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diff --git a/39692-h/39692-h.htm b/39692-h/39692-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..88943a1 --- /dev/null +++ b/39692-h/39692-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8933 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mildred Arkell, by Mrs. Henry Wood. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.linenum { + position: absolute; + top: auto; + left: 4%; +} /* poetry number */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.sidenote { + width: 20%; + padding-bottom: .5em; + padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; + padding-right: .5em; + margin-left: 1em; + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; + color: black; + background: #eeeeee; + border: dashed 1px; +} + +.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + +.bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + +.bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + +.br {border-right: solid 2px;} + +.bbox {border: solid 2px;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 1em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1em; + margin-bottom: + 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mildred Arkell, (Vol 1 of 3), by Ellen Wood + +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/license + + +Title: Mildred Arkell, (Vol 1 of 3) + A Novel + +Author: Ellen Wood + +Release Date: May 14, 2012 [EBook #39692] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MILDRED ARKELL, (VOL 1 OF 3) *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Mary Meehan 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> + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/tp1.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h1>MILDRED ARKELL.</h1> + +<h3>A Novel.</h3> + +<h2>BY <span class="smcap">Mrs.</span> HENRY WOOD,</h2> + +<h3>AUTHOR OF "EAST LYNNE," "LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS," "TREVLYN HOLD," ETC. +ETC.</h3> + + +<h3>IN THREE VOLUMES.</h3> + +<h3>VOL. I.</h3> + +<p class="center">LONDON:<br /> +TINSLEY BROTHERS, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND<br /> +1865.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>All rights of Translation and Reproduction are reserved.</i></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + + +<table summary="contents"> +<tr><td align="right">CHAP. </td><td></td><td>PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">I. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_I">WHICH IS NOTHING BUT AN INTRODUCTION </a></td><td align="right">1</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">II. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_II">THE MISS HUGHES'S HOME </a></td><td align="right">21</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">III. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_III">THE ADVENT OF CHARLOTTE TRAVICE </a></td><td align="right">34</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">IV. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">ROBERT CARR'S REQUEST </a></td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">V. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_V">THE FLIGHT </a></td><td align="right">68</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VI. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">A MISERABLE MISTAKE </a></td><td align="right">87</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VII. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">A HEART SEARED </a></td><td align="right">107</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VIII. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">BETSEY TRAVICE </a></td><td align="right">124</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">IX. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">DISPLEASING EYES </a></td><td align="right">147</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">X. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_X">GOING OUT AS LADY'S MAID </a></td><td align="right">160</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XI. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">MR. CARR'S OFFER </a></td><td align="right">179</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XII. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">MARRIAGES IN UNFASHIONABLE LIFE </a></td><td align="right">194</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XIII. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">GOING ON FOR LORD MAYOR </a></td><td align="right">213</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XIV. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">OLD YEARS BACK AGAIN </a></td><td align="right">228</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XV. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">THE DEAN'S DAUGHTER </a></td><td align="right">249</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XVI. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">A CITY'S DESOLATION </a></td><td align="right">269</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XVII. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">A DIFFICULTY ABOUT TICKETS </a></td><td align="right">288</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XVIII. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">THE CONCERT </a></td><td align="right">303</td></tr> +</table> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>MILDRED ARKELL.</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<h3>WHICH IS NOTHING BUT AN INTRODUCTION.</h3> + + +<p>I am going to tell you a story of real life—one of those histories that +in point of fact are common enough; but, hidden within themselves as +they generally are, are thought to be so rare, and, if proclaimed to the +world in all their strange details, are looked upon as a romance, not +reality. Some of the actors in this one are living now, but I have the +right to tell it, if I please.</p> + +<p>A fair city is Westerbury; perhaps the fairest of the chief towns in all +the midland counties. Its beautiful cathedral rises in the midst, the +red walls of its surrounding prebendal houses looking down upon the +famed river that flows gently past; a cathedral that shrouds itself in +its unapproachable exclusiveness, as if it did not belong to the busy +town outside. For that town is a manufacturing one, and the aristocracy +of the clergy, with that of the few well-born families time had gathered +round them, and the democracy of trade, be it ever so irreproachable, do +not, as you know, assimilate. In the days gone by—and it is to them we +must first turn—this feeling of exclusiveness, this line of +demarcation, if you will, was far more conspicuous than it is now: it +was indeed carried to a pitch that would now scarcely be believed in. +There were those of the proud old prebendaries, who would never have +acknowledged to knowing a manufacturer by sight; who would not have +spoken to one in the street, had it been to save their stalls. You don't +believe me? I said you would not. Nevertheless, I am telling you the +simple truth. And yet, some of those manufacturers, in their intrinsic +worth, in their attainments, ay, and in their ancestors, if you come to +that, were not to be despised.</p> + +<p>In those old days no town was more flourishing than Westerbury. Masters +and workmen were alike enjoying the fruits of their skill and industry: +the masters in amassing a rich competency; the workmen, or operatives, +as it has become the fashion to call them of late years, in earning an +ample living, and in bringing up their children without a struggle. But +those times changed. The opening of our ports to foreign goods brought +upon Westerbury, if not destruction, something very like it; and it was +only the more wealthy of the manufacturers who could weather the storm. +They lost, as others did, a very great deal; but they had (at least, +some few of them) large resources to fall back upon, and their business +was continued as before, when the shock was over; and none in the outer +world knew how deep it had been, or how far it had shaken them.</p> + +<p>Conspicuous amidst this latter class was Mr. George Arkell. He had made +a great deal of money—not by the griping hand of extortion; by +badly-paid, or over-tasked workmen; but by skill, care, industry, and +honourable dealing. In all high honour he worked on his way; he could +not have been guilty of a mean action; to take an unfair advantage of +another, no matter how he might have benefited himself, would have been +foreign to his nature. And this just dealing in trade, as in else, let +me tell you, generally answers in the end. A better or more benevolent +man than George Arkell did not exist, a more just or considerate master. +His rate of wages was on the highest scale—and there were high and low +scales in the town—and in the terrible desolation hinted at above, he +had <i>never</i> turned from the poor starving men without a helping hand.</p> + +<p>It could not be but that such a man should be beloved in private life, +respected in public; and some of those grand old cathedral clergy, who, +with their antiquated and obsolete notions, were fast dropping off to a +place not altogether swayed by exclusiveness, might have made an +exception in favour of Mr. Arkell, and condescended to admit their +knowledge, if questioned, that a man of that name did live in +Westerbury.</p> + +<p>George Arkell had one son: an only child. No expense had been spared +upon William Arkell's education. Brought up in the school attached to +the cathedral, the college school as it was familiarly called, he had +also a private tutor at home, and private masters. In accordance with +the good old system obtaining in the past days—and not so very long +past either, as far as the custom is concerned—the college school +confined its branches of instruction to two: Greek and Latin. To teach a +boy to read English and to spell it, would have been too derogatory. +History, geography, any common branch you please to think of; +mathematics, science, modern languages, were not so much as recognised. +Such things probably did exist, but certainly nothing was known of them +in the college school. Mr. Arkell—perhaps a little in advance of his +contemporaries—believed that such acquirements might be useful to his +son, and a private tutor had been provided for him. Masters for every +accomplishment of the day were also given him; and those +accomplishments were less common then than now. It was perhaps +excusable: William Arkell was a goodly son: and he grew to manhood not +only a thoroughly well-read classical scholar and an accomplished man, +but a gentleman. "I should like you to choose a profession, William," +Mr. Arkell had said to him, when his schooldays were nearly over. "You +shall go to Oxford, and fix upon one while there; there's no hurry." +William laughed; "I don't care to go to Oxford," he said; "I think I +know quite enough as it is; and I intend to come into the manufactory to +you."</p> + +<p>And William maintained his resolution. Indulged as he had been, he was +somewhat accustomed to like his own way, good though he was by nature, +dutiful and affectionate by habit. Perhaps Mr. Arkell was not sorry for +the decision, though he laughingly told his son that he was too much of +a gentleman for a manufacturer. So William Arkell was entered at the +manufactory; and when the proper time came he was taken into partnership +with his father, the firm becoming "George Arkell and Son."</p> + +<p>Mr. George Arkell had an elder brother, Daniel; rarely called anything +but Dan. <i>He</i> had not prospered. He had had the opportunity of +prospering just as much as his brother had, but he had not done it. A +fatal speculation into which Dan always said he was "drawn," but which +everybody else said he had plunged into of himself with confiding +eagerness, had gone very far towards ruining him. He did not fail; he +was of the honourable Arkell nature; and he paid every debt he owed to +the uttermost penny—paid grandly and liberally; but it left him with no +earthly possession except the house he lived in, and that he couldn't +part with. Dan was a middle-aged man then, and he was fain to accept a +clerkship in the city bank at a hundred a year salary; and he abjured +speculation for the future, and lived quietly on in the old house with +his wife and two children, Peter and Mildred. But wealth, as you are +aware, is always bowed down to, and Westerbury somehow fell into the +habit of calling the wealthy manufacturer "Mr. Arkell," and the elder +"Mr. Dan."</p> + +<p>How contrary things run in this world! The one cherished dream of Peter +Arkell's life was to get to the University, for his heart was set on +entering the Church; and poor Peter could not get to it. His cousin +William, who might have gone had it cost thousands, declined to go; +Peter, who had no thousands—no, nor pounds, either, at his command, was +obliged to relinquish it. It is possible that had Mr. Arkell known of +this strong wish, he might have smoothed the way for his nephew, but +Peter never told it. He was of a meek, reticent, somewhat shy nature; +and even his own father knew not how ardently the wish had been +cherished.</p> + +<p>"You must do something for your living, Peter," Mr. Dan Arkell had said, +when his son quitted the college school in which he had been educated. +"The bank has promised you a clerkship, and thirty pounds a year to +begin with; and I think you can't do better than take it."</p> + +<p>Poor, shy, timid Peter thought within himself he could do a great deal +better, had things been favourable; but they were not favourable, and +the bank and the thirty pounds carried the day. He sat on a high stool +from nine o'clock until five, and consoled himself at home in the +evenings with his beloved classics.</p> + +<p>Some years thus passed on, and about the time that William Arkell was +taken into partnership by his father, Mr. Daniel Arkell died, and Peter +was promoted to the better clerkship, and to the hundred a year salary. +He saw no escape now; he was a banker's clerk for life.</p> + +<p>And now that all this preliminary explanation is over—and I assure you +I am as glad to get it over as you can be—let us go on to the story.</p> + +<p>In one of the principal streets of Westerbury, towards the eastern end +of the town, you might see a rather large space of ground, on which +stood a handsome house and other premises, the whole enclosed by iron +gates and railings, running level with the foot pavement of the street. +Removed from the bustle of the town, which lay higher up, the street was +a quiet one, only private houses being in it—no shops. It was, however, +one of the principal streets, and the daily mails and other +stage-coaches, not yet exploded, ran through it. The house mentioned lay +on the right hand, going towards the town, and not far off, behind +various intervening houses, rose the towers of the cathedral. This house +lay considerably back from the street—on a level with it, at some +distance, was a building whose many windows proclaimed it what it was—a +manufactory; and at the back of the open-paved yard, lying between the +house and the manufactory, was a coach-house and stable—behind all, was +a large garden.</p> + +<p>Standing at the door of that house, one autumn evening, the red light of +the setting sun falling sideways athwart his face, was a gentleman in +the prime of life. Some may demur to the expression—for men estimate +the stages of age differently—and this gentleman must have seen +fifty-five years; but in his fine, unwrinkled, healthy face, his +slender, active, upright form, might surely be read the indications that +he was yet in his prime. It was the owner of the house and its +appendages—the principal of the manufactory, George Arkell.</p> + +<p>He was drawing on a pair of black gloves as he stood there, and the +narrow crape-band on his hat proclaimed him to be in slight mourning. It +was the fashion to remain in mourning longer then than now. Daniel +Arkell had been dead twelve months, but the Arkell family had not put +away entirely the signs. Suddenly, as Mr. Arkell looked towards the iron +gates—both standing wide open—a gentlemanly young man turned in, and +came with a quick step across the yard.</p> + +<p>There was not much likeness between the father and son, save in the +bright dark eyes, and in the expression of the countenance—<i>that</i> was +the same in both; good, sensitive, benevolent. William was taller than +his father, and very handsome, with a look of delicate health on his +refined features, and a complexion almost as bright as a girl's. At the +same moment that he was crossing the yard, an open carriage, well built +and handsome, but drawn by only one horse, was being brought round from +the stables. Nearly every afternoon of their lives, Sundays excepted, +Mr. and Mrs. Arkell went out for a drive in this carriage, the only one +they kept.</p> + +<p>"How late you are starting!" exclaimed William to his father.</p> + +<p>"Yes; I have been detained. I had to go into the manufactory after tea, +and since then Marmaduke Carr called, and he kept me."</p> + +<p>"It is hardly worth while going now."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is. Your mother has a headache, and the air will do her good; +and we want to call in for a minute on the Palmers."</p> + +<p>The carriage had come to a stand-still midway from the stables. There +was a small seat behind for the groom, and William saw that it was open; +when the groom did not attend them, it remained closed. Never lived +there a man of less pretension than George Arkell; and the taking a +servant with him for show would never have entered his imagination. They +kept but this one man—he was groom, gardener, anything; his state-dress +(in which he was attired now) being a long blue coat with brass buttons, +drab breeches, and gaiters.</p> + +<p>"You are going to take Philip to-night?" observed William.</p> + +<p>"Yes; I shall want him to stay with the horse while we go in to the +Palmers'. Heath Hall is a goodish step from the road, you know."</p> + +<p>"I will tell my mother that the carriage is ready," said William, +turning into the house.</p> + +<p>But Mr. Arkell put up his finger with a detaining movement.</p> + +<p>"Stop a minute, William. Marmaduke Carr's visit this evening had +reference to you. He came to complain."</p> + +<p>"To complain!—of me?" echoed William Arkell, his tone betraying his +surprise. "What have I done to him?"</p> + +<p>"At least, it sounded very like a complaint to my ears," resumed the +elder man; "and though he did not say he came purposely to prefer it, +but introduced the subject in an incidental sort of manner, I am sure he +did come to do it."</p> + +<p>"Well, what have I done?" repeated William, an amused expression +mingling with the wonder on his face.</p> + +<p>"After conversing on other topics, he began speaking of his son, and +that Hughes girl. He has come to the determination, he says, of putting +a final stop to it, and he requests it as a particular favour that you +won't mix yourself up in the matter and will cease from encouraging +Robert in it."</p> + +<p>"<i>I!</i>" echoed William. "That's good. I don't encourage it."</p> + +<p>"Marmaduke Carr says you do encourage it. He tells me you were strolling +with the girl and Robert last Sunday afternoon in the fields on the +other side the water. I confess I was surprised to hear this, William."</p> + +<p>William Arkell raised his honest eyes, so clear and truthful, straight +to the face of his father.</p> + +<p>"How things may be distorted!" he exclaimed. "Do you remember, sir, my +mother asked me, as we left the cathedral after service, to go and +inquire whether there was any change for the better in Mrs. Pembroke?"</p> + +<p>"I remember it quite well."</p> + +<p>"Well, I went. Coming back, I chose the field way, and I had no sooner +got into the first field, than I overtook Robert Carr and Martha Ann +Hughes. I walked with him through the fields until we came to the +bridge, and then I came on alone. Much 'encouragement' there was in +that!"</p> + +<p>"It was countenancing the thing, at any rate, if not encouraging it," +remarked Mr. Arkell.</p> + +<p>"There's no harm in it; none at all."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean in the affair itself, or in your having so far lent +yourself to it?"</p> + +<p>"In both," fearlessly answered William. "I wonder who it is that carries +these tales to old Carr! We did not meet a soul, that I remember; he +must have spies at work."</p> + +<p>The remark rather offended Mr. Arkell.</p> + +<p>"William," he gravely asked, "do you consider it fitting that Robert +Carr should marry that girl?"</p> + +<p>William's eyes opened rather wide at the remark.</p> + +<p>"He is not likely to do that, sir; he would not make a simpleton of +himself."</p> + +<p>"Then you consider that he should choose the other alternative, and turn +rogue?" rejoined Mr. Arkell, indignation in his suppressed tone. +"William, had anyone told me this of you, I would not have believed it."</p> + +<p>William Arkell's sensitive cheek flushed red.</p> + +<p>"Sir, you are entirely mistaking me; I am sure you are mistaking the +affair itself. I believe that the girl is as honest and good a girl as +ever lived; and Robert Carr knows she is."</p> + +<p>"Then what is it that he proposes to himself in frequenting her society? +If he has no end at all in view, why does he do it?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think he <i>has</i> any end in view. There is really nothing in +it—as I believe; we all form acquaintances and drop them. Marmaduke +Carr need not put himself in a fever."</p> + +<p>"We form acquaintances in our own sphere of life, mind you, young sir; +they are the safer ones. I wonder some of the ladies don't give a hint +to the two Miss Hughes's to take better care of their sister—she's but +a young thing. At any rate, William, do not you mix yourself up in it."</p> + +<p>"I have not done it, indeed, sir. As to my walking through the fields +with them, when we met, as I tell you, accidentally, I could not help +myself, friendly as I am with Robert Carr. There was no harm in it; I +should do it again to-morrow under the circumstances; and if old Carr +speaks to me, I shall tell him so."</p> + +<p>The carriage came up, and no more was said. Philip had halted to do +something to the harness. Mrs. Arkell came out.</p> + +<p>She was tall, and for her age rather an elegant woman. Her face must +once have been delicately beautiful: it was easy to be seen whence +William had inherited his refined features; but she was simple in manner +as a child.</p> + +<p>"What have you been doing, William? Papa was speaking crossly to you, +was he not?"</p> + +<p>She sometimes used the old fond word to him, "papa." She looked fondly +at her son, and spoke in a joking manner. In truth, William gave them +little cause to be "cross" with him; he was a good son, in every sense +of the term.</p> + +<p>"Something a little short of high treason," replied William, laughing, +as he helped her in; "Papa can tell you, if he likes."</p> + +<p>Mr. Arkell took the reins, Philip got up behind, and they drove out of +the yard. William Arkell went indoors, put down a roll of music he had +been carrying, and then left the house again.