Something--it could hardly be Mr. Pryor's sermon--had sweetened +his bitter soul, and he did not care. He felt as if that little corner +of Mitchelhurst church had become an inalienable possession of his, and +he could enter into it at any time wherever he might chance to be. + +Barbara was sympathetic, but slightly pre-occupied. If young Harding had +understood women a little better he would certainly have perceived the +pre-occupation, but as it was he only saw the sympathy. When they got +back to the Place she delayed him in the garden, as if she too felt the +charm of that peaceful afternoon and regretted its departure. They +loitered to and fro on the wide gravel path, where grass and weeds +encroached creepingly from the borders, and paused from time to time +watching the sun as it went down. At last, when there was only a band of +sulphur-coloured light on the horizon, Barbara turned away with a sigh. + +Reynold did not understand her reluctance to go in. In truth she was +uneasy at the thought of the long evening which her uncle and he must +spend in the same room. Mr. Hayes had come down in a dangerous mood +that morning, not showing any special remembrance of Harding's offence +of the night before, but seeming impartially displeased with everything +and everybody. If ill-temper were actual fire, his conversation would +have been all snaps and flashes like a fifth of November. Letters +absorbed his attention at breakfast, but Barbara perceived that they +only made him crosser than before. Happily, however, since a storm of +rain hindered the morning's church-going, he went to his study to write +his answers, and was seen no more till lunch-time, after which the +weather cleared, and the young people walked off together to hear about +the Amalekites. Reynold had no idea how anxiously Barbara had been +sheltering him all day under her little wing, but now the sun was down, +there was no help for it, they must go in and face the worst. She had +paused and looked up at him as if she were about to say something before +they left the garden, but nothing came except the little sigh which he +had heard. + +Even when they went in, fate seemed a little to postpone the evil +moment. Harding, coming down-stairs, saw a light shining through the +door of a small room--the book-room, as it was sometimes called. A +glance as he passed showed Barbara, with an arm raised above her head, +taking a volume from the shelf. "Can I help you?" he asked, pausing in +the doorway. + +"Oh, thank you, but I think this is right." She examined the title-page. +The window shutters were closed, the room was dusky with its lining of +old brown leather bindings, and Barbara's candle was just a glow-worm +glimmer of brightness in it. "You might put those others back for me if +you would. I can manage to take them down, but it isn't so easy to put +them up again." + +Tall Reynold rendered the required service quickly enough, while she +laid the book she had chosen with some others already on the table, and +began to dust them. It was an old-fashioned writing-table, with a +multitude of little brass-handled drawers. The young man took hold of +one of these brass handles, and noticed its rather elaborate +workmanship. "Look inside," said the girl, as she laid her duster down. + +The drawer was full of yellowing papers, old bills, and miscellaneous +scraps of various kinds. She pulled out a few, and they turned them over +in the gleam of candle-light. "Butcher, Christmas, 1811," said Barbara, +"and here is a glazier's bill. What have you got?" + +"To sinking and bricking new well, 32 ft. deep," Reynold replied. "It is +in 1816. To making new pump, 38 ft. long." + +"Why, that must be the old pump by the stables," said Barbara. "Look at +this receipt, 'for work Don accorden to Bill?'" + +"There seem to be plenty of them. Are the other drawers full too?" + +"Yes, I think so. You had better take one as a souvenir." + +"No, thank you." He smiled as he thrust the bills he held down among the +dusty bundles in the drawer, and brushed his finger tips fastidiously. +"Souvenirs ought to be characteristic. A receipted bill would be a very +respectable souvenir, but I'm afraid it would convey a false impression +of the Rothwells." + +She looked away, a little perplexed and dissatisfied. It seemed to her +that the future master of Mitchelhurst should not talk in that fashion +of his own people, and she did not understand that the slight bitterness +of speech was merely the