</p> + +<p>Turning to his right hand as he quitted the iron gates, he continued his +way up the street towards the busier portion of the city. It was not his +intention to go so far as that now. He crossed over to a wide, handsome +turning on the left, and was speedily close upon the precincts of the +cathedral. It was almost within the cathedral precincts that the house +of Mrs. Daniel Arkell was situated. Not a large house, as was Mr. +Arkell's, but a pretty compact red-brick residence, with a small garden +lying before the front windows, which looked out on the Dean's garden +and the cathedral elm-trees.</p> + +<p>William Arkell opened the door and entered. In a little bit of a room on +the left, sat Peter Arkell, deep in some abstruse Greek play. This +little room was called Peter's study, for it had been appropriated to +the boy and his books ever since he could remember. William looked in, +just gave him a nod, and then entered the room on the other side the +entrance-passage.</p> + +<p>Two ladies sat in this, both of them in mourning: Mrs. Daniel Arkell, a +stout, comfortable-looking woman, in widow's weeds; Mildred in a pretty +dress of black silk. Peter and William were about the same age; Mildred +was two years younger. She was a quiet, sensible, lady-like girl, with a +gentle face and the sweetest look possible in her soft brown eyes. She +had not been educated fashionably, according to the custom of the +present day; she had never been to school, but had received, as we are +told of Moses Primrose, a "sort of miscellaneous education at home." She +possessed a thorough knowledge of her own language, knew a good deal of +Latin, insensibly acquired through being with Peter when he took his +earlier lessons in it from his father, read aloud beautifully, wrote an +excellent letter, and was a quick arithmetician, made shirts and pastry +to perfection, and was well read in our best authors. Not a single +accomplishment, save dancing, had she been taught; and yet she was in +mind and manners essentially a gentlewoman.</p> + +<p>If Mildred was loved by her own mother, so was she by Mrs. George +Arkell. Possessing no daughter of her own, Mrs. George seemed to cling +to Mildred as one. She cherished within her heart a secret wish that her +son might sometime call Mildred his wife. This may be marvelled at—it +may seem strange that Mrs. George Arkell should wish to unite her +attractive, wealthy, and accomplished son with his portionless and +comparatively homely cousin; but <i>she</i> knew Mildred's worth and the +sunshine of happiness she would bring into any home. Mrs. George Arkell +never breathed a hint of this wish: whether wisely or not, perhaps the +sequel did not determine.</p> + +<p>And what thought Mildred herself? She knew nothing of this +secretly-cherished scheme; but if ever there appeared to her a human +being gifted with all earthly perfections, it was William Arkell. +Perhaps the very contrast he presented to her brother—a contrast +brought palpably before her sight every day of her life—enhanced the +feeling. Peter was plain in person, so tall as to be ungainly, thin as a +lath, and stooping perpetually, and in manner shy and awkward; whilst +William was all ease and freedom; very handsome, though with a look of +delicate health on his refined features; danced minuets with Mildred to +perfection—relics of the old dancing days, which pleased the two elder +ladies; breathed love-songs to her on his flute, painted her pretty +landscapes in water-colours, with which she decorated the walls of her +own little parlour, drove her out sometimes in his father's +carriage—the one you have just seen start on its expedition; passed +many an evening reading to her, and quoting Shakespeare; and, in short, +made love to her as much as it was possible to make it, not in words. +But the misfortune of all this was, that while it told upon <i>her</i> heart, +and implanted there its never-dying fruit, he only regarded her as a +cousin or a sister. Brought up in this familiar intercourse with +Mildred, he never gave a thought to any warmer feeling on either side, +or suspected that such intimacy might lead to one, still less that it +had, even then, led to it on hers. Had he been aware of his mother's +hope of uniting them, it is impossible to say whether he would have +yielded to it: he had asked himself the question many a time in his +later life, <i>and he could never answer</i>.</p> + +<p>The last remains of the setting sun threw a glow on the room, for the +house faced the west. It was a middling-sized, comfortable apartment, +with a sort of bright look about it. They rarely sat in any other. There +was a drawing-room above, but it was seldom used.</p> + +<p>"Well, aunt! well, Mildred! How are you this evening?"</p> + +<p>Mildred looked up from her work at the well-known, cheery voice; the +soft colour had already mantled in her cheek at the well-known step. +William took a book from his pocket, wrapped in paper.</p> + +<p>"I got it for you this afternoon, Mildred. Mind and don't spoil your +eyes over it: its print is curiously small."</p> + +<p>She looked at him with a smile amidst her glow of blushing thanks; she +always smiled when he gave her the same caution. Her sight was +remarkably strong—William's, on the contrary, was not so, and he was +already obliged to use glasses when trying fresh pieces of music.</p> + +<p>"William, my dear," began Mrs. Daniel, "I have a favour to ask your +father. Will you carry it to him for me?"</p> + +<p>"It's granted already," returned William, with the free confidence of +an indulged son. "What is it?"</p> + +<p>"I want to get over to see those children, the Carrs. Poor Mrs. John, +when she was dying, asked me if I would go over now and then, and I feel +as if I were neglecting the promise, for it is full six months since I +was there. The coaches start so early in the morning, and I thought, if +your father would let me have the carriage for the day, and Philip to +drive me; Mildred can sit in the back seat——"</p> + +<p>"I'll drive you, aunt," interrupted William. "Fix your own day, and +we'll go."</p> + +<p>But Mildred had looked up, a vivid blush of annoyance on her cheek.</p> + +<p>"I do not care to go, mamma; I'd rather not go to Squire Carr's."</p> + +<p>"You be quiet, Mildred," said William. "You are not going to see the +squire, you are going to see the squire's grandchildren. Talking about +the Carrs, aunt, I have just been undergoing a lecture on their score."</p> + +<p>"On the score of the Carrs?"</p> + +<p>"It's true. I happened on Sunday to be crossing the opposite fields, on +my way from Mrs. Pembroke's, and came upon Robert Carr and Miss Martha +Ann Hughes, and walked with them to the bridge. Somebody carried the +news to old Marmaduke, and he came down this evening, all flurry and +fire, to my father, complaining that I was 'encouraging' the thing. Such +nonsense! He need not be afraid that there's any harm in it."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dan Arkell gave her head a shake, as if she were not so sure upon +the latter point as her nephew. Prudent age—impulsive youth: how widely +different do they judge of things! William was turning to the door.</p> + +<p>"You are not going?" said Mrs. Dan, and Mildred looked up from her work, +a yearning wistfulness in her eye.</p> + +<p>"I must, this evening; I asked young Monk to come in and bring his +violin, and he'll be waiting for me, if I don't mind. Good-bye, Aunt +Dan; pleasant dreams to you, Mildred!"</p> + +<p>But as William went out, he opened the door of Peter's study, and stood +there gossiping at least twenty minutes. He might have stood longer, but +for the sight of two gentlemen who were passing along the road +arm-in-arm, and he rushed out impulsively, forgetting to say +good-evening to Peter.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<h3>THE MISS HUGHES'S HOME.</h3> + + +<p>Marmaduke Carr, of whom mention has been made, was one of the Westerbury +manufacturers—a widower, and a wealthy man. He had only one son +living—Robert; two other children had died in infancy. Robert Carr, +about thirty years of age now, was not renowned for his steadiness of +conduct; indeed, he had been a sad spendthrift, and innumerable +unpleasant scenes had resulted therefrom between him and his father. It +could not be said that his heart was bad; but his head was certainly +light. Half the town declared that Robert Carr had no real evil in him; +that his faults were but the result of youth and carelessness; that he +would make a worthy man yet. The other half prophesied that he would be +safe to come to a bad ending, like wicked Harry in the spelling-book. +One of his escapades Mr. Carr was particularly sore upon. After a +violent quarrel between them—for each possessed a temper of his +own—Robert had started off clandestinely; that is, without saying a +word to anyone. At the end of a month he returned, and bills to the +amount of something like a hundred pounds came in to his father. Mr. +Robert had been seeing life in London.</p> + +<p>In one sense of the word, the fault was Mr. Carr's. There cannot be a +greater mistake than to bring up a son to idleness, and this had been +the case with Robert Carr. He would settle to nothing, and his father +had virtually winked at it. Ostensibly, Robert had entered the +manufactory; but he would not attend to the business: he said he hated +it. One day there, and the other five days away. Idling his hours with +his friends in the town; over at his uncle's, Squire Carr's, shooting, +fishing, hunting; going somewhere out by the morning coach, and in +again; anything, in fact, to avoid work and kill time. <i>This</i> should +have been checked in the onset; it was not, and when Mr. Carr awoke to +the consequences of his indulgent supineness, the habits had grown to a +height that refused control. "Let him take his pleasure a bit," Mr. Carr +had said to his own heart at first, "youth's never the worse for a +little roaming before settling down. I have made plenty of money, and +there's only Bob to inherit it." Dangerous doctrine; mistaken +conclusions: and Mr. Carr lived to find them so.</p> + +<p>Squire Carr was his elder brother. He was several years older than +Marmaduke. He possessed a small property, and farmed it himself, and was +consequently called "Squire" Carr—as many of those small landed +proprietors were called by their neighbours in the days now passing +away. Squire Carr, a widower of many years, had one son only—John. This +John had made a marriage almost in his boyhood, and had three children +born to him—Valentine, Benjamin, and Emma, and then his wife died. Next +he married a second wife, and after some years she died, leaving several +young children. They all lived with the squire, but the three elder +children were now nearly grown up. It was to this house, and to see +these younger children, that Mrs. Dan Arkell purposed going, if she +could borrow Mr. Arkell's carriage. They lived about eight miles off, +near to Eckford, a market town. By the coach road, indeed, it was +considerably more.</p> + +<p>Squire Carr and his brother were not very intimate. The squire would +ride into Westerbury on the market day, or drive in with his son in the +dogcart, but not once in three months did they call at Marmaduke's. +There was no similarity between them; there was as little cordiality. +The squire was of a grasping, mean, petty nature, and so was his son +after him. Marmaduke was open-handed and liberal, despising meanness +above every earthly failing.</p> + +<p>Robert Carr had plunged into other costly escapades since that first one +of the impromptu sojourn in London, and his father's patience was +becoming exhausted. Latterly he, Robert, had struck up an acquaintance +with a young girl, Martha Ann Hughes; and there is no doubt that this +vexed Mr. Carr more than any previous aggression had done. The Carrs, in +their way, were proud. They were really of good family, and in the past +generation had been of some account. A horrible fear had taken hold of +Mr. Carr, that Robert, in his infatuation, might be mad enough to marry +this girl, and he would have deemed it the very worst calamity that +could fall upon his life.</p> + +<p>For Robert was seen with this girl in public, and the girl and her +family were, in their station, respectable people; and the other +evening, when Mr. Carr had spoken out his mind in rather broad terms, +Robert had flown in a passion, and answered that he'd "shoot himself +rather than hurt a hair of her head." The fear that he might marry her +entered then and there into Mr. Carr's head; and it grew into a torment.</p> + +<p>The two gentlemen, passing Mrs. Dan Arkell's house as William flew out, +were Robert Carr and a young clergyman with whom he was intimate, the +Reverend John Bell. Mr. Bell had had escapades of his own, and that +probably caused him to tolerate, or to see no harm in, Robert Carr's. +Certain it is they were firm, almost inseparable friends; and rumour +went that Mr. Bell was upon visiting terms at Miss Hughes's house, +introduced to it by Robert. The Reverend John Bell had had his first +year's curacy in Westerbury; he was now in priest's orders, hoping for +employment, and, meanwhile, helping occasionally in the services at a +church called St. James-the-Less, whose incumbent, one of the minor +canons, had fits of gout.</p> + +<p>William joined them. He did not say anything to Robert Carr then, in the +presence of Mr. Bell; but he did intend, the first opportunity, to +recommend him to drop the affair as profitless in every way, and one +there seemed to be trouble over. They walked together to the end of the +old cathedral outer wall, and there separated. William turned to the +left, which would lead him to his home; while Mr. Bell passed through a +heavy stone archway on the right, and was then within the precincts of +the cathedral, in a large open space, surrounded by the prebendal and +other houses; the deanery, the cloisters, and the huge college +schoolroom being on one side. This was the back of the cathedral; it +rose towering there behind the cloisters. Mr. Bell made straight for the +residence of the incumbent of St. James-the-Less, the Reverend Mr. +Elwin—a little old-fashioned house, with no windows to speak of, on +the side opposite the deanery.</p> + +<p>Robert Carr had turned neither to the right nor the left, but continued +his way straight on. Passing an old building called the Palmery—which +belonged, as may be said, to the cathedral—he turned into a by-street, +and in three or four minutes was at the end of the houses on that side +the town. Before him, at some little distance, in the midst of its +churchyard, stood the church of St. James-the-Less, surrounded by the +open country. The only house near it, a poor little dwelling, was +inhabited by the clerk. That is, it had been inhabited by him; but the +man was now dead, and a hot dispute was raging in the parish whether a +successor should be appointed to him or not. Meanwhile, the widow +benefited, for she was allowed to continue in the house until the +question should be settled.</p> + +<p>Robert Carr, however, had no intention of going as far as the church. He +stopped at the last house but one in the street—a small, but very neat +dwelling, with two brass plates on the door. You may read them. "Mr. +Edward Hughes, Builder," was on one; "The Misses Hughes, Dressmakers," +was on the other.</p> + +<p>Yes, this was the house inhabited by the young person who was so +upsetting the equanimity of Mr. Carr. Edward Hughes was a builder, in +business for himself in a small way, and his two elder sisters were the +dressmakers—worthy people enough all, and of good report, but certainly +not the class from which it might be supposed Robert Carr would take a +wife.</p> + +<p>Two gaunt, ungainly women were these two elder Miss Hughes's, with wide +mouths and standing-out teeth. The eldest, Sophia, was the manager and +mistress of the home, and a clever one too, and a shrewd woman; the +second, Mary, not in the least clever or shrewd, confined her attention +wholly to her business, and went out to work by day at ladies' houses, +and sat up half the night working after she got home.</p> + +<p>She had been out on this day, but had returned, by some mutual +arrangement with her patrons, earlier than usual; for it was a busy time +with them at home, and the house was full of work. They were at work at +a silk gown now; both sisters bending their heads over it, and stitching +away as fast as they could stitch. The parlour faced the street, and +some one else was seated at the window, peeping out, between the staves +of the Venetian blind.</p> + +<p>This was Martha Ann, a young girl of twenty, pretty, modest, and +delicate looking; so entirely different was she in person from her +sisters, that people might have suspected the relationship. Perhaps it +was from the great contrast she presented to themselves that the Miss +Hughes's had reared her in a superior manner. How they had loved the +pretty little child, so many years younger than themselves, they alone +knew. They had sent her to school, working hard to keep her there; and +when they brought her home it was, to use their own phrase, "to be a +lady"—not to work. The plan was not a wise one, and they might yet live +to learn it.</p> + +<p>"I wish to goodness you could have put Mrs. Dewsbury off for to-morrow, +Mary!" exclaimed the elder sister.</p> + +<p>"But I couldn't," replied Mary. "The lady's-maid said I must go +to-morrow, whether or not. In two days Mrs. Dewsbury starts on her +visit."</p> + +<p>"Well, all I know is, we shall never get these dresses home in time."</p> + +<p>"I must sit up to-night—that's all," said Mary Hughes, with equanimity.</p> + +<p>"I must sit up, too, for the matter of that," rejoined the elder sister. +"The worst is, after <i>no</i> bed, one is so languid the next day; one can't +get through half the work."</p> + +<p>Martha Ann rose from her seat, and came to the table.</p> + +<p>"I wish you would let me try to help you, Sophia. I'm sure I could do +seams, and such-like straightforward work."</p> + +<p>"You'd pucker them, child. No; we are not going to let your eyes be +tried over close sewing."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what you can do, Martha Ann," said the younger of the +two. "You can go in the kitchen, and make me a cup of coffee. I feel +dead tired, and it will waken me up."</p> + +<p>"There now, Mary!" cried the young girl. "I knew you were not in bed +last night, and you are talking of sitting up this! I shall tell +Edward."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I was in bed. I went to bed at three, and slept till six. Go and +make the coffee, child."</p> + +<p>Martha Ann quitted the room. Mary Hughes watched the door close, and +then turned to her sister, and began to speak eagerly, dropping her +voice to a half whisper.</p> + +<p>"I say, Sophia, I met Mrs. Pycroft to-day, and she began upon me like +anything. What do you think she said?"</p> + +<p>"How do I know what she said?" returned Miss Sophia, indifferently, and +speaking with her mouth full of pins, for she was deep in the +intricacies of fitting one pattern to another. "Where did you meet her?"</p> + +<p>"Just by the market-house. It was at dinner-time. I had run out for +some more wadding, for me and the lady's-maid found we had made a +miscalculation, and hadn't got enough to complete the cloak, and I met +her as I was running back again. She never said, 'How be you?' or 'How +bain't you?' but she begins upon me all sharp—'What be you doing with +Martha Ann?' It took me so aback that for a moment I couldn't answer +her, and she didn't give time for it, either. 'Is young Mr. Carr going +to marry her?' she goes on. So of course I said he wasn't going to marry +her that I knew of; and then——"</p> + +<p>"And more idiot you for saying anything of the sort!" indignantly +interrupted Sophia Hughes, dropping all the pins in a heap out of her +mouth that she might speak freely. "It's no business of Mother +Pycroft's, or of anybody else's."</p> + +<p>The meeker younger sister—and as a very reed had she always been in the +strong hands of the elder—paused for an instant, and then spoke +deprecatingly.</p> + +<p>"But Mr. Robert Carr is <i>not</i> going to marry her that we know of, +Sophia. Where was the harm of my saying the truth?"</p> + +<p>"A great deal of harm in saying it to that gabbling, interfering Mother +Pycroft. She has wanted to put her nose into everything all these years +and years since poor mother died. What do you say?" proceeded Miss +Sophia, drowning her sister's feeble attempt to speak. "'A good +heart—been kind to us?' <i>That</i> doesn't compensate for the worry she has +been. She's a mischief-making old cat."</p> + +<p>"She went on like anything to-day," resumed Mary Hughes, when she +thought she might venture to speak again; "saying that young Mr. Carr +ought not to come to the house unless he came all open and honourable, +and had got a marriage-ring at his fingers' ends; and if we didn't mind, +we should have Martha Ann a town's talk."</p> + +<p>Sophia Hughes flung down her work, her eyes ablaze with anger.</p> + +<p>"If you were not my sister, and the poorest, weakest mortal that ever +stepped, I'd strike you for daring to repeat such words to me! A town's +talk! Martha Ann!"</p> + +<p>"Well, Sophia, you need not snap me up so," was the deprecating answer. +"She says that folks are talking already of you and me, blaming us for +allowing the acquaintance with young Mr. Carr. And I think they are," +candidly added the young woman.</p> + +<p>"Where's the harm? Martha Ann is as good as Robert Carr any day."</p> + +<p>"But if people don't think so? If his folks don't think so? All the +Carrs are as proud as Lucifer."</p> + +<p>"And a fine lot Robert Carr has got to be proud of!" retorted Sophia. +"Look at the scrapes he has been in, and the money he has spent! A good, +wholesome, respectable attachment might be the salvation of him."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps so. But then—but then—I wish you'd not be cross with me, +Sophia—there'd be more chance of it if the young lady were in his own +condition of life. Sophia, we are naturally fond of Martha Ann, and +think there's nobody like her—and there's not, for the matter of that; +but we can't expect other people to think so. I wouldn't let Martha Ann +be spoken of disparagingly in the town for the world. I'd lay my life +down first."</p> + +<p>Sophia Hughes had taken up her work again. She put in a few pins in +silence. Her anger was subsiding.</p> + +<p>"<i>I'll</i> take care of Martha Ann. The town knows me, I hope, and knows +that it might trust me. If I saw so much as the faintest look of +disrespect offered by Robert Carr to Martha Ann, I should tell him he +must drop the acquaintance. Until I do, he's free to come here. And the +next time I come across old Mother Pycroft she'll hear the length of my +tongue."</p> + +<p>Mary Hughes dared say no more. But in the days to come, when the blight +of scandal had tarnished the fair name of her young sister, she was +wont to whisper, with many tears, that she had warned Sophia what might +be the ending, and had not been listened to.</p> + +<p>"Here he is!" exclaimed Sophia, as the form of some one outside darkened +the window.</p> + +<p>And once more putting down her work, but not in anger this time, she +went to open the front door, at which Robert Carr was knocking.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<h3>THE ADVENT OF CHARLOTTE TRAVICE.