outcome of a life of discontent. He hardly knew +how to speak otherwise. "I suppose they would have paid everybody if +they hadn't had misfortunes," she said. + +"No doubt. We would most of us pay our bills if we had nothing else to +do with the money." + +"Well," Barbara declared with a blush, "the next Rothwell will pay _his_ +bills, I know." + +"We'll hope so." His smile apparently emboldened her, for she looked up +at him. "Mr. Harding," she began. + +"Well?" + +She put her hand to her mouth with an irresolute gesture, softly +touching her red lips. "Oh--nothing!" she said. + +"Nothing?" he questioned. But at that moment there was a call. "Barbara! +Barbara! are you stopping to _write_ those books?" + +She turned swiftly, caught them up and was gone, sending an answering +cry of "Coming, uncle--coming!" before her. + +Reynold lingered a little before he followed her, to wonder what that +something was that was nothing. + +When he went in he found Mr. Hayes and Barbara both industriously +occupied with their reading, after the fashion of a quiet Sunday in the +country. He took up the first volume that came to hand, threw himself +into a chair, and remained for a considerable time frowning and musing +over the unread page. Mr. Hayes turned his pages with wearisome +regularity, but after a while Barbara laid her _Good Words_ on her lap +and gazed fixedly at the window, where little could be seen but the +reflection of the lamp in the outer darkness. The silence of the room +seeming to have become accustomed to this change of attitude, the +slightest possible movement of her head brought Reynold within range. He +moved, and she was looking at the window, from which she turned quite +naturally, and met his glance. Her fingers were playing restlessly with +her little gold cross, and Harding said, "Your talisman!" + +No word had been spoken for so long that the brief utterance came with a +kind of startling distinctness. + +"My talisman still, thanks to you," Barbara replied. + +The absurdity of his misfortune was a little forgotten, and the fact of +his service remained, so Harding almost smiled as he rejoined-- + +"I say 'thanks to it' for my introduction." + +Mr. Hayes knitted his brows, and looked from one to the other with +bright, bead-like eyes. When, a minute later, a maid came to the door, +and asked to speak to Miss Strange, he waited till his niece was gone, +and then sharply demanded-- + +"What was that about a talisman?" + +"That little cross Miss Strange wears. She calls that her talisman." + +"Indeed! Why that particular cross?" + +"It belonged to her godmother, I believe," said Harding. + +The old gentleman stared, and then considered a little. + +"Her godmother, eh? Why," he began to laugh, "her godmother--what does +Barbara know about her?" + +"I think she said she was named after her----" + +"So she was." + +"And that her mother told her she was the most beautiful woman she ever +knew----" + +"That's true enough. She _was_ beautiful, and clever, and accomplished, +no doubt about that. One ought to speak kindly of the dead, they say. +Well, she was beautiful, and if ever there was a selfish, heartless +coquette----" + +"Hey!" said Reynold, opening his eyes. "Is that speaking kindly of the +dead?" + +"Very kindly," with emphasis. + +"But Miss Strange's mother----" + +"Well, I should think she must have begun to find her friend out before +she died. I don't know, though; Mrs. Strange isn't over wise, she may +contrive to believe in her still. I wonder what Strange would say, if he +ever said anything! So that is Barbara's talisman! Not much _virtue_ in +it, anyhow; but I dare say it will do just as well. There have been some +queer folks canonised before now." + +He ended with a chuckling little laugh. Evidently he knew enough of the +earlier Barbara to see something irresistibly comic in the girl's +tenderness for this little relic of the past. + +Harding was grimly silent. Barbara's fancy might be foolish, but since +she cherished it, he hated to hear this ugly little mockery of her +treasure, and he had found a half-acknowledged satisfaction in the +remembrance that the little cross was a link between himself and her. +Now, when she came into the room again, and Mr. Hayes compressed his +lips, and glanced from the little ornament to his visitor, and then to +his book again, in stealthy enjoyment of his joke, the other felt as if +there were something sinister in the token. He wished Barbara would not +caress it as she stood by the fire. He would have liked to throw it down +and tread it under foot. + +There might have been some malignant influence in the air that day, for +Barbara will wonder as long as she lives what made her two companions +insist on talking politics at dinner. She did not like people to talk +politics. She had never looked out the word in the dictionary, and +perhaps she might not have objected to a lofty discussion of "the +science of government, that part of ethics which consists in the +regulation and government of a nation or state." She looked upon talking +politics as a masculine diversion, which consisted in bandying violent +assertions about Mr. Gladstone. It never led, of course, to any change +of opinion, but it generally made people raise their voices, and +interrupt one another, and get red in the face. As far as her +opportunities of observation went, Barbara had judged pretty correctly. + +Her uncle held what he called his political creed solely as a means of +enjoyable argument. He considered himself an advanced Liberal, but he +had so many whims and hobbies that he was the most uncertain of +supporters. No one held his views, and if, by some inconceivable chance, +he had convinced an adversary, he would have been very uncomfortable. He +would have felt himself crowded out of his position, and would have +retired immediately to less accessible ground, and defied his disciple +to climb up after him. When he had arranged his opinions he was obliged +to find ingenious methods of escaping their consequences. For instance, +with some whimsical recollection of the one passion of his life, he +chose to hold advanced views about Woman's Rights, which disgusted his +country neighbours. Woman was, in every respect but physical strength, +the natural equal of man. She was to be emancipated, to vote, to take +her place in Church and State--when Mr. Hayes was dead. At present she +was evidently dwarfed and degraded by long ages of man's oppressive +rule, and needed careful education, and a considerable lapse of time, to +raise her to the position that was hers by right. Meanwhile she must be +governed, not as an inferior, on that point he spoke very strongly +indeed, but as a minor not yet qualified to enter into possession of her +inheritance, and he exerted himself, in rather a high-handed fashion, to +keep her in the proper path. The woman of the future was to do exactly +what she pleased, but the woman of the present--Barbara--was to do as +she was told, and not talk about what she did not understand. By this +arrangement Mr. Hayes was able to rule his womankind, and to deny the +superiority of his masculine acquaintances. + +It was precisely this question that came up at dinner-time. Harding had +no real views on political matters; he was simply a Conservative by +nature. He had none of the daring energy which snatches chances in +periods of change; his instinct was that of self-defence, to hold rather +than to gain; to gather even the rags of the past about him, with the +full consciousness that they were but rags, rather than to throw himself +into the battle of the present. It was true that he was going to work +for Mitchelhurst and Barbara, but the double impulse had been needed to +conquer his shrinking pride. That a man should be hustled by a mixed and +disorderly crowd was bad enough, but that a woman should step down into +it, should demand work, should make speeches, and push her way to the +polling-booth, was in Harding's eyes something hideously degrading and +indecent. As to the equality of the sexes, that was rubbish. Man was to +rule, and woman to maintain an ideal of purity and sweetness. Education, +beyond the simple old-fashioned limits, tended only to unsex her. + +He would have opposed Mr. Hayes's theories at any time, but they cut him +to the quick just then, when he had felt the grace of womanhood, when a +woman had passed into his life and transformed it. The old man was +airily disposing of the destinies of the race in centuries to come, the +young man was fighting for his own little future. He could not rule the +world. Let it roar and hurry as it would, but never dare to touch his +wife and home. What did the man mean by uttering his hateful doctrines +in Barbara's hearing? Her bright eyes came and went between the +speakers, and Reynold longed to order her away, to shut her up in some +safe place apart, where only he might approach her. + +He need not have been anxious. There was no