</h3> + + +<p>Mrs. George Arkell sat near her breakfast-table, deeply intent on a +letter recently delivered. The apartment was a rather spacious one, +handsomely fitted up. It was the general sitting-room of the family; the +fine drawing-room on the other side of the hall being very much kept, as +must be confessed, for state occasions. A comfortable room, this; its +walls hung with paintings in water-colours, many of them William's +doings, and its pleasant window looking across the wide yard, to the +iron railings and the street beyond it. The room was as yet in the +shade, for it faced due south; but the street yonder lay basking in the +bright sun of the September morning; and Mrs. Arkell looked through the +open window, and felt almost glad at the excuse the letter afforded her +for going abroad in it.</p> + +<p>Letters were not then hourly matters, as they are now; no, nor daily +ones. Perhaps a quiet country lady did not receive a dozen in a year: +certainly Mrs. Arkell did not, and she lingered on, looking at the one +in her hand, long after her husband and son had quitted the +breakfast-table for the manufactory.</p> + +<p>"It is curious the child should write to me," was her final comment, and +the words were spoken aloud. "I must carry it to Mrs. Dan, and talk it +over with her."</p> + +<p>She rang the bell for the breakfast things to be removed, and presently +proceeded to the kitchen to consult with the cook about dinner—for +consulting with the cook, in those staid, old-fashioned households, was +far more the custom than the present "orders." That over, Mrs. Arkell +attired herself, and went out to Mrs. Daniel Arkell's. Mrs. Dan was +surprised to see her so early, and laid her spectacles inside the Bible +she was reading, to mark the place.</p> + +<p>"Betty," began Mrs. Arkell, addressing her sister-in-law by the +abbreviation bestowed on her at her baptism, "you remember the Travices, +who left here some years ago to make their fortune, as they said, in +London?"</p> + +<p>"To be sure," replied Mrs. Dan.</p> + +<p>"Well, I fear they can't have made much. Here's a letter comes this +morning from their eldest girl. It's very odd that she should write to +me. A pretty little thing she was, of about eight or ten, I remember, +when they left Westerbury."</p> + +<p>"What does she write about?" interrupted Mrs. Dan. "I'm sure they have +been silent enough hitherto. Nobody, so far as I know, has ever heard a +word from any of them since they left."</p> + +<p>"She writes to me as an old friend of her father's and mother's, she +says, to ask if I can interest myself for her with any school down here. +I infer, from the wording of the letter, that since their death, the +children have not been well off."</p> + +<p>"John Travice and his wife are dead, then?"</p> + +<p>"So it would seem. She says—'We have had a great deal of anxiety since +dear mamma died, the only friend we had left to us.' She must speak of +herself and her sister, for there were but those two. Will you read the +letter, Betty?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dan took her spectacles from between the leaves of the Bible, and +read the letter, not speaking immediately.</p> + +<p>"She signs herself C. Travice," remarked Mrs. George; "but I really +forget her name. Whether it was Catherine or Cordelia——"</p> + +<p>"It was Charlotte," interposed Mrs. Dan. "We used to call her Lottie."</p> + +<p>"The curious thing in the affair is, why she should write to <i>me</i>," +continued Mrs. George Arkell. "You were so much more intimate with them, +that I can only think she has made a mistake in the address, and really +meant the letter for you."</p> + +<p>A smile flitted over Mrs. Dan's face. "No mistake at all, as I should +believe. You are Mrs. Arkell, you know; I am only Mrs. Dan. She must +remember quite well that you have weight in the town, and I have none. +She knows which of us is most capable of helping her."</p> + +<p>"But, Betty, I and George had little or no acquaintance at all with the +Travices," rejoined Mrs. Arkell, unconvinced. "We met them two or three +times at your house; but I don't think they were ever inside ours. You +brought one of the little girls to tea once with Mildred, I recollect: +it must have been this eldest one who now writes. You, on the contrary, +were intimate with them. Why, did you not stand godmother to one of the +little ones?"</p> + +<p>"To the youngest," assented Mrs. Dan, "and quite a fuss there was over +it. Mrs. Travice wanted her to be named Betty; short, after me; but the +captain wouldn't hear of it. He said Betty was old-fashioned—gone quite +out of date. If you'll believe me it was not settled when we started for +the church; but I decided it there, for when Mr. Elwin took the baby in +his arms, and said, 'Name this child,' I spoke up and said, 'Elizabeth.' +She grew to be a pretty little thing, too, meek and mild as a lamb; +Charlotte had a temper."</p> + +<p>"Well, I still retain the opinion that she must have been under the +impression she was addressing you. 'I write to you as an old friend of +papa and mamma's,' you see, she says. Now that can't in any way apply to +me. But I don't urge this as a plea for not accepting the letter," Mrs. +George hastened to add; "I'm sure we shall be pleased to do anything we +can for her. I have talked the matter over with George, and we think it +would be only kind to invite her to come to us for a month or so, while +we see what can be done. We shall pay her coach fare down, and any other +little matter, so that it will be no expense to her."</p> + +<p>"It is exceedingly kind of you," remarked Mrs. Dan Arkell. "And when you +write, tell her we will all try and make her visit a pleasant one," she +added, in the honest simplicity of her heart. "Mildred will be a +companion to her.'</p> + +<p>"I shall write to-day. The letter is dated Upper Stamford-street: but +I'm sure I don't know in what part of London Upper Stamford-street +lies," observed Mrs. Arkell, who had never been so far as London in her +life, and would as soon have thought of going a journey to Cape Horn. +"Where's Mildred?"</p> + +<p>"She's in the kitchen, helping Ann with the damson jam. I did say I'd +not have any made this year, sugar is so expensive, but Mildred pleaded +for it. And what she says is true, that poor Peter comes in tired to +death, and relishes a bit of jam with his tea, especially damson jam."</p> + +<p>"I fear Peter's heart is not in his occupation, Betty."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dan shook her head. "It has never been that. From the time Peter +was first taken to the Cathedral, a little fellow in petticoats, his +heart has been set upon sometime being one of its clergy; but that is +out of the question now: there's no help for it, you know."</p> + +<p>Mildred came in, bright and radiant; she always liked the visits of her +aunt George. They told her the news about Miss Travice, and showed her +the letter.</p> + +<p>"Played together when we were children, I and Charlotte Travice," she +said, laughing; "I have nearly forgotten it. I hope she is a nice girl; +it will be pleasant to have her down here."</p> + +<p>"Mildred, I should like to take you back with me for the day. Will you +come? Can you spare her, Betty?"</p> + +<p>Mildred glanced at her mother, her lips parting with hope; dutiful and +affectionate, she deferred to her mother in all things, never putting +forth her own wishes. Mrs. Dan could spare her, and said so. Mildred +flew to her chamber, attired herself, and set forth with her aunt +through the warm and sunny streets—warm, sunny, bright as her own +heart.</p> + +<p>Very much to the surprise of Mrs. Arkell, as she turned in at the iron +gates, she saw the carriage standing before the door, and the servant +Philip in readiness to attend it. "Is your master going out?" she +inquired of the man.</p> + +<p>"Mr. William is, ma'am."</p> + +<p>"Where to, do you know?"</p> + +<p>"I think it is only to Mr. Palmer's," returned Philip. "I know Mr. +William said we should not be away above an hour."</p> + +<p>William appeared in the distance, coming from the manufactory with a +fleet step, and a square flat parcel in his hand.</p> + +<p>"I am going to Mr. Palmer's to take this," he said to his mother, +indicating the parcel as he threw it into the carriage; "it contains +some papers that my father promised to get for him as soon as possible +to-day. He was going to send Philip alone, but I said I should like the +drive. You have just come in time, Mildred; get up."</p> + +<p>The soft pink bloom mantled in her face; but she rather drew away from +the carriage than approached it. She <i>never</i> went out upon William's +invitation alone.</p> + +<p>"Why not, my dear?" said Mrs. Arkell, "it will do you good. You will be +back in time for dinner."</p> + +<p>William was looking round all the while, as he waited to help her up, a +half laugh upon his face. Mildred's roses deepened, and she stepped in. +Philip came round to his young master.</p> + +<p>"Am I to go now, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Go now? of course; why should you not go? There's the back seat, isn't +there?"</p> + +<p>Perhaps Philip's doubts did not altogether refer to seats. He threw back +the seat, and waited. William took his place by his cousin's side, and +drove away, utterly unconscious of <i>her</i> feelings or the man's thoughts. +Had he not been accustomed to this familiar intercourse with Mildred all +his life?</p> + +<p>And Mrs. Arkell went indoors and sat down to write her letter to +Charlotte Travice. Westerbury had nearly forgotten these Travices; they +were not natives of the place. Captain Travice—but it should be +observed that he had been captain of only a militia regiment—had +settled at Westerbury sometime after the conclusion of the war, and his +two children were born there. His income was but a slender one, still it +was sufficient; but it came into the ex-captain's head one day, that, +for the sake of his two little daughters, he ought to make a fortune if +he could. Supposing that might be easier of accomplishment in the great +metropolis, than in a sober, unspeculative cathedral town, he departed +forthwith; but the fortune, as Mrs. Arkell shrewdly surmised, had never +been made; and after various vicissitudes—ups and downs, as people +phrase them—John Travice finally departed this life in their lodgings +in Upper Stamford-street, and his wife did not long survive him. Of the +two daughters, Charlotte had been the best educated; what money there +was to spare for such purposes, had been spent upon her; the younger one +was made, of necessity, a household drudge.</p> + +<p>Charlotte responded at once to Mrs. Arkell's invitation, and within a +week of it was travelling down to Westerbury by the day-coach. It +arrived in the town at seven o'clock, and rarely varied by a minute. +Have you forgotten those old coach days? I have not. Mr. Arkell and his +son stood outside the iron gates, Philip waiting in attendance; and as +the coach with its four fine horses came up the street, the guard blew +his horn about ten times, a signal that it was going to stop to set down +a passenger—for Mr. Arkell had himself spoken to the guard, and charged +him to take good care of the young lady on her journey. The coachman +drew up at the gates, and touched his hat to Mr. Arkell, and the guard +leaped down and touched his.</p> + +<p>"All right, sir. The young lady's here."</p> + +<p>He opened the coach door, and she stepped out, dressed in expensive +mourning; a tall, showy, handsome girl, affable in manner, ready of +speech; altogether fascinating; just the one—just the one to turn the +head and win the heart of a young fellow such as William Arkell. They +might have foreseen it even in that first hour.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how kind it is of you to have me!" she exclaimed, as she quite fell +into Mrs. Arkell's arms in the hall, and burst into tears. "But I +thought you had no daughter?" she added, recovering herself and looking +at the young lady who stood by Mrs. Arkell.</p> + +<p>"It is my niece Mildred, my dear; but she is to me as a daughter. I +asked her to come and help welcome you this evening."</p> + +<p>"I am sure I shall love you very much!" exclaimed Miss Travice, kissing +Mildred five or six times. "What a sweet face you have!"</p> + +<p>A sudden shyness came over Mildred. The warm greeting and the words were +both new to her. She returned a courteous word of welcome, drew a little +apart, and glanced at William. He seemed to have enough to do gazing at +the visitor.</p> + +<p>Philip was coming in with the luggage. Mrs. Arkell took her hand.</p> + +<p>"I will show you your room, Miss Travice; and if——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, pray don't call me 'Miss Travice,' or anything so formal," was the +young lady's interruption. "Begin with 'Charlotte' at once, or I shall +fear you are not glad to see me."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Arkell smiled; her young visitor was winning upon her greatly. She +led her to a very nice room on the first floor.</p> + +<p>"This will be your chamber, my dear; it is over our usual sitting-room. +My room and Mr. Arkell's is on the opposite side the corridor, over the +drawing-room. You face the street, you see; and across there to the +right are the cathedral towers."</p> + +<p>"What a charming house you have, Mrs. Arkell! So large and nice."</p> + +<p>"It is larger than we require. Let me look at you, my dear, and see what +resemblance I can trace. I remember your father and mother."</p> + +<p>She held the young lady before her. A very pretty face, +certainly—especially now, for Charlotte laughed and blushed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mrs. Arkell, I am not fit to be seen; I feel as dusty as can be. +You cannot think how dusty the roads were; I shall look better +to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"You have the bright dark eyes and the clear complexion of your father; +but I don't see that you are like him in features—yours are prettier. +But now, my dear, tell me—in writing to me, did you not think you were +writing to Mrs. Daniel Arkell?"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Daniel Arkell! No, I did not. Who is she? I don't remember +anything about her."</p> + +<p>"But Mrs. Daniel was your mother's friend—far more intimate with her +than I was. I am delighted at the mistake, if it was one; for Mrs. Dan +might otherwise have gained the pleasure of your visit, instead of me."</p> + +<p>"I don't <i>think</i> I made a mistake," said Charlotte, more dubiously than +she had just spoken; "I used to hear poor mamma speak of the Arkells of +Westerbury; and one day lately, in looking over some of her old letters +and papers, I found your address. The thought came into my mind at once +to write to you, and ask if you could help me to a situation. I believe +papa was respected in Westerbury; and it struck me that somebody here +might want a teacher, or governess, and engage me for his sake. You know +we are of gentle blood, Mrs. Arkell, though we have been so poor of late +years."</p> + +<p>"I will do anything to help you that I can," was the kind answer. "Have +you lost both father and mother?"</p> + +<p>"Why yes," returned Charlotte, with a surprised air, as if she had +thought all the world knew that. "Papa has been dead several +months—twelve, I think, nearly; mamma has been dead five or six."</p> + +<p>"And—I suppose—your poor papa did not leave much money?"</p> + +<p>"Not a penny," freely answered Charlotte. "He had a few shares in some +mining company at the time of his death; they were worth nothing then, +but they afterwards went up to what is called a premium, and the brokers +sold them for us. They did not realize much, but it was sufficient to +keep mamma as long as she lived."</p> + +<p>"And what have you done since?"</p> + +<p>"Not much," sighed Charlotte; "I had a situation as daily governess; +but, oh! it was so uncomfortable. There were five girls, and no +discipline, no regularity; it was at a clergyman's, too. They live near +to us, in Upper Stamford-street. I am so glad I wrote to you! Betsey did +not want me to write; she thought it looked intrusive."</p> + +<p>"Betsey!" echoed Mrs. Arkell.</p> + +<p>"My sister Elizabeth—we call her Betsey. She is younger than I am."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, to be sure. I wondered you did not speak of her in your letter; +Mrs. Daniel Arkell is her godmother. Where is she?"</p> + +<p>"At Mrs. Dundyke's."</p> + +<p>"Who is Mrs. Dundyke?"</p> + +<p>"She keeps the house where we live, in Stamford-street. She is not a +lady, you know; a worthy sort of person, and all that, but quite an +inferior woman. Not but that she was always kind to us; she was very +kind and attentive to mamma in her last illness. I can't bear her," +candidly continued the young lady, "and she can't bear me; but she likes +Betsey, and has asked her to stop there, free of cost, for a little +while. Her daughter died and left two little children, and Betsey is to +make herself useful with them."</p> + +<p>"But why did you not mention Betsey? why did you not bring her?" cried +Mrs. Arkell, feeling vexed at the omission. "She would have been as +welcome to us as you are, my dear."</p> + +<p>Miss Charlotte Travice shook back her flowing hair, and there was a +little curl of contempt on her pretty nose. "You are very kind, Mrs. +Arkell, but Betsey is better where she is. I could not think of taking +her out with me."</p> + +<p>"Why so?" asked Mrs. Arkell, rather surprised.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you'd not say, why so, if you saw her. She is quite a plain, homely +sort of young person; she has not been educated for anything else. +Nobody would believe we were sisters; and Betsey knows that, and is +humble accordingly. Of course some one had to wait upon mamma and me, +for lodging-house servants are the most unpleasant things upon earth, +and there was only Betsey."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Arkell went downstairs, leaving her young guest to follow when she +was ready. Mrs. Arkell did not understand the logic of the last +admissions, and certainly did not admire the spirit in which they +appeared to be spoken.</p> + +<p>The hours for meals were early at Mr. Arkell's; dinner at one, tea at +five; but the tea had this evening been put off, in politeness to Miss +Travice. She came down, a fashionable-looking young lady, in a thin +black dress of some sort of gauze, with innumerable rucheings and +quillings of crape upon it. Certainly her attire—as they found when the +days went on—betrayed little symptom of a straitened purse.</p> + +<p>She took her place at the tea-table, all smiles and sweetness; she +glanced shyly at William; she captivated Mr. Arkell's heart; she caused +Mrs. Arkell completely to forget the few words concerning Betsey which +had so jarred upon her ear; and before that tea-drinking was over, they +were all ready to fall in love with her. All, save one.</p> + +<p>Then she went round the room, a candle in her hand, and looked at the +pictures; she freely said which of them she liked best; she sat down to +the piano, unasked, and played a short, striking piece from memory. They +asked her if she could sing; she answered by breaking into the charming +old song "Robin Adair;" it was one of William Arkell's favourites, and +he stood by enraptured, half bewildered with this pleasant inroad on +their quiet routine of existence.</p> + +<p>"You play, I am sure," she suddenly said to him.</p> + +<p>He had no wish to deny it, and took his flute from its case. He was a +finished player. It is an instrument very nearly forgotten now, but it +never would have been forgotten had its players managed it as did +William Arkell. They began trying duets together, and the evening passed +insensibly. William loved music passionately, and could hardly tear +himself away from it to run with Mildred home.</p> + +<p>"Well, Mildred, and how do you like her?" was Mrs. Dan's first question.</p> + +<p>"I—I can hardly tell," was the hesitating answer.</p> + +<p>"Not tell!" repeated Mrs. Dan; "you have surely found out whether she is +pleasant or disagreeable?"</p> + +<p>"She is very pretty, and her manners are perfectly charming. +But—still——"</p> + +<p>"Still, what?" said Mrs. Dan, wondering.</p> + +<p>"Well, mother—but you know I never like to speak ill of anyone—there +is something in her that strikes me as not being <i>true</i>."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<h3>ROBERT CARR'S REQUEST.</h3> + + +<p>The time went on. The month for which Charlotte Travice had been invited +had lengthened itself into nearly three, and December had come in.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dan Arkell (wholly despising Mildred's acknowledged impression of +the new visitor, and treating her to a sharp lecture for entertaining +it) had made a call on Miss Travice the following morning, and offered +Mildred's services as a companion to her. But in a very short time +Mildred found she was not wanted. William was preferred. <i>He</i> was the +young lady's companion, and nothing loth so to be; and his visits to +Mildred's house, formerly so frequent, became rare almost as those of +angels. It was Charlotte Travice now. She went out with him in the +carriage; she was his partner in the dance; and the breathings on the +flute grew into strains of love. Worse than all to Mildred—more hard to +bear—William would laugh at the satire the London lady was pleased to +tilt at her. It is true Mildred had no great pretension to beauty; not +half as much as Charlotte; but William had found it enough before. In +figure and manners Mildred was essentially a lady; and her face, with +its soft brown eyes and its sweet expression, was not an unattractive +one. It cannot be denied that a sore feeling arose in Mildred's heart, +though not yet did she guess at the full calamity looming for that heart +in the distance. She saw at present only the temporary annoyance; that +this gaudy, handsome, off-hand stranger had come to ridicule, rival, and +for the time supplant her. But she thought, then, it was but for the +time; and she somewhat ungraciously longed for the day when the young +lady should wing her flight back to London.</p> + +<p>That expression we sometimes treat a young child to, when a second comes +to supplant it, that "its nose is put out of joint," might decidedly +have been now applied to Mildred. Charlotte Travice took her place in +all ways. In the winter evening visiting—staid, old-fashioned, +respectable visiting, which met at six o'clock and separated at +midnight—Mildred was accustomed to accompany her uncle and aunt. Mrs. +Dan Arkell's visiting days were over; Peter, buried in his books, had +never had any; and it had become quite a regular thing for Mildred to go +with Mr. and Mrs. Arkell and William. They always drove round and +called for her, leaving her at home on their return; and Mildred was +generally indebted to her aunt for her pretty evening dresses—that lady +putting forth as an excuse the plea that she should dislike to take out +anyone ill-dressed. It was all altered now. Flies—as everybody +knows—will hold but four, and there was no longer room for Mildred: +Miss Travice occupied her place. Once or twice, when the winter parties +were commencing, the fly came round as usual, and William walked; but +Mildred, exceedingly tenacious of anything like intrusion, wholly +declined this for the future, and refused the invitations, or went on +foot, well cloaked, and escorted by Peter. William remonstrated, telling +Mildred she was growing obstinate. Mildred answered that she would go +out with them again when their visitor had returned to London.