touch of ambition in the +girl's tender feminine nature to respond to her uncle's arguments. She +did not want to vote, and wondered why women should ever wish to be +doctors or--or--anything. Her eager glances betokened uneasiness rather +than interest. Indeed the inferior being, scenting danger, had tried to +turn the conversation before the terrible question of Woman's Rights had +been mentioned at all. She had endeavoured to talk about a lawn-tennis +ground rather than the aspect of Irish affairs. Harding did not know +much about lawn-tennis, but he was quite ready to talk about it, just as +he would have talked about crewel-work, if she had seemed to wish it. +Mr. Hayes, however, pooh-poohed the little attempt at peace. + +"What is the good of planning the ground now?" he said. "And who cares +for lawn-tennis?" + +"I do," said the girl. "It's much more amusing than talking about Mr. +Gladstone and Mr. Parnell." + +"That's all you know about it," her uncle retorted. "Now if you had been +educated--" + +"Oh yes, of course," she replied, with desperate pertness. "You are +always talking about the woman of the future--I dare say she will _like_ +to see people make themselves hot and disagreeable, arguing about +Ireland." She made a droll little face of disgust. "Well, she may, but I +don't!" + +"Perhaps the woman of the future will be hot and disagreeable too," +Harding suggested. + +"_You_ might not find her agreeable," said Mr. Hayes drily. "She would +be able to expose the fallacy of your views pretty clearly, I fancy." + +"Well," Barbara struck in hurriedly, amazed at her own boldness, "we get +hot enough over tennis sometimes, but nobody is ever so cross over that, +as men are when they argue." + +"Good heavens!" said Mr. Hayes. "To think that women, who rightfully +should share man's most advanced attainments and aspirations--" and off +he went at a canter over the beaten ground of many previous discussions. + +Barbara looked from him to young Harding. His dark eyes were ominous, he +was only waiting, breathlessly, till Mr. Hayes should be compelled to +pause for breath. "I hope you don't mean to imply, sir--" he began, and +Barbara perceived that not only had she failed to avert a collision, but +that, by her thoughtless mention of the woman of the future, she had +introduced the precise subject on which the two men were most furiously +at variance. Thenceforward she merely glanced from one to the other as +the noisy battle raged, watching in dumb suspense as one might watch the +rising of a tide. Mr. Hayes had been thoroughly cross all day, and had +not forgiven Reynold's rudeness of the evening before. Under cover of +his argument he was saying all the irritating things he could think of, +while Harding's harsher voice broke through his shrill-toned talk with +rough contradictions. + +After a time Barbara was obliged to leave them, and she went back to the +drawing-room with a sinking heart. She had been uneasy the night before, +but that was nothing to this. How earnestly she wished Mr. Pryor back +again! She was pitiless, she would have flung the gentle flaccid little +clergyman between the angry combatants without a moment's hesitation, if +she could only have brought him there by the force of her desire. +Happily for Mr. Pryor, however, he was safe in his study, putting away +the Amalekites at the bottom of the drawer, till their turn should come +again. + +At last when Barbara was in despair at the lateness of the hour, she +sent one of the maids to tell the gentlemen that coffee was ready, and +crept into the hall behind her messenger to hear the result. At the +opening of the door there was a stormy clamour, and then a sudden +silence. It was closed again, and the maid returned. "Master says, Miss, +will you send it in?" The last hope was gone, she could do nothing more +but pour out the coffee, and wish with all her heart it were an opiate. + +She was as firmly convinced as Reynold himself of the vast superiority +of men, but these intellectual exercises of theirs upset her dreadfully. +If only it had been Mr. Scarlett! He had a light laughing way of holding +her uncle at arm's length, avowing himself a Conservative simply as a +matter of taste, and fighting for the old fashions which Mr. Hayes +denounced, because he wanted something left that he could make verses +about. Barbara, as she stood pensively on the rug, recalled one occasion +when Adrian Scarlett put forward his plea. He was sitting on the sill of +the open window, with the evening sky behind his head, and while he +talked he drew down a long, blossomed spray of pale French honeysuckle. +"Oh yes, I'm a Conservative," he said; "there are lots of things I want +to conserve--all the picturesqueness, old streets, and signs, and +manor-houses, old customs, village greens, fairs, thatched cottages, +little courtesying maidens, old servants, and men with scythes and +flails, instead of your new machines." She remembered how Mr. Hayes had +interrupted him with a contemptuous inquiry whether there was not as +much poetry to be found on one side as on the other. "Oh yes," he had +assented, idly swinging his foot, "as fine on your side no doubt, or +finer. You have the Marseillaise style of thing to quicken one's pulses. +Yes, and I came across a bit the other day, declaring-- + + '_Que la Liberte sainte est la seule deesse, + Que l'on n'adore que debout._'" + +The words, uttered in the sudden fulness of his clear, rounded tones, +seemed to send a great wave of impulse through the quiet room. Barbara +could recall the sharp "Well, then?" with which Mr. Hayes received it. + +"Ah, but not for me," young Scarlett had answered. "You don't expect me +to write that kind of thing? It isn't in me. No, I want to rhyme about +some little picture in an old-fashioned setting--Pamela, or Dorothy, +or--or Ursula, walking between clipped hedges, or looking at an old +sun-dial, or stopping by a basin rimmed with mossy stone to feed the +gold fish. Or dreaming--and she must not be a Girton young woman--I +couldn't imagine a Girton young woman's dreams!" + +And so the argument ended in laughter. If only it could have been Adrian +Scarlett instead of Reynold Harding in the dining-room that night! +Barbara's apprehensions would all have vanished in a moment. But Mr. +Scarlett was gone, ("He _might_ have said good-bye," thought Barbara,) +and the pleasant time was gone with him. The window was closed and +shuttered, and the honeysuckle, a tangle of grey stalks, shivered in the +wind outside. + +She tried to amuse herself with _Good Words_ again, but failed. Then she +went to the piano, but had no better success there. She was listening +with such strained attention, that to her ears the music was only +distracting and importunate noise. As a last resource she bethought her +of a half-finished novel which she had left in her bed-room. She had not +intended to go on with it till Monday, but she _would_, and she ran +up-stairs with guilty eagerness to fetch it. + +She was coming back along the passage with the book in her hand, when +she heard the opening and shutting of doors below, and the quick fall of +steps. In another moment Reynold Harding came springing up the wide +stairs to where she stood. There was a lamp at the head of the +staircase, and as he passed out of the dusk into its light, she could +see his angry eyes, and she knew the veins which stood out upon his +forehead, looking as if the blood in them were black. + +He saw her just before he reached the top, and stopped short. For a +moment neither spoke, then he drew a long breath, and laid his hand upon +the balustrade. + +"Miss Strange," he said, "I'm going away." + +Barbara hardly knew what she had expected or feared, but this took her +by surprise. + +"Going? Not now?" she exclaimed in amazement. + +"Not to-night--it is too late. I _must_ stop for the night. I can't help +myself. But the first thing to-morrow morning." + +"Oh, why?" + +"I can't stay under the roof of a man who has insulted me as your uncle +has done. It is impossible that we should meet again," said Reynold. His +speech seemed to escape in fierce little jets of repressed wrath. "I'm +not accustomed--I ought never to have come here!" + +"Oh!" cried Barbara, in a tone of pained reproach. + +He was silent, looking fixedly at her. The meaning of what he had said, +and the fatal meaning of what he had done, came upon him, arresting him +in the midst of his passion. All his fire seemed suddenly to die down +to grey ashes. What madness had possessed him? + +They faced each other in the pale circle of lamplight, which trembled a +little on the broad, white stairs. Reynold, stricken and dumb, grasped +the balustrade with tightening fingers. Barbara leaned against the +white-panelled wall. She was the first to speak. + +"Oh!" she said in a low voice. "That _you_ should be driven out of +Mitchelhurst!" + +"Don't!" cried he. "God! it was my own fault!" + +"What was it? What did you