</p> + +<p>But the visitor seemed in no hurry to return. She made a faint sort of +pleading speech one day, that really she ought to go back for Christmas; +she was sure Mr. and Mrs. Arkell must be tired of her: just one of those +little pseudo moves to go, which, in politeness, cannot be accepted. +Neither was it by Mr. and Mrs. Arkell: had the young lady remained with +them a twelvemonth, in their proud and stately courtesy they would have +pressed her to stay on longer. Mrs. Arkell had once or twice spoken of +the primary object of her coming—the looking out for some desirable +situation for her; but Miss Travice appeared to have changed her mind. +She thought now she should not like to be in a country school, she said; +but would get something in London on her return.</p> + +<p>Mildred, naturally clear-sighted, felt convinced that Miss Travice was +playing a part; that she was incessantly <i>labouring</i> to ingratiate +herself into the good opinion of Mr. and Mrs. Arkell, and especially +into that of William. "Oh, that they could see her as she really is!" +thought Mildred; "false and false!" And Miss Travice took out her +recreation tilting lance-shafts at Mildred.</p> + +<p>"How is it you never learned music, Miss Arkell?" she was pleased to +inquire one day, as she finished a brilliant piece, and gave herself a +whirl round on the music-stool to speak.</p> + +<p>"I can't tell," replied Mildred; "I did not learn it."</p> + +<p>"Neither did you learn drawing?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's odd, isn't it? Mr. and Mrs. Dan Arkell must have been +rather neglectful of you."</p> + +<p>"I suppose they thought I should do as well without accomplishments as +with them," was the composed answer. "To tell you the truth, Miss +Travice, I dare say I shall."</p> + +<p>"But everybody is accomplished now—at least, ladies are. I was +surprised, I must confess, to find William Arkell a proficient in such +things, for men rarely learn them. I wonder they did not have you taught +music, if only to play with him. He has to put up with a stranger, you +see—poor me."</p> + +<p>Mildred's cheek burnt. "I have <i>listened</i> to him," she said; "hitherto +he has found that sort of help enough, and liked it."</p> + +<p>"He is very attractive," resumed Charlotte, throwing her bright eyes +full at Mildred, a saucy expression in their depths; "don't you find him +so?"</p> + +<p>"I think you do," was Mildred's quiet answer.</p> + +<p>"Of course I do. Haven't I just said it? And so, I dare say, do a great +many others. Yesterday evening—by the way, you ought to have been here +yesterday evening."</p> + +<p>"Why ought I?"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Arkell meant to send for you, and told William to go; I heard her. +He forgot it; and then it grew too late."</p> + +<p>Mildred did not raise her eyes from her work. She was hemming a +shirt-frill of curiously fine cambric—Mr. Arkell, behind the taste of +his day, wore shirt-frills still. Mrs. Arkell rarely did any plain +sewing herself; what her maid-servants did not do, was consigned to +Mildred.</p> + +<p>"Do you <i>like</i> work?" inquired Miss Charlotte, watching her nimble +fingers, and quitting abruptly the former subject.</p> + +<p>"Very much indeed."</p> + +<p>Charlotte shrugged her shoulders with a spice of contempt. "I hate it; I +once tried to make a tray-cloth, but it came out a bag; and mamma never +gave me anything more."</p> + +<p>"Who did the sewing at your house?"</p> + +<p>"Betsey, of course. Mamma also used to do some, and groan over it like +anything. I think ladies never ought——"</p> + +<p>What Charlotte Travice was about to say ladies ought not to do was +interrupted by the entrance of William. He had not been indoors since +the early dinner, and looked pleased to see Mildred, who had come by +invitation to spend a long afternoon.</p> + +<p>"Which of you will go out with me?" he asked, somewhat abruptly; and his +mother came into the room as he was speaking.</p> + +<p>"Out where?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"My father has a little matter of business at Purford to-day, and is +sending me to transact it. It is only a message, and won't take me two +minutes to deliver; but it is a private one, and must be spoken either +by himself or me. I said I'd go if Charlotte would accompany me," he +added, in his half-laughing, half-independent manner. "I did not know +Mildred was here."</p> + +<p>"And you come in and ask which of them will go," said Mrs. Arkell. "I +think it must be Mildred. Charlotte, my dear, you will not feel offended +if I say it is her turn? I like to be just and fair. It is you who have +had all the drives lately; Mildred has had none."</p> + +<p>Charlotte did not answer. Mildred felt that it <i>was</i> her turn, and +involuntarily glanced at William; but he said not a word to second his +mother's wish. The sensitive blood flew to her face, and she spoke, she +hardly knew what—something to the effect that she would not deprive +Miss Travice of the drive. William spoke then.</p> + +<p>"But if you would like to go, Mildred? It <i>is</i> a long time since you +went out, now I come to think of it."</p> + +<p><i>Now I come to think of it!</i> Oh, how the admission of indifference +chilled her heart!</p> + +<p>"Not this afternoon, thank you," she said, with decision. "I will go +with you another opportunity."</p> + +<p>"Then, Charlotte, you must make haste, or we shall not be home by dark," +he said. "Philip is bringing the carriage round."</p> + +<p>Mildred stood at the window and watched the departure, hating herself +all the while for standing there; but there was fascination in the +sight, in the midst of its pain. Would she win the prize, this new +stranger? Mildred shivered outwardly and inwardly as the question +crossed her mind.</p> + +<p>She saw them drive away—Charlotte in her new violet bonnet, with its +inward trimming of pretty pink ribbons, her prettier face raised to +his—William bending down and speaking animatedly—sober old Philip, who +had been in the family ten years, behind them. Purford was a little +place, about five miles off, on the road to Eckford; and they might be +back by dusk, if they chose. It was not much past three now, and the +winter afternoon was fine.</p> + +<p><i>Would</i> she win him? Mildred returned to her seat, and worked on at the +cambric frill, the question running riot in her brain. A conviction +within her—a prevision, if you will—whispered that it would be a +marriage particularly distasteful to Mr. and Mrs. Arkell. <i>They</i> did not +yet dream of it, and would have been thankful to have their eyes opened +to the danger. Mildred knew this; she saw it as clearly as though she +had read it in a book; but she was too honourable to breathe it to them.</p> + +<p>When the frill was finished, she folded it up, and told her aunt she +would take her departure; Peter had talked of going out after banking +hours with a friend, and her mother, who was not well, would be alone. +Mrs. Arkell made but a faint resistance to this: Mildred came and went +pretty much as she liked.</p> + +<p>Peter, however, was at home when she got there, sitting over the fire in +the dusk, in a thoughtful mood. On two afternoons in the week, Tuesdays +and Thursdays, the bank closed at four; this was Thursday, and Peter had +come straight home. Mildred took her seat at the table, against five +o'clock should strike, the signal for their young maid-servant to bring +the tea-tray in. It was quite dark outside, and the room was only +lighted by the fire.</p> + +<p>"What are you thinking of, Peter?" Mrs. Dan presently broke the silence +by asking.</p> + +<p>Peter took his chin from his hand where it had been resting, and his +eyes from the fire, and turned his head to his mother. "I was thinking +of a proposal Colonel Dewsbury made to me to-day," he answered; +"deliberating upon it, in fact, and I think I have decided."</p> + +<p>This was something like Greek to Mrs. Dan; even Mildred was sufficiently +aroused from her thoughts to turn to him in surprise.</p> + +<p>"The colonel wants me to go to his house in an evening, mother, and read +the classics with his eldest son."</p> + +<p>"Peter!"</p> + +<p>"For about three hours, he says, from six till nine. He will give me a +guinea a week."</p> + +<p>"But only think how you slave and fag all day at that bank," said Mrs. +Dan, who in her ailing old age thought work (as did Charlotte Travice) +the greatest evil of life.</p> + +<p>"And only think what a many additional comforts a guinea a week could +purchase for you, mother," cried Peter in his affection; "our house +would be set up in riches then."</p> + +<p>"Peter, my dear," she gravely said, "I do not suppose I shall be here +very long; and for comforts, I have as many as I require."</p> + +<p>"Well, put it down to my own score, if you like," said Peter, with as +much of a smile as he ever attempted; "I shall find the guinea useful."</p> + +<p>"But if you thus dispose of your evenings, what time should you have for +your books?" resumed Mrs. Arkell.</p> + +<p>"I'll make that; I get up early, you know; and in one sense of the word, +I shall be at my books all these three hours."</p> + +<p>"How came Colonel Dewsbury to propose it to you?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I met him as I was returning to the bank after dinner, +and he began saying he was trying to find some one who would come in +and read with Arthur. Presently he said, 'I wish you would come +yourself, Mr. Arkell.' And after a little more talk I told him I would +consider of it."</p> + +<p>"I thought Arthur Dewsbury was to go into the army," remarked Mrs. Dan, +not yet reconciled to the thing. "Soldiers don't want to be so very +proficient in the classics."</p> + +<p>"Not Arthur; he is intended for the church: the second son will be +brought up for the army. Mildred, what do you say—should you take it if +you were me?"</p> + +<p>"I should," replied Mildred; "it appears to me to be a wonderfully easy +way of earning money. But it is for your own decision entirely, Peter: +do not let my opinion sway you."</p> + +<p>"I think I had decided before I hung up my top-coat and hat on the peg +at the bank," answered Peter. "Yes, I shall take it; I can but resign it +later, you know, mother, if I find it doesn't work well."</p> + +<p>The cathedral clock, so close to them, was chiming the quarters, and the +first stroke of five boomed out; Peter rose and stretched himself with a +relieved air. "It's always a weight off my mind when I get any knotty +point decided," quoth he, rather simply; and in truth Peter was not good +for much, apart from his Latin and Greek.</p> + +<p>At the same moment, when that melodious college clock was striking, +William Arkell was driving in at his own gates. He might have made more +haste had he so chosen; and Mr. Arkell had charged him to be home +"before dark;" but William had not hurried himself.</p> + +<p>He was driving in quickly now, and stopped before the house-door. Philip +left his seat and went to the horse's head, and William assisted out +Miss Travice.</p> + +<p>"Have you enjoyed your drive, Charlotte?" he whispered, retaining her +hand in his, longer than he need have done; and there was a tenderness +in his tone that might have told a tale, had anyone been there to read +it.</p> + +<p>"Oh! very, very much," she answered, in the soft, sweet, earnest voice +she had grown to use when alone with William. "Stolen pleasures are +always sweetest."</p> + +<p>"Stolen pleasures?"</p> + +<p>"<i>This</i> was a stolen one. You know I usurped the place of your cousin +Mildred. She ought to have come."</p> + +<p>"No such thing, Charlotte. She can go anytime."</p> + +<p>"I felt quite sorry for her. I am apt to think those poor seamstresses +require so much air. They——"</p> + +<p>"Those what?" cried out William—and Miss Charlotte Travice immediately +knew by the tone, that she had ventured on untenable ground. "Are you +speaking of my cousin Mildred?"</p> + +<p>"She is so kind and good; hemming cambric frills, and stitching +wristbands! I wish I could do it. I was always the most wretched little +dunce at plain sewing, and could never be taught it. My sister on the +contrary——"</p> + +<p>"I want to speak a word to you, Arkell."</p> + +<p>William turned hastily, wondering who was at his elbow. At that moment +the hall-door was thrown open, and the rays of the lamp shone forth, +revealing the features of Robert Carr. Charlotte ran indoors, +vouchsafing no greeting. She had taken a dislike to Robert Carr. He was +free of speech, and the last time he and the young lady met, he had said +something in her ear for which she would be certain to hate him for his +life—"How was the angling going on? Had Bill Arkell bit yet?"</p> + +<p>"Hallo!" exclaimed William as he recognised him. "I thought you were in +London! I heard you went up on Tuesday night!"</p> + +<p>"And came down last night. I want you to do me a favour, Arkell."</p> + +<p>He put his arm within William's as he spoke, and began pacing the yard. +William thought his manner unusual. There seemed a nervous restlessness +about it—if he could have fancied such a thing of Robert Carr. William +waited for him to speak.</p> + +<p>"I have had an awful row with the governor to-day," he began at length. +"I don't intend to stand it much longer."</p> + +<p>"What about?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! the old story—my extravagance. He was angry at my running up to +town for a day, and called it waste of money and waste of time. So +unreasonable of him, you know. Had I stayed a month, he'd not have made +half the row."</p> + +<p>"It does seem like waste, to go so far for only a day," said William, +"unless you have business. That is a different thing."</p> + +<p>"Well, I had business. I wanted to see a fellow there. You never heard +any one make such a row about nothing. I have the greatest mind in the +world to shake off the yoke altogether, and start for myself in life."</p> + +<p>William could not help laughing. "<i>You</i> start?"</p> + +<p>"You think I couldn't? If I do, rely upon it I succeed. I'm nearly sick +of knocking about. I declare I'd rather sweep a crossing, and get ten +shillings a week and keep myself upon it, than I'd continue to have my +life bothered out by him. I shall tell him so one of these first fine +days if he doesn't let me alone. Why doesn't he!"</p> + +<p>"I suppose the fact is you continue to provoke him," remarked William.</p> + +<p>"What about?" was the fierce rejoinder.</p> + +<p>"Oh! you know, Carr. What I spoke to you of, before—though it is not +any business of mine. Why don't you drop it?"</p> + +<p>"Because I don't choose," returned Robert Carr, understanding the +allusion. "I declare, before Heaven, that there's no wrong in it, and I +don't choose to submit myself, abjectly, to the will of others. The +thing might have been dropped at first but for the opposition that was +raised. So long as fools continue that, I shall go there."</p> + +<p>"For the girl's own sake, you should drop it. I presume you can't intend +to marry her——"</p> + +<p>"Marry her!" scoffingly interrupted Robert Carr.</p> + +<p>"Just so. But she is a respectable girl, and——"</p> + +<p>"I'd knock any man down that dared to say she wasn't," said Robert, +quietly.</p> + +<p>"But don't you know that the very fact of your continuing to go there +must tend to damage her in public opinion? Edward Hughes must be foolish +to allow it."</p> + +<p>"Where's the wrong, or harm, of my going there?" demanded Robert, +condescending to argue the question. "I like the girl excessively; I +like talking to her. She has been as well reared as I have."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," returned William. "You can't separate her from her family; +from what she is. I say you ought to drop it."</p> + +<p>"What on earth has made you so squeamish all on a sudden? The society of +that fine London lady, Miss Charlotte Travice?"</p> + +<p>They were passing in a ray of light at the moment, thrown across the +yard from one of the carriage lamps. Philip had left the carriage and +the lamps outside, and was in the stable with the horse. Robert Carr saw +his companion's face light up at the allusion, but William replied, +without any symptom of anger—</p> + +<p>"I will tell you what, people are beginning to talk of it from one end +of the town to the other. I don't think you have any right to bring the +scandal upon her. You bring it <i>needlessly</i>, as you yourself admit. A +girl's good name, once lost, is not easy to regain, although it may be +lost unjustly."</p> + +<p>"I told you months ago, that there was nothing in it."</p> + +<p>"I believe you; I believe you still. But now that the town has taken the +matter up, and is passing its opinion upon it, I say that for the young +girl's sake you should put a stop to it, and let the acquaintance +cease."</p> + +<p>"The town may be smothered for all I care—and serve it right!" was +Robert Carr's reply. "But look here, Arkell, I didn't come to raise up +this discussion, I have no time for it; and you may just take one fact +into your note-book—that all you can say, though you talked till +doomsday, would not alter my line of conduct by a hair's breadth. I came +to ask you a favour."</p> + +<p>"What is it?"</p> + +<p>"Will you lend me the carriage for an hour or so to-morrow morning? It's +to go to Purford."</p> + +<p>"To Purford! Why that's where I have just been. I dare say you may have +it. I will ask my father."</p> + +<p>"But that is just what I don't want you to ask. I have to go there on a +little private business of my own, and I don't wish it known that I have +gone."</p> + +<p>William hesitated. Only son, and indulged son though he was, he had +never gone the length of lending out his father's carriage without +permission; and he very much disliked the idea of doing so now. Robert +Carr did not give him much time for consideration.</p> + +<p>"You will be rendering me a service which I shan't forget, Arkell. If +Philip will drive me over——"</p> + +<p>"Philip! Do you want Philip with you?"</p> + +<p>"Philip must go to bring back the carriage; I shan't return until the +afternoon. Why, he will be there and home again almost before Mr. +Arkell's up. I must go pretty early."</p> + +<p>This, the going of Philip, appeared to simplify the matter greatly. To +allow Robert Carr or anyone else to take the carriage off for a day +without permission was one thing; for Philip to drive him to Purford +early in the morning, and be back again directly, was another. "I think +you may have it, Carr," he said; "but if my father misses the carriage +and Philip—as he is sure to do—and asks where they are——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you may tell him then," interrupted Robert Carr.</p> + +<p>"Very well. Shall Philip bring the carriage to your house?"</p> + +<p>"No need of that; I'll come here and get up. I'd better speak to Philip +myself. Don't stay out any longer in the cold, Arkell. Good night, and +thank you."</p> + +<p>William went indoors; and Robert Carr sought Philip in the stable to +give him his instructions for the morning.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<h3>THE FLIGHT.</h3> + + +<p>In a quiet and remote street of the city was situated the house of Mr. +Carr. Robert Carr walked towards it, with a moody look upon his face, +after quitting William Arkell—a plain, dull-looking house, as seen from +the street, presenting little in aspect beyond a dead wall, for most of +the windows looked the other way, or on to the side garden—but a +perfect bijou of a house inside, all on a small scale, with stained +glass illuminating the hall, and statues and pictures ornamenting the +rooms. The fretwork in the hall, and the devices on the windows—bright +in colours when the sun shone through them, but otherwise dark and +sombre—imparted the idea of a miniature chapel, when seen by a stranger +for the first time. Old Mr. Carr had spent much time and money on his +house, and was proud of it.</p> + +<p>Robert swung himself in at the outer door in the wall, and then in at +the hall door, which he shut with a bang; things, in fact, had arrived +at a pitch of discomfort between him and his father hardly bearable by +the temper of either. Neither would give way—neither would conciliate +the other in the smallest degree. The disputes—arising, in the first +place, from Robert's extravagance and unsteady habits—had continued for +some years now; but during the past two or three months they had +increased both in frequency and violence. Robert was idle—Robert +spent—Robert did hardly anything that he ought to do, as member of a +respectable community; these complaints made the basis of the foundation +in all the disputes. But graver sins, in old Mr. Carr's eyes, of some +special nature or other, cropped up to the surface from time to time. +Latterly, the grievance had been this acquaintance of Robert's with +Martha Ann Hughes; and it may really be questioned whether Robert, in +his obstinate spirit, did not continue it on purpose to vex his father.</p> + +<p>On the Tuesday (this was Thursday, remember) Robert had been, to use his +father's expression, "swinging about all day"—meaning that Mr. Robert +had passed it out of doors, nobody knew where, only going in to his +meals. Their hours were early—as indeed was the general custom at +Westerbury, and elsewhere, also, in those days—dinner at one o'clock, +tea at five. About half-past four, on the Tuesday, Robert had gone in, +ordered himself some tea made at once, and something to eat with it, and +then went out again, taking a warm travelling rug, and telling the +servant to say he was gone to London. And he proceeded to the +coach-office, took his seat in the mail, then on the point of starting, +and departed.</p> + +<p>Mr. Carr came in from the manufactory at five to <i>his</i> tea, and received +the message—"Mr. Robert had gone to London by the mail." He was very +wroth. It was an independent, off-hand mode of action, calculated to +displease most fathers; but it was not the first time, by several, that +Robert had been guilty of it. "He's gone off to spend that money," cried +Mr. Carr, savagely; "and he won't come back until there's not a farthing +of it left." Mr. Carr alluded to a hundred pounds which Robert had +received not many days previously. A twelvemonth before, an uncle of Mr. +Carr's and of Squire Carr's had died, leaving Robert Carr a legacy of a +hundred pounds, and the same sum <i>between</i> the two sons of Mr. John +Carr. This, of course, was productive of a great deal of heart-burning +and jealousy in the Squire's family, that Robert should have the most; +but it has nothing to do with our history just now. At the expiration of +a year from the time of the death, the legacies were paid, and Robert +had been in possession of his since the previous Saturday.