quarrel about?" + +"Do I know?" Reynold demanded. "Ask him! Perhaps he can remember some of +the idiotic jangling. Why did we begin? Why did we go on? I don't +believe hell itself could be more wearisome. I was sick to death of it, +and yet something seemed to goad me on--I couldn't give in! It was my +infernal temper, I suppose." + +"Oh I am so sorry!" Barbara whispered. + +"He shouldn't have spoken to me as he did, when I was his guest at his +own table," young Harding continued. "But after all, he is an old man, I +ought to have remembered that. Well, it's too late; it's all over now!" + +"But is it too late? Can't anything be done?" + +He almost smiled at the feminine failure to realise that the night's +work was more than a tiff which might be made up and forgotten. + +"Kiss and make friends--eh?" he said. "Will you run and fetch your +uncle?" + +The leaden little jest was uttered so miserably that Barbara only sighed +in answer. + +"No," said the young man, "it's all over. Even if I could apologise--and +I can't--I couldn't sit at his table again. It wouldn't be possible. No, +I must go!" + +"And you are sorry you ever came!" + +"Don't remind me of that! I'm just as sorry I came here as that I ever +came into the world at all." + +The old clock in the dusky hall below struck ten slow strokes. + +"This will be good-night and good-bye," said Harding. "I shall be gone +before you are down in the morning." + +Even as he spoke he was thinking how completely his bitter folly had +exiled him from her presence. + +"You are going home?" + +"Home? Well, yes, I suppose so. By the way, I don't know that I shall go +home to-morrow. I may have to stay another day in Mitchelhurst. That +depends--I shall see when the morning comes. Your uncle's jurisdiction +doesn't extend beyond the grounds of the Place, I suppose. I won't +trespass, he may be very sure of that, and I won't stay in the +neighbourhood any longer than I can help. Only, you see, this is rather +a sudden change of plans." + +"I am so sorry," the girl repeated. "I hate to think of your going away +like this. I'm ashamed!" + +"No! no! I'm rightly served, though you needn't tell Mr. Hayes I said +so. I was fool enough to let my temper get the upper hand, and I must +pay the penalty. How I _could_ be such an inconceivable idiot--but +that's neither here nor there. It was my own fault, and the less said +about it the better." + +Barbara shook her head. + +"No, it was my fault." + +This time Harding really smiled, drearily enough, but still it was a +smile. + +"Yours?" he said. "That never occurred to me. How do you make it out?" + +"Well," she said, looking down, and tracing a joint of the stone with +the tip of her little embroidered slipper, "it was partly my fault, +anyhow." + +This "partly" seemed to point to something definite. + +"How do you mean?" he asked, looking curiously at her. + +"I knew he was cross," she said. "I knew it this morning as soon as he +came down, and he generally gets worse and worse all day. He isn't often +out of temper like that--only now and then. I dare say he will be all +right to-morrow, or perhaps the day after." + +"That's a little late for me!" said Harding. + +"So you see it _was_ my fault. I ought to have told you." + +"Well, perhaps if you had, I might have been a trifle more on my guard. +I don't know, I'm sure. Yes, I wish you had happened to warn me! But you +mustn't reproach yourself, Miss Strange, it wasn't your fault. You +didn't know what I was, you couldn't be expected to think of it." + +"But I _did_ think of it!" Barbara cried remorsefully. + +"You did?" + +"Yes, I was thinking of it all day. Oh how I _wish_ I had done it! But I +wasn't sure you would like it--I didn't know. I thought perhaps it might +seem"--she faltered--"might seem as if I thought that you----" + +"I see!" Reynold answered in his harshest voice. "I needn't have told +you just now that I had a devil of a temper!" + +Barbara drew herself up against the wall with her head thrown back, and +gazed blankly at him. + +"Oh, don't be afraid!" he said with a laugh. "I'm not going to _hit_ +you!" + +"Don't talk like that!" she cried. "Oh! there's uncle coming!" and +turning she fled back to her own room. Harding heard the steps below, +and he also went off, not quite so hurriedly, but with long strides, +and vanished into the shadows. The innocent cause of this alarm crossed +the hall, from the drawing-room to the study, banging the doors after +him, and the lamplight