</p> + +<p>"He's gone to spend the money," Mr. Carr repeated. No very far-fetched +conclusion; and Mr. Carr got over his wrath, or bottled it up, in the +best way he could. He certainly did not expect Robert back again for a +month at least; very considerably astonished, therefore, was he, to find +Mr. Robert arrive back by the mail that took him, and walk coolly in to +breakfast on the Thursday morning, having only stayed a few hours in +London. A little light skirmishing took place then—not much. Robert +said he had been to London to see a friend, and, having seen him, came +back again; and that was all Mr. Carr could obtain. For a wonder, Robert +spent the morning in the manufactory, but not in the presence of his +father, who was shut in his private room. At dinner they met again, and +before the meal was over the quarrel was renewed. It grew to a serious +height. The old housekeeper, who had been in her place ever since the +death of Mrs. Carr, years before, grew frightened, and stole to the door +with trembling limbs and white lips. The clock struck three before it +was over; and, in one sense, it was not over then. Robert burst out of +the room in its very midst, an oath upon his lips, and strode into the +street. Where he passed the time that afternoon until five o'clock +could never be traced. Mr. Carr endeavoured afterwards to ascertain, and +could not. Mr. Carr's opinion, to his dying day, was that he passed it +at Edward Hughes's house; but Miss Hughes positively denied it, and she +was by nature truthful. She stated freely that Robert Carr had called in +that afternoon, and was for a few minutes alone with Martha Ann, she +herself being upstairs at the time; but he left again directly. At five +o'clock, as we have seen, he was with William Arkell, and then he went +straight home.</p> + +<p>Mr. Carr had nearly finished tea when he got in. The meal was taken in a +small, snug room, at the end of the hall—a <i>round</i> room, whose windows +opened upon the garden in summer, but were closed in now behind their +crimson-velvet curtains.</p> + +<p>Robert sat down in silence. He looked in the tea-pot, saw that it was +nearly empty, and rang the bell to order fresh tea to be made for him. +Whether the little assumption of authority (though it was no unusual +circumstance) was distasteful to Mr. Carr, and put him further out of +temper, cannot be told; one thing is certain, that he—he, the +father—took up again the quarrel.</p> + +<p>It was not a seemly one. Less loud than it had been at dinner-time, the +tones on either side were graver, the anger more real and compressed. +It seemed too deep for noise. An hour or so of this unhappy state of +things, during which many, many bitter words were said by both, and then +Robert rose.</p> + +<p>"Remember," he said to his father, in a low, firm tone, "if I am driven +from my home and my native place by this conduct of yours, I swear that +I will never come back to it."</p> + +<p>"And do you hear me swear," retorted Mr. Carr, in the same quiet, +concentrated voice of passion, "if you marry that girl, Martha Ann +Hughes, not one penny of my money or property shall you ever inherit; +and you know that I will keep my word."</p> + +<p>"I never said I had any thought of marrying her."</p> + +<p>"As you please. Marry her; and I swear that I will leave all I possess +away from you and yours. Before Heaven, I will keep my oath!"</p> + +<p>And now we must go to the following morning, to the house of Mr. Arkell. +These little details may appear trivial to the reader, but they bear +their significance, as you will find hereafter; and they are remembered +and talked of in Westerbury to this day.</p> + +<p>The breakfast hour at Mr. Arkell's was nine o'clock. Some little time +previous to it, William was descending from his room, when in passing +his father's door he heard himself called to. Mr. Arkell appeared at his +door in the process of dressing.</p> + +<p>"William, I heard the carriage go out a short while ago. Have you sent +it anywhere?"</p> + +<p>Just the question that William had anticipated would be put. Being +released now from his promise, he told the truth.</p> + +<p>"Over to Purford! Why could he not have gone by the coach?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know I'm sure," said William; and the same thought had occurred +to himself. "I did not like to promise him without speaking to you, hut +he made such a favour of it, and—I thought you would excuse it. I fancy +he is on worse terms than ever with his father, and feared you might +tell him."</p> + +<p>"He need not have feared that: what should I tell him for?" was the +rejoinder of Mr. Arkell as he retreated within his room.</p> + +<p>Now it should have been mentioned that Mary Hughes was engaged to work +that day at Mr. Arkell's. It was regarded in the town as a singular +coincidence; and, perhaps, what made it more singular was the fact that +Mrs. Arkell's maid, Tring (who had lived in the house ever since William +was a baby, and was the only female servant kept besides the cook), had +arranged with Mary Hughes that she should go <i>before</i> the usual hour, +eight o'clock, so as to give a long day. The fact was, Mary Hughes's +work this day was for the maids. It was Mrs. Arkell's custom to give +them a gown apiece for Christmas, and the two gowns were this day to be +cut out and as much done to them as the dressmaker, and Tring at odd +moments, could accomplish. Mary Hughes, naturally obliging, and anxious +to stand well with the servants in one of her best places, as Mrs. +Arkell's was, arrived at half-past seven, and was immediately set to +work in what Tring called her pantry—a comfortable little boarded room, +a sort of offshoot of the kitchen.</p> + +<p>Mr. Arkell spoke again at breakfast of this expedition of Robert Carr's. +It wore to him a curious sound—first, that Robert could not have gone +by the coach, which left Westerbury about the same hour, and had to pass +through Purford on its way to London; and, secondly, why the matter of +borrowing the carriage need have been kept from him. William could not +enlighten him on either point, and the subject dropped.</p> + +<p>Breakfast was over, and Mr. Arkell had gone into the manufactory, when +the carriage came back. Philip drove at once to the stables, and William +went out.</p> + +<p>"Well," said he, "so you are back!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>Philip began to unharness the horse as he spoke, and did not look up. +William, who knew the man and his ways well, thought there was something +behind to tell.</p> + +<p>"You have driven the horse fast, Philip."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Carr did, sir; it was he who drove. I never sat in front at all +after we got to the three-cornered field. He drove fast, to get on +pretty far before the coach came up."</p> + +<p>"What coach?" asked William.</p> + +<p>"The London coach, sir. He's gone to London in it."</p> + +<p>"What! did he take it at Purford?"</p> + +<p>"We didn't go to Purford at all, Mr. William. He ain't gone alone, +neither."</p> + +<p>"Philip, what do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Miss Hughes—the young one—is gone with him."</p> + +<p>"No!" exclaimed William.</p> + +<p>"It was this way, sir," began the man, disposing himself to relate the +narrative consecutively. "I had got the carriage ready and waiting by a +few minutes after eight, as he ordered me; but it was close upon +half-past before he came, and we started. 'I'll drive, Philip,' says he; +so I got in beside him. Just after we had cleared the houses, he pulls +up before the three-cornered field, saying he was waiting for a friend, +and I saw the little Miss Hughes come scuttering across it—it's a short +cut from their house, you know, Mr. William—with a bit of a brown-paper +parcel in her hand. 'You'll sit behind, Philip,' he says; and before I'd +got over my astonishment, we was bowling along—she in front with him, +and me behind. Just on this side Purford he pulled up again, and +waited—it was in that hollow of the road near the duck-pond—and in two +minutes up came the London coach. It came gently up to us, stopping by +degrees; it was expecting him—as I could hear by the guard's talk, a +saying he hoped he'd not waited long—and they got into it, and I +suppose he's gone to London. Mr. William, I don't think the master will +like this?"</p> + +<p>William did not like it, either; it was an advantage that Robert Carr +had no right to take. Had the girl forgotten herself at last, and gone +off with him? Too surely he felt that such must be the case. He saw how +it was. They had not chosen to get into the coach at Westerbury, fearing +the scandal—fearing, perhaps, prevention; and Robert Carr had made use +of this <i>ruse</i> to get her away. That there would be enough scandal in +Westerbury, as it was, he knew—that Mr. Arkell would be indignant, he +also knew; and he himself would come in for a large portion of the +blame.</p> + +<p>"Philip," he said, awaking from his reverie, "did the girl appear to go +willingly?"</p> + +<p>"Willingly enough, sir, for the matter of that, for she came up of her +own accord—but she was crying sadly."</p> + +<p>"Crying, was she?"</p> + +<p>"Crying dreadfully all the way across the field as she came up, and +along in this carriage, and when she got into the coach. He tried to +persuade and soothe her; but it wasn't of any good. She hid her face +with her veil as well as she could, that the outside passengers mightn't +see her state as she got in; and there was none o' the inside."</p> + +<p>William Arkell bit his lip. "Carr had no business to play me such a +turn," he said aloud, in his vexation.</p> + +<p>"Mr. William, if I had known what he was up to last night, I should just +have told the master, in spite of the half-sovereign he gave me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, he gave you one, did he?"</p> + +<p>"He gave me one last evening, and he gave me another this morning; but, +for all that, I should have told, if I'd thought she was to be along of +him. I know what the master is, and I know what he'll feel about the +business. And the two other Miss Hughes's are industrious, respectable +young women, and it's a shabby thing for Mr. Carr to go and do. A fine +way they'll be in when they find the young one gone!"</p> + +<p>"They can't have known of it, I suppose," observed William, slowly, for +a doubt had crossed his mind whether Robert could be taking the young +girl away to marry her.</p> + +<p>"No, that they don't, sir," impulsively cried the man. "I heard him ask +her whether she had got away without being seen; and she said she had, +as well as she could speak for her tears."</p> + +<p>William Arkell, feeling more annoyed than he had ever felt in his life, +not only on his own score, but on that of the girl herself, turned +towards the manufactory with a slow step. The most obvious course +now—indeed, the only honourable one—was to tell his father what he had +just heard. He winced at having it to do, and a feeling of relief came +over him, when he found that Mr. Arkell was engaged in his private room +with some gentlemen, and he could not go in. There was to be also a +further respite: for when they left Mr. Arkell went out with them.</p> + +<p>William did not see him again until they met at dinner, for Mr. Arkell +only returned just in time for it. Charlotte Travice was rallying +William for being "absent," "silent," asking him where his thoughts had +gone; but he did not enlighten her.</p> + +<p>Barely had they sat down to dinner when Marmaduke Carr arrived—pale, +fierce, and deeply agitated. Ignoring ceremony, he pushed past Tring +into the dining-room, and stood before them, his lips apart, his words +coming from them in jerks. Mr. Arkell rose from his seat in +consternation.</p> + +<p>"George Arkell, you and I have been friends since we were boys together. +I had thought if there was one man in the whole town whom I could have +depended on, it was you. Is this well done?"</p> + +<p>"Why, what has happened?" exclaimed Mr. Arkell, rather in doubt whether +Marmaduke Carr had suddenly gone deranged. "Is what well done?"</p> + +<p>"So! it is you who have helped off my son."</p> + +<p>"Helped him where? What is the matter, Carr?"</p> + +<p>"Helped him <i>where</i>?" roared Mr. Carr, "why, on his road to London. He +is gone off there with that—that——" Mr. Carr caught timely sight of +the alarmed faces of Mrs. Arkell and Miss Travice, and moderated his +tone—"that Hughes girl. You pretend to ask me where he's gone, when it +was you sent him!—conveyed him half-way on his road."</p> + +<p>"I protest I do not know what you mean," cried Mr. Arkell.</p> + +<p>"Not know! Did your chaise and your servant take him and that girl to +Purford, or did they not?"</p> + +<p>For reply, Mr. Arkell cast a look on his son—a look of stern inquiry. +William could only speak the truth now, and Mr. Arkell's brow darkened +as he listened.</p> + +<p>"And you knew of this—this elopement?"</p> + +<p>"No, on my word of honour. If I had known of it, I should not have lent +him the carriage. Robert"—he raised his eyes to Mr. Carr's—"was not +justified in playing me this trick."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe a word of your denial," roughly spoke Mr. Carr, in his +anger; "you and he planned this escape together; you were in league with +him."</p> + +<p>It is useless to contend with an angry man, and William calmly turned to +his father: "All I know of the matter, sir, I told you this morning. I +never suspected anything amiss until Philip came back with the carriage +and related what had occurred."</p> + +<p>George Arkell knew that his son's veracity might be depended on, +nevertheless he felt terribly annoyed at being drawn into the affair. +Mrs. Arkell did not mend the matter when she inquired whither Robert had +gone.</p> + +<p>Mr. Carr answered intemperately, speaking out the truth more broadly +than he need have done: his scamp of a son and the shameless Hughes +girl had taken flight together.</p> + +<p>Tring, who had stood aghast during the short colloquy, not at first +understanding what was amiss, stole away to her pantry, where the +dressmaking was going on. Tring sunk down in a chair at once, and +regarded the poor seamstress with open mouth and eyes, in which pity and +horror struggled together. Tring was of the respectable school, and +really thought death would be a light calamity in comparison with such a +flight.</p> + +<p>"I have been obliged to cut your sleeves a little shorter than Hannah's, +for the stuff ran short; but I'll put a deeper cuff, so you won't mind," +said Miss Mary Hughes.</p> + +<p>Surprised at receiving no answer, she looked up, and saw the expression +on Tring's face. "Oh, Mary Hughes!"</p> + +<p>There was so genuine an amount of pity in the tone, of some unnamed +dread in the look, that Mary Hughes dropped her needle in alarm. "Is +anybody took ill?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Not that, not that," answered Tring, subduing her voice to a whisper, +and leaning forward to speak; "your sister, Martha Ann—I can't tell it +you."</p> + +<p>"What of her?" gasped Mary Hughes, a dreadful prevision of the truth +rushing over her heart, and turning it to sickness.</p> + +<p>"She has gone away with Mr. Robert Carr."</p> + +<p>Mary Hughes, not of a strong nature, became faint. Tring got some water +for her, and related to her as much as she had heard.</p> + +<p>"But how is it known that she's gone? How did Mr. Carr learn it?" asked +the poor young woman.</p> + +<p>Tring could not tell how he learnt it. She gathered from the +conversation that it was known in the town; and Mr. William seemed to +know it.</p> + +<p>"You'll spare me while I run home for a minute, Tring," pleaded Mary +Hughes; "I can't live till I know the rights and the wrongs of it. I +can't believe that she'd do such a thing. I'll be back as soon as I +can."</p> + +<p>"Go, and welcome," cried Tring, in her sympathy; "don't hurry back. +What's our gowns by the side of this dreadful shock? Poor Martha Ann!"</p> + +<p>"I can't believe she's gone; I can't believe it," reiterated the +dressmaker, as she hastily flung on her cloak and bonnet; "there was +never a modester girl lived than Martha Ann. It's some dreadful untruth +that has got about."</p> + +<p>The way in which Mr. Carr had learnt it so soon was this—one of the +outside passengers of the coach, a young man of the name of Hart, had +been only going as far as Purford, where the coach dropped him. He +hurried over his errand there, and hurried back to Westerbury, big with +the importance of what he had seen, and burning to make it known. Taking +his course direct to Mr. Carr's, and only stopping to tell everybody he +met on the way, he found that gentleman at home, and electrified him +with the recital. From thence he ran to the house of Edward Hughes, and +found Miss Hughes in a sea of tears, and her brother pacing the rooms in +what Mr. Hart called a storm of passion. The young lady, it seems, had +been already missed, and one of the gossips to whom Mr. Hart had first +imparted his tale, had flown direct with it to the brother and sister.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you go after her?" asked Hart; "I'd follow her to the end of +the world if she was my sister. I'd take it out of him, too."</p> + +<p>Ah, it was easy to say, why don't you go after her? But there were no +telegraphs in those days, and there was not yet a rail from London to +Westerbury. Robert Carr and the girl were half-way to London by that +time; and the earliest conveyance that could be taken was the night +mail.</p> + +<p>"It's of no use," said Edward Hughes, moodily; "they have got too great +a start. Let her go, ungrateful chit! As she has made her bed, so must +she lie on it."</p> + +<p>Mary Hughes got back to Mrs. Arkell's: she had found it all too true. +Martha Ann had taken her opportunity to steal out of the house, and was +gone. Mary Hughes, in relating this, could not sneak for sobs.</p> + +<p>"My sister says she could be upon her Bible oath, if necessary, that at +twenty-five minutes past eight Martha Ann was still at home. She called +out something to her up the stairs, and Martha Ann answered her. She +must have crept down directly upon that, and got off, and run all the +way along the bank, and across the three-cornered field. She—she——" +the girl could not go on for sobs.</p> + +<p>Tring's eyes were full. "Is your sister much cut up?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Tring!"—and indeed the question seemed a bitter mockery to Mary +Hughes—"I'm sure Sophia has had her death-blow. What a thing it is that +I was engaged out to work to-day! If I had been at home, she might not +have got away unseen."</p> + +<p>Tring sighed. There was no consolation that she could offer.</p> + +<p>"I was always against the acquaintance," Mary Hughes resumed, between +her tears and sobs; "Sophia knows I was. I said more than once that even +if Mr. Robert Carr married her, they'd never be equals. I'd have stopped +it if I could, but I've no voice beside Sophia's, and I couldn't stop +it. And now, of course, it's all over, and Martha Ann is lost; and she'd +a deal better have never been born."</p> + +<p>Nothing more satisfactory was heard or seen of the fugitives. They +stayed a short time in London, and then went abroad, it was understood, +to Holland. Those who wished well to the girl were in hopes that Robert +Carr married her in London, but there appeared no ground whatever for +the hope. Indeed, from certain circumstances that afterwards transpired, +it was quite evident he did not. Westerbury gradually recovered its +equanimity; but there are people living in it to this day who never have +believed, and never will believe, but that William Arkell was privy to +the flight.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<h3>A MISERABLE MISTAKE.</h3> + + +<p>The time again went on—went on to March—and still Charlotte Travice +lingered. It was some little while now that both Mr. and Mrs. Arkell had +come to the conclusion within their own minds that the young lady's +visit had lasted long enough, but they were of that courteous nature +that shrunk not only from hinting such a thing to her, but to each +other. She was made just as welcome as ever, and she appeared in no +hurry to hasten her departure.</p> + +<p>One afternoon Mildred, who had been out on an errand, was accosted by +her mother before she had well entered.</p> + +<p>"Whatever has made you so long, child?"</p> + +<p>"Have I been so long?" returned Mildred. "I had to go to two or three +shops before I could match the ribbon. I met Mary Pembroke, and she went +with me; but I walked fast."</p> + +<p>"It is past five."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it has struck. But I did not go out until four, mother."</p> + +<p>"Well, I suppose it is my impatience that has made me think you long," +acknowledged Mrs. Dan. "Sit down, Mildred; I wish to speak to you. Mrs. +George has been here."</p> + +<p>"Has she?" returned Mildred, somewhat apathetically; but she took a +chair, as she was told to do.</p> + +<p>"She came to talk to me about future prospects. And I am glad you were +out with that ribbon, Mildred, for our conversation was confidential."</p> + +<p>"About her prospects, mamma?" inquired Mildred, raising her mild dark +eyes.</p> + +<p>"Hers!" repeated Mrs. Dan. "Her prospects, like mine, will soon be +drawing to a close. Not that she's as old as I am by a good ten years. +She came to speak of yours, Mildred."</p> + +<p>Mildred made no rejoinder this time, but a faint colour arose to her +face.</p> + +<p>"Your Aunt George is very fond of you, Mildred."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Mildred, rather nervously; and Mrs. Dan paused before +she resumed.</p> + +<p>"I think you must have seen, child, for some time past, that we all +wanted you and William to make a match of it."</p> + +<p>The announcement was, perhaps, unnecessarily abrupt. The blush on +Mildred's face deepened to a glowing crimson.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. George never spoke out freely to me on the subject until this +afternoon, but her manner was enough to tell me that it was in their +minds. I saw it coming as plainly as I could see anything."</p> + +<p>Mildred made no remark. She had untied her bonnet, and began to play +nervously with the strings as they hung down on either side her neck.</p> + +<p>"But though I felt sure that it was in their minds," continued Mrs. Dan, +"though I saw the bent of William's inclinations—always bringing him +here to you—I never encouraged the feeling; I never forwarded it by so +much as the lifting of a finger. You must have seen, Mildred, that I did +not. In one sense of the word, you are not William's equal——"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dan momentarily arrested her words, the startled look of inquiry on +her daughter's face was so painful.</p> + +<p>"Do not misunderstand me, my dear. In point of station you and he are +the same, for the families are one. But William will be wealthy, and +William is accomplished; you are neither. In that point of view you may +be said not to be on an equality with him; and there's no doubt that +William Arkell might go a-wooing into families of higher pretension than +his own, and be successful. It may be, that these considerations have +withheld me and kept me neuter; but I have not—I repeat it, as I did +twice over to Mrs. George just now—I have not forwarded the matter by +so much as the lifting of a finger."</p> + +<p>Mildred knew that.</p> + +<p>"The gossiping town will, no doubt, cast ill-natured remarks upon me, +and say that I have angled for my attractive nephew, and caught him; but +my conscience stands clear upon the point before my Maker; and Mrs. +George knows that it does. They have come forward of themselves, +unsought by me; unsought, as I heartily believe, Mildred, by you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," was the eager, fervent answer.</p> + +<p>"No child of mine would be capable, as I trust, of secret, mean, +underhand dealing, whatever the prize in view. When I said this to Mrs. +George just now, she laughed at what she called my earnestness, and said +I had no need to defend Mildred, she knew Mildred just as well as I +did."</p> + +<p>Mildred's heart beat a trifle quicker as she listened. They were only +giving her her due.</p> + +<p>"But," resumed Mrs. Dan, "quiet and undemonstrative as you have been, +Mildred, your aunt has drawn the conclusion—lived in it, I may +say—that the proposal she made to-day would not be unacceptable to you. +I agreed with her, saying that such was my conviction. And let me tell +you, Mildred, that a more attractive and a bettor young man than William +Arkell does not live in Westerbury."</p> + +<p>Mildred silently assented to all in her heart. But she wondered what the +proposal was.</p> + +<p>"You are strangely silent, child. Should you have any objection to +become William Arkell's wife?"</p> + +<p>"There is one objection," returned Mildred, almost bitterly, as the +thought of his intimacy with Charlotte Travice flashed painfully across +her—"he has never asked me."</p> + +<p>"But—it is the same thing—he has asked his mother for you."</p> + +<p>A wild coursing on of all her pulses—a sudden rush of rapture in every +sense of her being—and Mildred's lips could hardly frame the words—</p> + +<p>"For <i>me</i>?"</p> + +<p>"He asked for you after dinner to-day—I thought I said so—that is, he +broached the subject to his mother. After Mr. Arkell went back to the +manufactory, he stayed behind with her in the dining-room, and spoke to +her of his plans and wishes. He began by saying he was getting quite old +enough to marry, and the sooner it took place now, the better."</p> + +<p>"Is this true?" gasped Mildred.</p> + +<p>"True!" echoed the affronted old lady. "Do you suppose Mrs. George +Arkell would come here upon such an errand only to make game of us? +True! William says he loves you dearly."</p> + +<p>Mildred quitted the room abruptly. She could not bear that even her +mother should witness the emotion that bid fair, in these first moments, +to overwhelm her. Never until now did she fully realize how deeply, how +passionately, she loved William Arkell—how utter a blank life would +have been to her had the termination been different. She shut herself in +her bed-chamber, burying her face in her hands, and asking how she could +ever be sufficiently thankful to God for thus bringing to fruition the +half-unconscious hopes which had entwined themselves with every fibre of +her existence. The opening of the door by her mother aroused her.</p> + +<p>"What in the world made you fly away so, Mildred? I was about to tell +you that Mrs. George expects us to tea. Peter will join us there by and +by."</p> + +<p>"I would rather not go out this evening, mamma," observed Mildred, who +was really extremely agitated.</p> + +<p>"I promised Mrs. George, and they are waiting tea for us," was the +decisive reply. "What is the matter with you, Mildred? You need not be +so struck at what I have said. Did it never occur to yourself that +William Arkell was likely to choose you for his wife?"</p> + +<p>"I have thought of late that he was more likely to choose Miss Travice," +answered Mildred, giving utterance in her emotion to the truth that lay +uppermost in her mind.</p> + +<p>"Marry that fine fly-away thing!" repeated Mrs. Dan, her astonishment +taking her breath away. "Charlotte Travice may be all very well for a +visitor—here to-day and gone to-morrow; but she is not suitable for the +wife of a steady, gentlemanly young man, like William Arkell, the only +son of the first manufacturer in Westerbury. What a pretty notion of +marriage you must have!"</p> + +<p>Mildred began to think so, too.</p> + +<p>"I shall not be two minutes putting on my shawl; I shan't change my +gown," continued Mrs. Dan. "You can change yours if you please, but +don't be long over it. It is past their tea-time."</p> + +<p>Implicit obedience had been one of the virtues ever practised by +Mildred, so she said no more. The thought kept floating in her mind as +she made herself ready, that it had been more appropriate for William to +visit her that evening than for her to visit him; and she could not help +wishing that he had spoken to her himself, though it had been but a +single loving hint, before the proposal could reach her through +another. But these were but minor trifles, little worth noting in the +midst of her intense happiness. As she walked down the street by her +mother's side, the golden light of the setting sun, shining full upon +her, was not more radiantly lovely than the light shining in Mildred +Arkell's heart.</p> + +<p>"I can't think what you can have been dreaming of, Mildred, to imagine +that that Charlotte Travice was a fit wife for William Arkell," observed +Mrs. Dan, who could not get the preposterous notion out of her head. +"You might have given William credit for better sense than that. I don't +like her. I liked her very much at first, but, somehow, she is one who +does not gain upon you on prolonged acquaintance; and it strikes me Mr. +and Mrs. George are of the same opinion. Mrs. George just mentioned her +this afternoon—something about her being your bridesmaid."</p> + +<p>"She my bridesmaid!" exclaimed Mildred, the very idea of it unpalatable.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. George said she supposed she must ask Charlotte Travice to stay +and be bridesmaid; that it would be but a mark of politeness, as she had +been so intimate with you and William. It would not be a very great +extension of the visit," she added, "for William seemed impatient for +the wedding to take place shortly, now that he had made up his mind +about it. It does not matter what bridesmaid you have, Mildred."</p> + +<p>Ah! no; it did not matter! Mildred's happiness seemed too great to be +affected by that, or any other earthly thing. Mrs. George Arkell kissed +her fondly three or four times as she entered, and pressed her hand, as +Mildred thought, significantly. Another moment, and she found her hand +taken by William.</p> + +<p>He was shaking it just as usual, and his greeting was a careless one—</p> + +<p>"How d'ye do, Mildred? You are late."</p> + +<p>Neither by word, or tone, or look, did he impart a consciousness of what +had passed. In the first moment Mildred felt thankful for the outward +indifference, but the next she caught herself thinking that he seemed to +take her consent as a matter of course—as if it were not worth the +asking.</p> + +<p>When tea was over, and the lights were brought, Mr. and Mrs. Arkell and +Mrs. Dan sat down to cribbage, the only game any of the three ever +played at.</p> + +<p>"Who will come and be fourth?" asked Mr. Arkell, looking over his +spectacles at the rest. "You, Mildred?"</p> + +<p>It had fallen to Mildred's lot lately to be the fourth at these +meetings, for Miss Travice always held aloof, and William never played +if he could help it; but on this evening Mildred hesitated, and before +she could assent—as she would finally have done—Miss Travice sprang +forward.</p> + +<p>"I will, dear Mr. Arkell—I will play with you to-night."</p> + +<p>"She knows of it, and is leaving us alone," thought Mildred. "How kind +of her it is! I fear I have misjudged her."</p> + +<p>"I say, Mildred," began William, as they sat apart, his tone dropped to +confidence, his voice to a whisper, "did my mother call at your house +this afternoon?"</p> + +<p>Mildred looked down, and began to play with her pretty gold neckchain. +It was one William had given her on her last birthday, nearly a year +ago.</p> + +<p>"My aunt called, I believe. I was out."</p> + +<p>William's face fell.</p> + +<p>"Then I suppose you have not heard anything—anything particular? I'm +sure I thought she had been to tell you. She was out ever so long."</p> + +<p>"Mamma said that Aunt George had been—had been—speaking to her," +returned Mildred, not very well knowing how to make the admission.</p> + +<p>William saw the confusion, and read it aright.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Mildred! you sly girl, you know all, and won't tell!" he cried, +taking her hand half-fondly, half-playfully, and retaining it in his.</p> + +<p>She could not answer; but the blush on her cheek was so bright, the +downcast look so tender, that William Arkell gazed at her lovingly, and +thought he had never seen his cousin's face so near akin to perfect +beauty. Mildred glanced up to see his gaze of fond admiration.</p> + +<p>"Your cheek tells tales, cousin mine," he whispered; "I see you have +heard all. Don't you think it is time I married?"</p> + +<p>A home question. Mildred's lips broke into a smile by way of answer.</p> + +<p>"What do you think of my choice?"</p> + +<p>"People will say you might have made a better."</p> + +<p>"I don't care if they do," returned Mr. William, firing up. "I have a +right to please myself, and I will please myself. I am not taking a wife +for other people, meddling mischief-makers!"</p> + +<p>The outburst seemed unnecessary. It struck Mildred that he must have +seriously feared opposition from some quarter, the tone of his voice was +so sore a one. She looked up with questioning eyes.</p> + +<p>"I have plenty of money, you know, Mildred," he added, more quietly. "I +don't want to look out for a fortune with my wife."</p> + +<p>"Very true," murmured Mildred.</p> + +<p>"I wonder whether she has brought it out to my father?" resumed William, +nodding towards his mother at the card-table. "I don't think she has; +he seems only just as usual. She'll make it the subject of a +curtain-lecture to-night, for a guinea!"</p> + +<p>Mildred stole a glance at her uncle. He was intent on his cards, good +old man, his spectacles pushed to the top of his ample brow.</p> + +<p>"Do you know, Mildred, I was half afraid to come to the point with +them," he presently said. "I dreaded opposition. I——"</p> + +<p>"But why?" timidly interrupted Mildred.</p> + +<p>"Well, I can't tell why. All I know is, that the feeling was +there—picked up somehow. I dreaded opposition, especially from my +mother; but, as I say, I cannot tell why. I never was more surprised +than when she said I had made her happy by my choice—that it was a +union she had set her heart upon. I am not sure yet, you know, that my +father will approve it."</p> + +<p>"He may urge against it the want of money," murmured Mildred; "it is +only reasonable he should. And——"</p> + +<p>"It is not reasonable," interposed William Arkell, in a tone of +resentment. "There's nothing at all in reason that can be urged against +it; and I am sure you don't really think there is, Mildred."</p> + +<p>"And yet you acknowledge that you dreaded opening the matter to them?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, because fathers and mothers are always so exacting over these +things. Every crow thinks its own young bird the whitest, and many a +mother with an only son deems him fit to mate with a princess of the +blood-royal. I declare to you, Mildred, I felt a regular coward about +telling my mother—foolish as the confession must sound to you; and once +I thought of speaking to you first, and getting you to break it to her. +I thought she might listen to it from you better than from me."</p> + +<p>Mildred thought it would have been a novel mode of procedure, but she +did not say so. Her cousin went on:—</p> + +<p>"We must have the wedding in a month, or so; I won't wait a day longer, +and so I told my mother. I have seen a charming little house just +suitable for us, and——"</p> + +<p>"You might have consulted me first, William, before you fixed the time."</p> + +<p>"What for? Nonsense! will not one time do for you as well as another?"</p> + +<p>Miss Arkell looked up at her cousin: he seemed to be talking strangely.</p> + +<p>"But where is the necessity for hurrying on the wedding like this?" she +asked. "Not to speak of other considerations, the preparations would +take up more time."</p> + +<p>"Not they," dissented Mr. William, who had been accustomed to have +things very much his own way, and liked it. "I'm sure you need not +raise a barrier on the score of preparation, Mildred. You won't want +much beside a dress and bonnet, and my mother can see to yours as well +as to Charlotte's. Is it orthodox for the bride and bridesmaid to be +dressed alike?"</p> + +<p>"Who was it fixed upon the bridesmaid?" asked Mildred. "Did you?"</p> + +<p>"Charlotte herself. But no plans are decided on, for I said as little as +I could to my mother. We can go into details another day."</p> + +<p>"With regard to a bridesmaid, Mary Pembroke has always been +promised——"</p> + +<p>"Now, Mildred, I won't have any of those Pembroke girls playing a +conspicuous part at my wedding," he interrupted. "What you and my mother +can see in them, I can't think. Provided you have no objection, let it +be as Charlotte says."</p> + +<p>"I think Charlotte takes more upon herself than she has any cause to +do," returned Mildred, the old sore feeling against Miss Travice rising +again into prominence in her heart.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell her if you don't mind, Mildred," laughed William. "But now I +think of it, it was not Charlotte who mentioned it, it was my mother. +She——"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Peter Arkell."</p> + +<p>The announcement was Tring's. It cut off William's sentence in the +midst, and also any further elucidation that might have taken place. +Peter came forward in his usual awkward manner, and was immediately +pressed into the service of cribbage, in the place of Miss Travice, who +never "put out" to the best advantage, and could not count. As Peter +took her seat, he explained that his early appearance was owing to his +having remained but an hour with Mr. Arthur Dewsbury, who was going out +that evening.</p> + +<p>Charlotte Travice sat down to the piano, and William got his flute. +Sweet music! but, nevertheless, it grated on Mildred's ear. His whole +attention became absorbed with Charlotte, to the utter neglect of +Mildred. Now and then he seemed to remember that Mildred sat behind, and +turned round to address a word to her; but his whispers were given to +Charlotte. "It is not right," she murmured to herself in her bitter +pain; "this night, of all others, it is not surely right. If she were +but going back to London before the wedding!"</p> + +<p>Supper came in, for they dined early, you remember; and afterwards Mrs. +Dan and Mildred had their bonnets brought down.</p> + +<p>"What a lovely night it is!" exclaimed Peter, as he waited at the hall +door.</p> + +<p>"It is that!" assented William, looking out; "I think I'll have a run +with you. Those stars are enough to tempt one forth. Shall I go, +Mildred?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she softly whispered, believing she was the attraction, not the +stars.</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Dan lingered. The fact was, Mrs. Arkell had drawn her to the +back of the hall.</p> + +<p>"Did you speak to her, Betty?"</p> + +<p>"I spoke to her as soon as she came home. It was that that made us +late."</p> + +<p>"Well? She does not object to William?"</p> + +<p>"Not she. I'll tell you a secret," continued Mrs. Dan; "I could see by +Mildred's agitation when I told her to-day, that she already loved +William. I suspected it long ago."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Arkell nodded her head complacently. "I noticed her face when he +was talking to her as they sat apart to-night; and I read love in it, if +it ever was read. Yes, yes, it is all right. I thought I could not be +mistaken in Mildred."</p> + +<p>"I say, Aunt Dan, are you coming to-night or to-morrow?" called out +William.</p> + +<p>"I am coming now, my dear," replied Mrs. Dan; and she walked forward and +took her son's arm. William followed with Mildred.</p> + +<p>"Now, Mildred, don't you go and tell all the world to-morrow about this +wedding of ours," he began; "don't you go chattering to those Pembroke +girls."</p> + +<p>"How can you suppose it likely that I would?" was the pained answer.</p> + +<p>"Why, I know all young ladies are fond of gossiping, especially when +they get hold of such a topic as this."</p> + +<p>"I don't think I have ever deserved the name of gossip," observed +Mildred, quietly.</p> + +<p>"Well, Mildred, I do not know that you have. But it is not all girls who +possess your calm good sense. I thought it might be as well to give even +you a caution."</p> + +<p>"William, you are scarcely like yourself to-night," she said, anxiously. +"To suppose a caution in this case necessary for me!"</p> + +<p>He had begun to whistle, and did not answer. It was a verse of "Robin +Adair," the song Charlotte was so fond of. When the verse was whistled +through, he spoke—</p> + +<p>"How very bright the stars are to-night! I think it must be a frost."</p> + +<p>Inexperienced as Mildred was practically, she yet felt that this was not +the usual conversation of a lover on the day of declaration, unless he +was a remarkably cool one. While she was wondering, he resumed his +whistling—a verse of another song, this time.</p> + +<p>Mildred looked up at him. His face was lifted towards the heavens, but +she could see it perfectly in the light of the night. He was evidently +thinking more of the stars than of her, for his eyes were roving from +one constellation to another. She looked down again, and remained +silent.</p> + +<p>"So you like my choice, Mildred!" he presently resumed.</p> + +<p>"Choice of what?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Choice of what! As if you did not know! Choice of a wife."</p> + +<p>"How is it you play so with my feelings this evening?" she asked, the +tears rushing to her eyes.</p> + +<p>"I have not played with them that I know of. What do you mean, Mildred? +You are growing fanciful."</p> + +<p>She could not trust her voice to reply. William again broke into one of +his favourite airs.</p> + +<p>"I proposed that we should be married in London, amidst her friends," he +said, when the few bars were brought to a satisfactory conclusion. "I +thought she might prefer it. But she says she'd rather not."</p> + +<p>"Amidst whose friends?" inquired Mildred, in amazement.</p> + +<p>"Charlotte's. But in that case I suppose you could not have been +bridesmaid. And there'd have been all the trouble of a journey +beforehand."</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> bridesmaid!" exclaimed Mildred; and all the blood in her body +seemed to rush to her brain as a faint suspicion of the terrible truth +stole into it. "Bridesmaid to whom?"</p> + +<p>William Arkell, unable to comprehend a word, stopped still and looked at +her.</p> + +<p>"You are dreaming, Mildred!" he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean? Who is it you are going to marry?" she reiterated.</p> + +<p>"Why, what have we been talking of all the evening? What did my mother +say to you to-day? What has come to you, Mildred? You certainly are +dreaming."</p> + +<p>"We have been playing at cross purposes, I fear," gasped Mildred, in her +agony. "Tell me who it is you are going to marry."</p> + +<p>"Charlotte Travice. Whom else should it be?"</p> + +<p>They were then turning round by what was called the boundary wall; the +old elms in the dean's garden towered above them, and Mildred's home was +close in sight. But before they reached it, William Arkell felt her hang +heavily and more heavily on his arm.</p> + +<p>Ah! how she was struggling! Not with the pain—that could not be +struggled with for a long, long while to come—but with the endeavour to +suppress its outward emotion. All, all in vain. William Arkell bent to +catch a glimpse of her features under the bonnet—worn large in those +days—and found that she was white as death, and appeared to be losing +consciousness.</p> + +<p>"Mildred, my dear, what ails you?" he asked, kindly. "Do you feel ill?"</p> + +<p>She felt dying; but to speak was beyond her, then. William passed his +arm round her just in time to prevent her falling, and shouted out, +excessively alarmed—</p> + +<p>"Peter! Aunt! just come back, will you? Here's something the matter with +Mildred."</p> + +<p>They were at the door then, but they heard him, and hastened back. +Mildred had fainted.</p> + +<p>"What can have caused it?" exclaimed Peter, in his consternation. "I +never knew her faint in all her life before."</p> + +<p>"It must have been that rich cream tart at supper," lamented Mrs. Dan, +half in sympathy, half in reproof. "I have told Mildred twenty times +that pastry, eaten at night, is next door to poison."</p> + +<p>And so this was to be the ending of all her cherished dreams! Mildred +lay awake in her solitary chamber the whole of that live-long night. +There was no sleep, no rest, no hope for her. Desolation the most +complete had overtaken her—utter, bitter, miserable desolation.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<h3>A HEART SEARED.</h3> + + +<p>Mildred Arkell, in the midst of her agony, had the good sense to see +that some extraordinary misapprehension had occurred, either on her +mother's part or on Mrs. Arkell's; that William had not announced his +wish of marrying her, but Charlotte Travice. From that time forward, +Mildred would have a difficult part to play in the way of <i>concealment</i>. +Her dearest feelings, her bitter mortification, her sighs of pain must +be hidden from the world; and she prayed God to give her strength to go +through her task, making no sign. The most embarrassing part would be to +undeceive her mother; but she must do it, and contrive to do it without +suspicion that <i>she</i> was anything but indifferent to the turn affairs +had taken. Commonplace and insignificant as that little episode was—the +partaking of a rich cream tart at Mrs. Arkell's supper-table—Mildred +was thankful for it. Her mother, remarkably single-minded by nature, +unsuspicious as the day, would never think of attributing the fainting +fit to any other cause.</p> + +<p>It may at once be mentioned that the singular misapprehension was on the +part of Mrs. Arkell. She was so thoroughly imbued with the hope—it may +be said with the notion—that her son would espouse Mildred, that when +William broached the subject in a hasty and indistinct manner, she +somehow fell into the mistake. The fault was probably William's. He did +not say much, and his own fear of his mother's displeasure caused him to +be anything but clear and distinct. Mrs. George Arkell caught at the +communication with delight, believing it to refer to Mildred. She +mentioned a word herself, in her hasty looking forward, about a +bridesmaid. The names of Mildred and Charlotte, not either of them +mentioned above once, got confused together, and altogether the mistake +took place, William himself being unconscious of it.</p> + +<p>William ran home that night, startling them with the news of the +indisposition of Mildred. She had fainted in the street as they were +going home. Mr. and Mrs. Arkell, loving Mildred as a daughter, were +inexpressibly concerned; Charlotte Travice sat listening to the tale +with wondering ears and eyes. "My aunt said it must be the effect of the +cream tart at supper," he observed, "but I think that must be all +rubbish. As if cream tart would make people faint! And Mildred has +eaten it before."</p> + +<p>"It was the agitation, my dear. It was nothing else," whispered Mrs. +Arkell to her guest, confidentially, as she bid her good night in the +hall. "A communication like that must cause agitation to the mind, you +know."</p> + +<p>"What communication?" asked Charlotte, in surprise. For Mrs. Arkell +spoke as if her words must necessarily be understood.