fell on the deserted stairs. + +Harding struck a light and flung himself into a chair. Barbara's words +and his own mocking laughter seemed still to be in the air about him. +The silence and loneliness bewildered him, he could not realise that his +chance of speech had escaped him, and that Barbara's entreaty must +remain unanswered. Her timid self-reproach had stabbed him to the heart. +That the poor little girl should have trembled and been silent, lest he +should speak harshly, and then that she should blame herself so bitterly +for her cowardice--it was a sudden revelation to Reynold of the ugliness +of those black moods of his. One might have pictured the evil power +broken by the shock of this discovery and leaving shame-stricken +patience in its place, or, at least, one might have imagined strenuous +resolutions for the days to come. But Reynold's very tenderness was +mixed with wrath; he cursed the something in himself, yet not himself, +which had frightened Barbara, he could not feel that _he_ was +answerable. That she, of all the world, should judge him so, filled his +soul with a burning sense of wrong. + +"How _could_ you think it?" he pleaded with her in his thoughts, "my +dear, how _could_ you think it?" And yet he did not blame her. Ah God! +what a bitter, miserable wretch he had been his whole life through! Why +had no woman ever taught him how to be gentle and good? He blamed +neither Barbara nor himself, but a cruel fate. + +It was not till late, when he had collected his things, and made all +ready for his departure in the morning, that he remembered that he would +not see her again, that he absolutely could not so much as speak a word +to make amends. He must cross the threshold of the old house as early as +he possibly could, his angry pride would not allow him a moment's delay, +and what chance was there that she would be up and dressed by then? It +was maddening to think of the long slow hours which they would pass +under the same roof, each hour gliding away with its many minutes. And +in one minute he could say so much, if but one minute were granted him! +"But it won't be," he said sullenly, as he lay down till the dawn should +come, "it isn't likely." And he ground his teeth together at the +remembrance of the many minutes spent in wrangling with Mr. Hayes, while +Barbara waited alone. + + + END OF VOL. I. + + + + +MESSRS. MACMILLAN & CO.'S NEW NOVELS. + + +=JILL.= By E. A. DILLWYN. 2 vols. Globe 8vo. 12_s._ + + "A very lively and spirited story, written with a good deal of the + realism of such authors as Defoe, and describing the experiences of + a young lady.... Extremely entertaining and life like. It will be + seen from this that Miss Dillwyn has hit perfectly the tone of + sincere biography."--_The Spectator._ + + "A very original autobiographical narrative, so cynically frank and + so delightfully piquant, that it is quite a marvel. Read with + understanding, the narrative is not uninstructive; it is certainly + well worth reading for entertainment only."--_The St. James's + Gazette._ + + +=A ROMAN SINGER.= By F. MARION CRAWFORD. Author of "Mr. Isaacs," "Doctor +Claudius." Crown 8vo. 6_s._ + + "We are not making use of conventionalities of criticism when we + call this a masterpiece of narrative.... In Mr. Crawford's skilful + hands it is unlike any other romance in English literature.... The + characters in the novel possess strong individuality, brought out + simply by the native stress of the story."--_The Times._ + + "Mr. Crawford's new book is in its way as much a success as his + previous productions.... This charming novel."--_Morning Post._ + + "Mr. Crawford's new book is likely to be popular.... He is much + stronger with character and emotion, and in these matters 'A Roman + Singer' leaves little to be desired.... The story is full of + exciting interest, is told with remarkable directness and + vigour."--_The Athenaeum._ + + +BY THE AUTHOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." + +=MISS TOMMY: A MEDIAEVAL ROMANCE.= By the Author of "John Halifax, +Gentleman." Crown 8vo. 6_s._ + + "The book has what the author would call a 'mediaeval' charm of its + own, and reading it is like smelling at a china bowl of last year's + roses."--_St. James's Gazette._ + + +BY CHARLOTTE M. YONGE. + +=THE ARMOURER'S PRENTICES.= By CHARLOTTE M. YONGE. Author of "The Heir +of Redclyffe." 2 vols. Crown 8vo. 12_s._ + + "An excellent representation of London life in the beginning of the + sixteenth century.... 