</p> + +<p>"Don't you know? I thought William had most likely told you. It's about +her marriage. But there, we'll talk of it to-morrow, I won't keep you +now, Miss Charlotte, and I have to speak to Mr. Arkell."</p> + +<p>Charlotte continued her way upstairs, wondering excessively; not able, +as she herself expressed it, to make head or tail of what Mrs. Arkell +meant. Mrs. Arkell returned to the dining-room, asked her husband to sit +down again for a few minutes, for he was standing with his bed-candle in +his hand, and she made the communication.</p> + +<p>Elucidation was, however, near at hand, as it of necessity must be. On +the following morning nothing was said at the breakfast-table; but on +their going into the manufactory, Mr. Arkell took his son into his +private room. Mr. Arkell sat down before his desk, and opened a letter +that waited on it before he spoke. William stood by the fire, rather +nervous.</p> + +<p>"So, young sir! you are wanting, I hear, to encumber yourself with a +wife! Don't you think you had better have taken one in your +leading-strings?"</p> + +<p>"I am twenty-five, sir," returned William, drawing himself up in all the +dignity of the age. "And you have often said you hoped to see me settled +before——"</p> + +<p>"Before I died. Very true, you graceless boy. But you don't want me to +die yet, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Heaven forbid it!" fervently answered William.</p> + +<p>"Well," continued the good man—and William had known from the first, by +the tone of the voice, the twinkle in the eye, that he was pleased +instead of vexed—"I cannot but say you have chosen worthily. I suppose +I must look over her being portionless."</p> + +<p>"Our business is an excellent one, and you have saved money besides, +sir," observed William. "To look out for money with my wife would be +superfluous."</p> + +<p>"Not exactly that," returned Mr. Arkell, in his keen, emphatic tone. +"But I suppose you can't have everything. Few of us can. She has been a +good and affectionate daughter, William, and she will make you a good +wife. I should have been better pleased though, had there been no +relationship between you."</p> + +<p>"Relationship!" repeated William.</p> + +<p>"For I share in the popular prejudice that exists against cousins +marrying. But I am not going to make it an objection now, as you may +believe, when I tell you that I foresaw long ago what your intimacy +would probably end in. Your mother says it has been her cherished plan +for years."</p> + +<p>William listened in bewilderment. "She is no cousin of mine," he said.</p> + +<p>"No what?" asked Mr. Arkell, pushing his glasses to the top of his +forehead, the better to stare at his son—for those glasses served only +for near objects, print and writing—"is the thought of this marriage +turning your head, my boy?"</p> + +<p>"I don't understand what you are speaking of," returned William, +perfectly mystified; "I only said she was not my cousin."</p> + +<p>"Why, bless my heart, what do you mean?" exclaimed Mr. Arkell. "She has +been your cousin ever since she was born; she is the daughter of my poor +brother Dan; do you want to disown the relationship now?"</p> + +<p>"Are you talking of Mildred Arkell?" exclaimed the astonished young man. +"I don't want to marry <i>her</i>. Mildred is a very nice girl as a cousin, +but I never thought of her as a wife. I want Charlotte Travice!"</p> + +<p>"Charlotte Travice!"</p> + +<p>The change in the tone, the deep pain it betrayed, struck a chill on +William's heart. Mr. Arkell gazed at him before he again broke the +silence.</p> + +<p>"How came you to tell your mother yesterday that you wanted to marry +Mildred?"</p> + +<p>"I never did tell her so, sir; I told her I wished to marry Charlotte."</p> + +<p>Mr. Arkell took another contemplative stare at his son. He then turned +short away, quitted the manufactory by his own private entrance, walked +across the yard, past the coach-house and stable, and went straight into +the presence of his wife.</p> + +<p>"A pretty ambassador you would make at a foreign court!" he began; "to +mistake your credentials in this manner!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Arkell was seated alone, puzzling herself with a lap-fall of +patchwork, and wishing Mildred was there to get it into order. Every now +and then she would be taken with a sewing fit, and do about two stitches +in a morning. She looked up at the strange address, the mortified tone.</p> + +<p>"You told me William wanted to marry Mildred!"</p> + +<p>"So he does."</p> + +<p>"So he does <i>not</i>," was Mr. Arkell's answer. "He wants to marry your +fine lady visitor, Miss Charlotte Travice."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Arkell rose up in consternation, disregardful of the work, which +fell to the ground. "You must be mistaken," she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"No; it is you who have been mistaken. William says he did not speak to +you of Mildred; never thought of her as a wife at all; he spoke to you +of Charlotte Travice."</p> + +<p>"Dear, dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Arkell, a feeling very like unto faintness +coming over her spirit; "I hope it is not so! I hope still there may be +some better elucidation."</p> + +<p>"There can be no other elucidation, so far, than this," returned Mr. +Arkell, his tone one of sharp negation. "The extraordinary part of the +affair is, how you could have misinterpreted his meaning, and construed +Charlotte Travice into Mildred Arkell! I said we kept the girl here too +long."</p> + +<p>He turned away again with the last sentence on his tongue. He was not +sufficiently himself to stay and talk then. Mrs. Arkell, in those first +few minutes, was as one who has just received a blow. Presently she +despatched a message for her son; she was terribly vexed with him; and, +like we all do, felt it might be a relief to throw off some of her +annoyance upon him.</p> + +<p>"How came you to tell me yesterday you wanted to marry Mildred?" she +began when he appeared, her tone quite as sharp as ever was Mr. +Arkell's.</p> + +<p>"I did not tell you so. My father has been saying something of the same +sort, but it is a mistake."</p> + +<p>"You must have told me so," persisted Mrs. Arkell; "how else could I +have imagined it? Charlotte's name was never mentioned at all. +Except—yes—I believe I said that she could be the bridesmaid."</p> + +<p>"I understood you to say that Mildred could be the bridesmaid," returned +William. "Mother, indeed the mistake was yours."</p> + +<p>"We have made a fine mess of it between us," retorted Mrs. Arkell, in +her vexation, as she arrived at length at the conclusion that the +mistake was hers; "you should have been more explicit. What a simpleton +they will think me! Worse than that! Do you know what I did yesterday?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"I went straight to Mrs. Dan Arkell's as soon as you had spoken to me, +and asked for Mildred to marry you."</p> + +<p>"Mother!"</p> + +<p>"I did. It is the most unpleasant piece of business I was ever mixed up +in."</p> + +<p>"Mildred will only treat it as a joke, of course?"</p> + +<p>"Mildred treated it in earnest. Why should she not? When she came here +last evening, she came expecting that she would shortly be your wife."</p> + +<p>They stood looking at each other, the mother and son, their thoughts +travelling back to the past night, and its events. What had appeared so +strange in William's eyes was becoming clear; the cross-purposes, as +Mildred had expressed it, in their conversation with each other, and +Mildred's fainting-fit, when the elucidation came. He very much feared, +now that he knew the cause of that fainting-fit—he feared that +Mildred's love was his.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Arkell's thoughts were taking the same course, and she spoke +them:—"William, that fainting-fit must in some way have been connected +with this. Mildred is not in the habit of fainting."</p> + +<p>He made no reply at first. Loving Mildred excessively as a cousin, he +would not have hurt her feelings willingly for the whole world. A +half-wish stole over him that it was the fashion for gentlemen to cut +themselves in half when two ladies were in the case, and so gallantly +bestow themselves on both. Mrs. Arkell noted the mortification in his +expressive face.</p> + +<p>"What is to be done, William? Mrs. Dan told me she felt sure Mildred had +been secretly attached to you for years."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Arkell might not have spoken thus openly to her son, but for a +hope, now beginning to dawn within her—that his choice might yet fall +upon Mildred. William made no reply. He smoothed his hand over his +troubled brow; he recalled more and more of the previous evening's +scene; he felt deeply perplexed and concerned, for the happiness of +Mildred was dear to him as a sister's. But the more he reflected on the +case, the less chance he saw of mending it.</p> + +<p>"You must marry Mildred," Mrs. Arkell said to him in a low tone.</p> + +<p>"Impossible!" he hastily rejoined; "I cannot do that."</p> + +<p>"But I made the offer for her to her mother! Made it on your part."</p> + +<p>"And I made one for myself to Charlotte."</p> + +<p>An embarrassed, mortified silence. Mrs. Arkell, an exceedingly +honourable woman, did not see a way out of the double dilemma any more +than William did.</p> + +<p>"Do you know that I do not like her?" resumed Mrs. Arkell, in a voice +hoarse with emotion. "That I have grown to <i>dis</i>like her? And what will +become of Mildred?"</p> + +<p>"Mildred will get over it in no-time," he answered, already beginning to +reason himself into a satisfactory state of composure and indifference, +as people like to do. "She is a girl of excellent common sense, and +will see the thing in its proper light."</p> + +<p>Strange perhaps to say, Mrs. Arkell fell into the same train of +reasoning when the first moments of mortification had cooled down. She +saw Mrs. Dan, and intimated that she had been under an unfortunate +mistake, which she could only apologise for. Mrs. Dan, a sober-minded, +courteous old lady, who never made a fuss about anything, and had never +quarrelled in her life, said she hoped she had been mistaken as to +Mildred's feelings. And when Mrs. Arkell next saw Mildred, the latter's +manner was so quiet, so unchanged, so almost indifferent, that Mrs. +Arkell repeated with complacency William's words to herself: "Mildred +will get over it in no-time."</p> + +<p>What mattered the searing of one heart? How many are there daily +blighted, and the world knows it not! The world went on its way in +Westerbury without reference to the feelings of Mildred Arkell; and poor +Mildred went on hers, and made no sign.</p> + +<p>The marriage went on—that is, the preparations for it. When a beloved +and indulged son announces that he has fixed his heart upon a lady, and +intends to make her his wife, consent and approval generally follow, +provided there exists no very grave objection against her. There existed +none against Miss Travice; and she made herself so pleasant and +delightful to Mr. and Mrs. Arkell, when once it was decided she was to +marry William, that they nearly fell in love with her themselves, and +became entirely reconciled to the loss of Mildred as a daughter-in-law. +The "charming little house" spoken of by William, was taken and +furnished; and the wedding was to take place the end of April, Charlotte +being married from Mr. Arkell's.</p> + +<p>One item in the original programme was not carried out: Mildred refused +to act as bridesmaid. Mrs. Arkell was surprised. The intimacy of the two +families had been continued as before; for Mildred, in all senses of the +word, had condemned herself to suffer in silence; and she was so quiet, +so undemonstrative, that Mrs. Arkell believed the blow was quite +recovered—if blow it had been. Mildred placed her refusal on the plea +of her mother's health, which was beginning seriously to decline. Mrs. +Arkell did not press it, for a half-suspicion of the true cause arose in +her mind.</p> + +<p>"Your sister must come down now, whether or not," she said to Charlotte.</p> + +<p>Charlotte looked up hastily, a flush of annoyance on her bright cheek. +Miss Charlotte had persistently refused Mrs. Arkell's proposal to invite +her sister to the wedding; had turned a deaf ear to Mrs. Arkell's +remonstrance that it was not fit or seemly this only sister should be +excluded. Charlotte had carried her point hitherto; but Mrs. Arkell +intended to carry hers now.</p> + +<p>"Betsey can't bear visiting," she said, with pouting lips; "she would be +sure to refuse if you did ask her."</p> + +<p>"She would surely not refuse to come to her sister's marriage! You must +be mistaken, Charlotte."</p> + +<p>"She has never visited anywhere in all her life; has not been out, so +far as I can call to mind, for a single day—has never drank tea away +from home," urged Charlotte, who seemed strangely annoyed. "I have said +so before."</p> + +<p>"All the more reason that she should do so now," returned Mrs. Arkell. +"Charlotte, my dear, don't be foolish; I shall certainly send for her."</p> + +<p>"Then I shall write and forbid her to come," returned Charlotte; and she +bit her lip for saying it as soon as the words were out.</p> + +<p>"My dear!"</p> + +<p>"I did not mean that, dear Mrs. Arkell," she pleaded, with a winning +expression of repentance and a merry laugh; "but indeed it will not do +to invite poor Betsey here."</p> + +<p>"Very well, my dear."</p> + +<p>But in spite of the apparently acquiescent "very well," Mrs. Arkell +remained firm. Whether it was that she detected something false in the +laugh, or that she chose to let her future daughter-in-law see which was +mistress, or that she deemed it would not be right to ignore Miss Betsey +Travice on this coming occasion, certain it was that Mrs. Arkell wrote a +pressing mandate to the younger lady, and enclosed a five-pound note in +the letter. And she said nothing to Charlotte of what she had done.</p> + +<p>It was about this time that some definite news arrived in Westerbury of +Robert Carr. He, the idle, roving, spendthrift spirit, had become a +clerk in Holland. He had obtained a situation, he best knew how, in a +merchant's house in Rotterdam, and appeared, so far, to have really +settled down to steadiness. It would seem that the remark to William +Arkell, "If I do make a start in life, rely upon it, I succeed," was +likely to be borne out. He had taken this clerkship, and was working as +hard as any clerk ever worked yet. Whether the industry would last was +another thing.</p> + +<p>Mr. John Carr, the squire's son, was the one to bring the news to +Westerbury. Mr. John Carr appeared to be especially interested in his +cousin's movements and doings: near as he was known to be in money +matters, he had actually gone a journey to Rotterdam, to find out all +about Robert. Mr. John Carr did not fail to remember, and hardly cared +to conceal from the world that he remembered, that, failing Robert, who +had been threatened times and again with disinheritance, <i>he</i> might +surely look to be his uncle's heir. However it may have been, Mr. John +Carr went to Rotterdam, saw Robert, stayed a few days in the place, and +then came home again.</p> + +<p>"Has he married the girl?" was Squire Carr's first question to his son.</p> + +<p>"No," replied John, gloomily; for, of course it would have been to his +interest if Robert had married her. Squire Carr and his son knew of +Marmaduke's oath to disinherit Robert if he did marry Martha Ann Hughes; +and they knew that he would keep his word.</p> + +<p>"Is the girl with him still?"</p> + +<p>"She's with him fast enough; I saw her twice."</p> + +<p>"John, he may have married her in London."</p> + +<p>"He did not, though. I said to Robert I supposed they had been married +in London. He flew into one of his tempers at the supposition, and said +he had never been inside a church in London in his life, or within fifty +miles of it; and I am sure he was speaking the truth. He told me +afterwards, when we were having a little confidential talk together, +that he never should marry her, at any rate as long as his father lived; +and she did not expect him to do it. He had no mind, he added, to be +disinherited."</p> + +<p>This news oozed out to Westerbury, and Mr. John was vexed, for he did +not intend that it should ooze out. Amidst other ears, it reached that +of Mr. Carr. "A cunning man in his own conceit," quoth he to a friend, +alluding to his brother's son, "but not quite cunning enough to win over +me. If Robert marries that girl, I'll keep my word, and not bequeath him +a shilling of my money; but I'll not leave it to John Carr, or any of +his brood."</p> + +<p>Had this news touching Robert's life in Holland needed confirmation, +such might have been supplied to it by a letter received from Martha Ann +Hughes by her sister Mary. The shock to Mary Hughes had been, no doubt, +very great, and she had written several letters since, begging and +praying Martha Ann to urge Mr. Robert Carr to marry her, even now. For +the first time Martha Ann sent an answer, just about the period that Mr. +John Carr was in Holland. It was a long and very nicely-written letter; +but to Mary Hughes's ear there was a vein of repentant sadness running +throughout it. It was not likely Mr. Robert would marry her now, she +said, and to urge it upon him would be worse than useless. She had +chosen her own path and must abide by it; and she did not see that what +she had done ought to cause people to reflect upon her sisters. Mary's +saying that it did, must be all nonsense—or ought to be. Her sisters +had done their part by her well; and if she had repaid them ill, that +ought to be only the more reason for the world showing them additional +kindness and respect: Mary would no doubt live to prove this. For +herself she was not unhappy. Robert was quite steady, and had a good +clerkship in a merchant's house. He was as kind to her as if they had +been married twice over; and her position was not so unpleasant as Mary +seemed to imagine, for nobody knew but what she was his wife—though, +for the matter of that, they had made no acquaintances in the strange +town.</p> + +<p>Mary Hughes blinded her eyes with tears over this letter, and in her +unhappiness lent it to anyone who cared to see it. And her strong-minded +but more reticent sister, when she found out what she was doing, angrily +called her a fool for her pains, and tore the letter to pieces before +her face. But not before it had been heard of by Mr. Carr. For one, who +happened to get hold of it, reported the contents to him.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<h3>BETSEY TRAVICE.</h3> + + +<p>They were grouped together in Mrs. Arkell's sitting-room, their faces +half-indistinct in the growing twilight. Mrs. Arkell herself, doing +nothing as usual; Mildred by her side, sewing still, although Mrs. +Arkell had told her she was trying her eyes; Charlotte Travice, with a +flush upon her face and a nervous movement of the restless foot—signs +of anger suppressed, to those who knew her well; and a stranger, a young +lady, whom you have not seen before.</p> + +<p>Had anyone told you this young lady and Charlotte were sisters, you had +disputed the assertion, so entirely dissimilar were they in all ways. A +quiet little lady, this, of twenty years, with a smooth, fair face, +somewhat insipid, for all its good sense; light blue eyes, truthful as +Charlotte's were false; small features, and light hair, worn plainly. +Perhaps what might have struck a beholder as the most prominent feature +in Betsey Travice was her excessive natural meekness; nay, humility +would be the better word. She was meek in mind, in temper, in look, in +manner, in speech; humble always. She sat there at the fire, her black +bonnet laid beside her, for the girl had felt cold after her journey, +and the fire was more welcome to her than the going upstairs to array +herself for attraction would have been to Charlotte. The weather was +very cold for the close of April, and the coach—it was a noted +circumstance in its usual punctuality—had been half an hour behind its +time. She sat there, sipping the hot cup of tea that Tring had brought +her, declining to eat, and feeling miserably uncomfortable, as she saw +that, to one at least, she was not welcome.</p> + +<p>That one was her sister. Mrs. Arkell had kept the secret well; and not +until the evening of the arrival—but an hour, in fact, before the coach +was expected in—was Charlotte told of it.</p> + +<p>"Tring, or somebody, has been putting two pillows upon my bed," remarked +Charlotte, who had run up to her bedroom to get a book. "I wonder what +that's for."</p> + +<p>"You are going to have a bedfellow to-night, my dear," said Mrs. Arkell.</p> + +<p>"A bedfellow!" echoed Charlotte, in wonder. "Who is it?"</p> + +<p>"Your sister."</p> + +<p>"Who?" cried out Charlotte; and the sharp, passionate, uncontrolled tone +struck on their ears unpleasantly.</p> + +<p>"I told you I should have your sister down to the wedding," quietly +returned Mrs. Arkell. "In my opinion it would have been unseemly and +unkind not to do so. She is on her road now. Mildred has come in to help +me welcome her. Betsey is Mrs. Dan's godchild, you know."</p> + +<p>"And Mildred knew she was coming?" retorted Charlotte, as if that were a +further grievance; and she spoke as fiercely as she dared, compatible +with her present amiability as bride-elect.</p> + +<p>"Mildred knew it from the first."</p> + +<p>Of course there was no help for it now. Betsey was on her road down, as +Mrs. Arkell expressed it, and it was too late to stop her, or to send +her back again. Charlotte made the best of it that she could make, but +never had her temper been nearer an explosion; and when Betsey arrived +she took care to let <i>her</i> see that she had better not have come.</p> + +<p>"And now, my dear, that you are warmed and refreshed a little, tell me +if you were not glad to come," said Mrs. Arkell, kindly, as Betsey +Travice put the empty cup on the table, and stretched out one small, +thin hand to the blazing warmth.</p> + +<p>"I was very glad, ma'am," was the reply, delivered in the humble, +gentle, deprecatory tone which characterized Betsey Travice, no matter +to whom she spoke. "I was glad to have the opportunity of seeing +Charlotte, she had been gone away so long; and I shall like to see a +wedding, for I have never seen one; and I was very glad to come also for +another thing."</p> + +<p>"What is that?" asked Mrs. Arkell, yearning to the pleasant, +single-minded tone—to the truthful, earnest eyes.</p> + +<p>"Well, ma'am, I'm afraid I was getting over-worked. Though it would have +seemed ungrateful to kind Mrs. Dundyke to say so, and I never did say +it. The children were heavy to carry about the kitchen, and up and down +stairs; and the waiting on the lodgers was worse than usual. I used to +have such a pain in my side and back towards night, that I did not know +how to keep on."</p> + +<p>Charlotte Travice was in an agony. It was precisely these revelations +that she had dreaded in a visit from Betsey. That Betsey had to work +like a horse at Mrs. Dundyke's, Charlotte thought extremely probable; +but she had no mind that this state of things should become known at +Mrs. Arkell's. In her embarrassment, she was unwise enough to attempt to +deny the fact.