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BALLADS: and other Poems. + + +LORD TENNYSON'S NEW BOOK + +=THE CUP: AND THE FALCON.= By ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. Fcap. 8vo. 5_s._ + +_Just Published. Crown 8vo. Price 7s. 6d._ + +The Works of ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON, Poet Laureate. A New Collected +Edition. Corrected throughout by the Author. With a New Portrait. + + +MR. THOMAS WOOLNER'S NEW POEM. + +=SILENUS:= A Poem. By THOMAS WOOLNER, R.A., Author of "My Beautiful +Lady," "Pygmalion," &c. Crown 8vo. 6_s._ + + +THE COLLECTED + +=WORKS OF RALPH WALDO EMERSON=. + +Globe 8vo. Price 5_s._ each Volume. + + 1. =Miscellanies.= With an Introductory Essay by JOHN MORLEY. + 2. =Essays.= + 3. =Poems.= + 4. =English Traits=: and =Representative Men=. + 5. =Conduct of Life=: and =Society and Solitude=. + 6. =Letters=: and =Social Aims=, &c. + + "Messrs. Macmillan and Co.'s edition of Emerson's works has the + advantage of an Introductory Essay by Mr. John Morley, which seems + to supply precisely the information and the comment which an + English reader needs."--_Athenaeum._ + + +=ENGLISH POETS.= Selections, with Critical Introductions by Various +Writers, and a General Introduction by MATTHEW ARNOLD. Edited by T. H. +WARD, M.A. 4 vols. New Edition. Crown 8vo. 7_s._ 6_d._ each. + + I. CHAUCER TO DONNE. + II. BEN JONSON TO DRYDEN. + III. ADDISON TO BLAKE. + IV. WORDSWORTH TO ROSSETTI. + + + + +_A Selection from MACMILLAN'S Popular Novels._ + +In Crown 8vo., cloth. Price 6_s._ each Volume. + + +BY CHARLES KINGSLEY. + + =Westward Ho!= + =Hereward the Wake.= + =Hypatia.= + =Two Years Ago.= + =Alton Locke.= + =Yeast.= + +BY CHARLOTTE M. 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BOWERS. + =Agatha's Husband.= Illustrated. + =My Mother and I.= Illustrated. + =Miss Tommy.= + +BY HENRY JAMES. + + =The American.= + =The Europeans.= + =Daisy Miller=, &c. + =Roderick Hudson.= + =The Madonna of the Future: and other Tales.= + =Washington Square=, &c. + =The Portrait of a Lady.= + + +_MACMILLAN'S Two Shilling Novels._ + +BY THE AUTHOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." + + =Olive.= + =Agatha's Husband.= + =The Ogilvies.= + =Patty.= By Mrs. MACQUOID. + =The Head of the Family.= + =Two Marriages.= + +BY GEORGE FLEMING. + + =A Nile Novel.= + =Mirage.= + =The Head of Medusa.= + =Vestigia.= + +BY MRS. OLIPHANT. + + =The Curate in Charge.= + =A Son of the Soil.= + =Young Musgrave.= + =A Beleaguered City.= + +BY THE AUTHOR OF "HOGAN, M.P." + + =Hogan, M.P.= + =Christy Carew.= + =The Hon. Miss Ferrard.= + =Flitters, Tatters, and the Counsellor, Weeds, and Other Sketches.= + + + + +MESSRS. MACMILLAN & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. + + +A NEW AMERICAN NOVEL. + +=RAMONA.= A Story. By HELEN JACKSON. Two Vols. Globe 8vo. 12_s._ + + +A NEW GIFT BOOK. + +=THE ENGLISH ILLUSTRATED MAGAZINE=, 1884. A Handsome Volume, consisting +of 792 closely printed pages, and containing 428 Woodcut Illustrations +of various sizes, bound in extra cloth, coloured edges, 7_s._ 6_d._ + + The Volume contains a COMPLETE SERIES of DESCRIPTIVE SKETCHES by + the Author of "John Halifax, Gentleman," with Illustrations by C. + Napier Hemy; a complete HISTORICAL NOVEL, by Charlotte M. Yonge, + author of "The Heir of Redclyffe"; and numerous Short Stories and + Essays on Popular Subjects by well-known writers. + + +NEW BOOK BY MR. PHILIP GILBERT HAMERTON. + +=HUMAN INTERCOURSE.= A Series of Essays. By PHILIP GILBERT HAMERTON, +Author of "Thoughts about Art," "Etchers and Etching," &c. Crown 8vo. +8_s._ 6_d._ + +=CHARLES LAMB'S POEMS, PLAYS, AND MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS.= With +Introduction and Notes by ALFRED AINGER, Editor of "The Essays of Elia," +&c. 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However, obvious punctuation errors have been repaired. +Hyphenation has been standardized. The following changes were made to +repair apparently typographical errors (in both cases, the letter 't' +was missing although a space had been left for it): + + p. 131 "My grandfather is an importan man" + 'importan ' changed to 'important' + + p. 274 "he could not realise tha his" + 'tha ' changed to 'that' + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mitchelhurst Place, Vol. I (of 2), by +Margaret Veley + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MITCHELHURST PLACE, VOL. 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