</p> + +<p>"Where's the use of your talking like this, Betsey?" she indignantly +asked. "If you did attend a little to the children—as nursery +governess—you need not have carried them about, making a slave of +yourself."</p> + +<p>"But you know how young they are, Charlotte! You know that they need to +be carried. I would not have cared had it been only the children. There +was all the house work and the waiting."</p> + +<p>"But what had you to do with this, my dear?" asked Mrs. Arkell, a little +puzzled, while Charlotte sat with an inflamed face.</p> + +<p>Betsey Travice entered on the explanation in detail. Mrs. Dundyke cooked +for her lodgers herself—and she generally had two sets of lodgers in +the house—and kept a servant to wait upon them. Six weeks ago the +servant had left—she said the place was too hard for her—and Mrs. +Dundyke had not found one to her mind since. She got a charwoman in two +or three times a week, and Betsey Travice had put herself forward to +help with the work and the waiting. She had made beds and swept rooms, +and laid cloths for dinner, and carried up dishes, and handed bread and +beer at table, and answered the door; in short, had been, to all intents +and purposes, a maid of all work.</p> + +<p>To see her sitting there, and quietly telling this, was not the least +curious portion of the tale. She looked a lady, she spoke as a +lady—nay, there was something especially winning and refined in her +voice; and she herself seemed altogether so incompatible with the work +she confessed to have passed her later days in, that even Mildred Arkell +gazed at her in fixed surprise.</p> + +<p>"You are a fool!" burst forth Charlotte, between rage and crying. "If +that horrible woman, that Mrs. Dundyke, thrust such degrading work upon +you, you ought not to have done it."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Charlotte, don't call her that! She is a kind woman; you know she +is. If you please, ma'am, she's as kind as she can be," added Betsey, +turning to Mrs. Arkell, in her anxiety for justice to be done to Mrs. +Dundyke. "And for the work, I did not mind it. It's not as if I had +never done any. I had to do all sorts of work in poor mamma's time, and +I am naturally handy at it. I am sorry you should be angry with me, +Charlotte."</p> + +<p>"I don't think it was exactly the sort of work your friend Mrs. Dundyke +should have put upon you," remarked Mrs. Arkell.</p> + +<p>"But there was no help for it, ma'am," represented Betsey. "The work was +there, and had to be done by somebody. That servant left us at a pinch. +She had a quarrel with her mistress about some dripping that was +missing, and she went off that same hour. I began to do what I could of +myself, without being asked. Mrs. Dundyke did not like my doing it, any +more than Charlotte does, but there was nobody else, and I could not +bear to seem ungrateful. When Charlotte came here I had but sixpence +left in my purse, and Mrs. Dundyke has bought me shoes and things that I +have wanted since, from her own pocket."</p> + +<p>A dead silence. Charlotte Travice felt as if she were going to have +brain fever. Could the earth have opened then, and swallowed up Betsey, +it had been the greatest blessing, in Charlotte's estimation, ever +accorded her.</p> + +<p>"What are your prospects for the future, Betsey?" quietly asked Mrs. +Arkell.</p> + +<p>"Prospects, ma'am? I have not any. At least"—and a sudden blush +overspread the fair face—"not at present."</p> + +<p>"But you cannot go on waiting on Mrs. Dundyke's lodgers. It is not a +desirable position for yourself, nor a suitable one for your father's +daughter."</p> + +<p>"I shall not have to do that again. Mrs. Dundyke has engaged a good +servant now; indeed, I could not else have come away; when I return, I +shall only attend to the two children, and do the sewing."</p> + +<p>"I think we must try and find you something better, Betsey."</p> + +<p>"Oh, ma'am, you are very kind to interest yourself for me," was the +reply; "but I have promised myself to Mrs. Dundyke for twelve months to +come. I am very happy there; and when the work's over at night, we sit +in her little parlour; she goes to sleep, and David does his accounts, +and I darn the socks and stockings. You cannot think how comfortable and +quiet it is."</p> + +<p>"Who is David?" inquired Mrs. Arkell.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Dundyke's son. He is clerk in a house in Fenchurch-street, in the +day; and he keeps books and that, for anybody who will employ him at +night. Sometimes he has to bring them home to do. He is very +industrious."</p> + +<p>"What did you mean by saying you had promised yourself to Mrs. Dundyke +for a twelvemonth?"</p> + +<p>"It was when I was coming away. She cried at parting, and said she +supposed she should never see me again, now I was coming to be with +Charlotte and her grand acquaintances. I told her I should be sure to +come back to her very soon, and I would stop a whole year with her, if +she liked. She said, was it a promise; and I told her it was. Oh! ma'am, +I would not be ungrateful to Mrs. Dundyke for the world! I should have +had no home to go to when Charlotte came here, but for her. All our +money was gone, and Mrs. Dundyke had been letting us stop on then, ever +so long, without any pay. Besides, I shall like to be with her."</p> + +<p>If Charlotte could have cut her sister's tongue out, she would most +decidedly have done it. To own such a sister at all, was bad enough; but +to be compelled to sit by while these revelations were made to her +future mother-in-law, to her rival Mildred, was dreadful. If Charlotte +had disliked Mildred before, she hated her now. The implied superiority +of position which it had been her pleasure from the first to assume over +Mildred, would now be taken for what it was worth. She flung her arms up +with a gesture of passionate pain, and approached Mrs. Arkell. Had +Betsey confessed to having passed her recent months in housebreaking, it +had sounded less despicable to Charlotte's pretentious mind than this; +and a dread had rushed over her, whether Mrs. Arkell might not, even at +that eleventh hour, break off the union with her son.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Arkell, I pray you, do not notice this!" she said, her voice a +wail of passion and despair. "It has, I am sure, not been as bad as +Betsey makes it out; she could not have degraded herself to so great an +extent. But you see how it is. She is but half-witted at best, and +anyone might impose upon her."</p> + +<p>Half-witted! Mrs. Arkell smiled at the look of surprise rising to +Betsey's eyes at the charge. Charlotte's colour was going and coming.</p> + +<p>"On the contrary, Charlotte, I should give your sister credit for a full +portion of good plain sense. Why should you be angry with her? The sort +of work was not suitable for her; but it seems she could not help +herself."</p> + +<p>"I'd rather hear that she had gone out and swept the crossings in the +streets! I knew how it would be if you had her down! I knew she would +disgrace me!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Arkell took Betsey's hand in hers. The young face was distressed; +the blue eyes shone with tears. "<i>I</i> do not think you have disgraced +anyone, Betsey; I think you have been a good girl. Charlotte," Mrs. +Arkell added, very pointedly, "I would rather see your sister what she +is, than a fine lady, stuck up and pretentious."</p> + +<p>Did Charlotte understand the rebuke? She made no sign. Tring came in +with lights; it caused some little interruption, and while they were +calming down again from the past excitement, Betsey Travice took the +opportunity to approach Mrs. Arkell with a whisper.</p> + +<p>"I don't know how to thank you for your kindness to me, ma'am, not only +in inviting me here, but in sending me the money in the letter. If ever +I have it in my power to repay it, you will not find me ungrateful. I do +not mean the money; I mean the kindness."</p> + +<p>"Hush, child!" said Mrs. Arkell, and patted her smooth fair hair.</p> + +<p>"There was always something deficient in Betsey's mind," Charlotte was +condescending to say to Mildred Arkell. "It is a great misfortune. Papa +used to say times and again that Betsey was not a lady; never would be +one. Will you believe me, that once, when she was about ten I think, she +fell into a habit of curtseying to gentlepeople when she met them in the +street, and we could hardly break her of it! Papa would have been quite +justified, in my opinion, had he then put her into an asylum or a +reformatory, or something of the kind."</p> + +<p>"She does not strike me—as my aunt has just remarked—as being +deficient in sense."</p> + +<p>"In plain, rough, every-day sense perhaps she is not. But there's +something wanting in her, for all that. Her <i>notions</i> are not those of a +lady, if you can understand. You hear her speak of the work that horrid +landlady has made her do—well, she feels no shame in it."</p> + +<p>Before Mildred could answer, Mr. Arkell and William entered, big with +some local news. They kindly welcomed the meek-looking young stranger, +and then spoke it out.</p> + +<p>Edward Hughes, the brother of the sisters so frequently mentioned, had +bid adieu to Westerbury for ever. Whether he had at length become sick +of the condemnatory comments the town had not yet forgotten to pass on +Martha Ann, certain it was, that he had suddenly sold off his stock in +trade, and gone away, en route for Australia. For some little time past +he had said it was his intention to go; the two sisters also had spoken +of it with a kind of dread; but it was looked upon by most people as +idle talk. However, an opportunity arose for the disposing +advantageously of his business and stock; he embraced it without an +hour's delay and was already on his road to Liverpool to take ship. The +town could hardly believe it, and concluded he was gone to escape the +reflections on Martha Ann—although he had shown sufficient equanimity +over them in general. People needn't bother him about it, he had been +wont to say. They should talk to the one who had been the cause of the +mischief, Mr. Carr's fine gentleman of a son.</p> + +<p>"What a blow for the two sisters!" exclaimed Mildred. "What will they +do?"</p> + +<p>"Nay, my dear, they have their business," said Mr. Arkell. "I don't +suppose their brother contributed at all to their support. On the +contrary, people say he had been saving all he could to emigrate with."</p> + +<p>"I don't know that I altogether alluded to money, Uncle George. It +seems very sad for them to be left alone."</p> + +<p>"It is sad for them," said Mrs. Arkell, agreeing with Mildred. "First +Martha Ann, and now Edward!—it is a cruel bereavement. Tring says—and +I have noticed it myself—that Mary Hughes has not been the same since +that day's misfortune, three or four months ago."</p> + +<p>"Ah," said Mr. Arkell, drawing a long breath, "I wish I had had the +handling of Mr. Robert Carr that day!" The subject was a sore one with +him, and ever would be. William believed, in his heart, that he had +never been forgiven for having given the permission for the carriage +that unlucky morning.</p> + +<p>They continued to speak of the Hughes's and their affairs, and the +interest of Betsey Travice appeared to be awakened. She had risen to go +upstairs, but halted near the door, listening still.</p> + +<p>"And now tell me," began Charlotte, when they were alone together in the +chamber, "how you dared so to disgrace me!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Charlotte, how have I disgraced you? Do not be unkind to me. I wish +I had not come."</p> + +<p>"I wish it too with all my heart! Why <i>did</i> you come? How on earth could +you <i>think</i> of coming? What possessed you to do it?"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Arkell wrote for me. She wrote to Mrs. Dundyke, asking her to see +me off. I should, never else have thought of coming."</p> + +<p>"Did I write for you, pray? Could you not have known that if you were +wanted I <i>should</i> have written, and, failing that, you were not to come? +You wicked girl!"</p> + +<p>Betsey burst into tears. She had been domineered over in this manner, by +Charlotte, all her life; and she took it with appropriate humility and +repentance.</p> + +<p>"Charlotte, you know I'd lay down my life to do you any good; why are +you so angry with me?"</p> + +<p>"And you <i>do</i> do me good, don't you!" retorted Charlotte. "Look at the +awful disgrace you have this very evening brought upon me!"</p> + +<p>"What disgrace?" asked Betsey, her blue eyes bespeaking compassion from +the midst of her tears.</p> + +<p>"Good heavens! what an idiot!" uttered the exasperated Charlotte. "She +asks what disgrace! Did you not proclaim yourself before them a servant +of all work—a scourer of rooms, a blacker of grates, a——"</p> + +<p>"Stop, Charlotte; I have not done either of those things—Mrs. Dundyke +would not let me. I made beds and waited on the drawing-room, and +such-like light duties. I did this, but I did not black grates."</p> + +<p>"And if you did do it, was there any necessity for your proclaiming it? +Had you not the sense to know that for my sister to avow these things +was to me the very bitterest humiliation? Not for your doing them," +tauntingly added Charlotte, in her passion, "for you are worth nothing +better; but because you are a sister of mine."</p> + +<p>Betsey's sobs were choking her.</p> + +<p>"Where did you get the money to come down?" resumed Charlotte.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Arkell sent it me, Charlotte. There was a five-pound note in her +letter."</p> + +<p>It seemed to be getting worse and worse. Charlotte sat down and poked +the fire fiercely, Tring having lighted one in compassion to the young +visitor's evident chilly state. Betsey checked her sobs, and bent down +to kiss her sister's neck.</p> + +<p>"Somehow I always offend you, Charlotte; but I never do it +intentionally, as you know, and I hope you will forgive me. I so try to +do what I can for everybody. I always hope that God will help me to do +right. There was the work to be done at Mrs. Dundyke's, and it seemed to +fall to me to do it."</p> + +<p>Charlotte was not all bad, and the tone of the words could but +conciliate her. Her anger was subsiding into fretfulness.</p> + +<p>"The annoying thing is this, Betsey—that <i>you</i> feel no disgrace in +doing these things."</p> + +<p>"I should not do them by choice, Charlotte. But the work was there, as I +say; the servant was gone, and there was nobody but me to do it."</p> + +<p>"Well, well, it can never be mended now," returned Charlotte, +impatiently. "Why don't you let it drop?"</p> + +<p>Betsey sighed meekly. She would have been too glad to let it drop at +first. Charlotte pointed imperiously to a chair near her.</p> + +<p>"Sit down there. You have tried me dreadfully this evening. Don't you +know that in a few days I shall be Mrs. William Arkell? His father is +one of the largest manufacturers in Westerbury, and they are rolling in +money. It was not pleasant, I can tell you, for my sister to show +herself out in such a light. What do you think of him?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Charlotte! I think you must be so happy! I am so thankful, dear! +Working, and all that, does not matter for me; but it would not have +done for you. I never saw anyone so nice-looking."</p> + +<p>"As I?"</p> + +<p>"As Mr. William Arkell. How pleasant his manner is! And, Charlotte, who +is that young lady down there? I did not quite understand. What a sweet +face she has!"</p> + +<p>"You never do understand. It is the cousin: Mildred. <i>She</i> thought to +be Mrs. William Arkell," continued Charlotte, triumphantly. "The very +first night I came here I saw it as plain as glass, and I took my +resolution—to disappoint her. She has been loving William all her life, +and fully meant him to marry her. I said I'd supplant her, and I've done +it; and I know our marriage is just breaking her heart."</p> + +<p>Betsey Travice—than whom one more generous-hearted, more unselfishly +forgetful of self-interest, more earnestly single-minded, did not +exist—felt frightened at the avowal. Had it been possible for her to +recoil from her imperious sister, she had recoiled then.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Charlotte!" was all she uttered.</p> + +<p>"Why, you don't think I should allow so good a match to escape me, if I +could help it! And, besides, I love him," added Charlotte, in a deeper +voice.</p> + +<p>"But if——oh, Charlotte! pardon me for speaking—I cannot help it—if +that sweet young lady loved him before you came? had loved him for +years?"</p> + +<p>"Well?" said Charlotte, equably.</p> + +<p>"It <i>cannot</i> be right of you to take him from her."</p> + +<p>"Right or not right, I have done it," said Charlotte, with a passing +laugh. "But it <i>is</i> right, for he loves me, and not her."</p> + +<p>"What will she do?" cried Betsey, after a pause of concern; and it +seemed that she asked the question of her own heart, not of Charlotte.</p> + +<p>"Dwindle down into an old maid," was the careless answer: spoken, it is +to be hoped, more in carelessness than heartlessness. "There, that's +enough. Have you seen anything of Mrs. Nicholson?" resumed Charlotte.</p> + +<p>"We have seen her a great many times, Charlotte; she has been very +troublesome to Mrs. Dundyke. She wanted your address here: but for me, +Mrs. Dundyke would have given it to her. She said—but, perhaps, I had +better not tell it you."</p> + +<p>"What who said? Mrs. Dundyke? Oh, you may tell anything <i>she</i> said. I +know her delight was to abuse me."</p> + +<p>"No, no, Charlotte; it never was. She only said it was not right of you +to order so many new things when you were coming here, unless you could +pay for them. I went to Mrs. Nicholson and paid her a sovereign off the +account."</p> + +<p>"How did you get the sovereign?"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Dundyke made me a present of it—as a little recompense for my +work, she said. I did not so very much want anything for myself, for I +had just had new shoes, and I had not worn my best clothes; so I took it +to Mrs. Nicholson."</p> + +<p>Did the young girl's generosity strike no chord of gratitude in +Charlotte's heart? This money, owing to Mrs. Nicholson, a fashionable +dressmaker, had been Charlotte's worry during her visit. She would soon +have it in her power to pay now.</p> + +<p>"I wonder what you'll do in future?" resumed Charlotte, looking at her +sister. "You can't expect to find a home with me, you know. It would be +entirely unreasonable. And you can't expect to marry, for I don't think +you'd be likely to get anyone to have you. If——"</p> + +<p>The exceedingly vivid blush that overspread the younger sister's cheek, +the wondrous look of intelligence in the raised eyes, brought +Charlotte's polite speech to a summary conclusion. "What's the matter?" +she asked.</p> + +<p>"Charlotte, if you would let me tell you," was the whispered answer. +"Papa is dead, and mamma is dead, and there is no one left but you; and +I suppose I <i>ought</i> to tell you. I have promised to marry David."</p> + +<p>"Promised——what?" repeated Charlotte, in an access of consternation.</p> + +<p>"To marry David Dundyke. Not yet, of course; not for a long while, I +dare say. When he shall be earning enough to keep a wife."</p> + +<p>For once speech failed Charlotte Travice, and she sat gazing at her +sister. Her equanimity had received several shocks that evening; but +none had been like this. She had seen but little of this David Dundyke; +but, a vision of remembrance rose before her of an inferior, common +young man, carrying coal-scuttles upstairs in his shirt-sleeves, who +could not speak a word grammatically.</p> + +<p>"Are you really mad, Betsey?"</p> + +<p>"I feared you would not like it, Charlotte; and I know I can't expect to +be as you are. But we shall be more than a hundred miles apart, so that +it need not annoy you."</p> + +<p>Betsey had unconsciously put the matter in the right light. It was not +because Mr. Dundyke was unfit to be Betsey's husband, but because he was +unfit to be her brother-in-law, that the matter so grated on the ear of +Charlotte.</p> + +<p>"I cannot expect much better, Charlotte; I have not been educated as you +have. Perhaps if I had been——"</p> + +<p>"But the man is utterly beneath you!" burst forth Charlotte. "He is a +common man. He used—if I am not mistaken—to black the boots and shoes +for the house at night, and carry up the coal before he went out in the +morning!"</p> + +<p>"But not as a servant, Charlotte; only to save work for his mother. Just +as I helped with the rooms and waited, you know. He does it all still. +They were very respectable once; but Mr. Dundyke died, and she had to +struggle on, and she took this house in Upper Stamford-street. You have +heard her tell mamma of it many a time."</p> + +<p>"You <i>can't</i> think of marrying him, Betsey? You are something of a lady, +at any rate; and he——cannot so much as speak like a Christian."</p> + +<p>"He is very steady and industrious; he will be sure to get on," murmured +Betsey. "Some of the clerks in the house he is in get a great deal of +money."</p> + +<p>"What house is it?" snapped Charlotte, beginning to feel cross again. "A +public-house?—an eating-house?"</p> + +<p>"It is a tea-house," said Betsey, mildly. "They are large wholesale +tea-dealers; whole shiploads of tea come consigned to them from China. +He went into it first of all as errand-boy, and——"</p> + +<p>"You need not have told <i>that</i>, I think."</p> + +<p>"And has got on by attention and perseverance to be a clerk. He is +twenty-two now."</p> + +<p>"If he gets on to be a partner—if he gets on to be sole proprietor—you +cannot separate him from himself!" shrieked Charlotte. "Look here, +Betsey; sooner than you should marry that low man, I'll have you to live +with me. You can make yourself useful."</p> + +<p>"Thank you kindly, Charlotte, all the same; but I could not come to you. +You see, you and I do not get on together. It is my fault, I know, +being so inferior; but I can't help it. Besides, I have promised David +Dundyke."</p> + +<p>Charlotte looked at her. "You do not mean to tell me that you have any +<i>love</i> for this David Dundyke?"</p> + +<p>Another bright blush, and Betsey cast down her pretty blue eyes. "We +have seen so much of each other, Charlotte," she said, in a tone of +apology; "he brings the books home nearly every evening now, instead of +doing them out."</p> + +<p>"Well, I shan't stop with you," concluded Charlotte, moving to the door. +"I'm afraid to stop, for I truly believe you are going on for Bedlam. +And <i>you'd</i> better make haste, if you want to do anything to yourself. +Supper will be ready directly."</p> + +<p>"One moment, Charlotte," said Betsey, detaining her—"I want to say only +a word. They were speaking downstairs this evening of a family of the +name of Hughes—a Mr. Edward Hughes, and some sisters."</p> + +<p>"Well?" cried Charlotte.</p> + +<p>"I think they are related to Mrs. Dundyke. She has relatives in +Westerbury of that name; she has mentioned it several times since you +came down. One or two of the sisters are dressmakers."</p> + +<p>"Pleasant!" ejaculated Charlotte. "Are they intimate?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all. I don't think they have met for years, and I am sure they +never correspond. But when you were all speaking of the Hughes's +to-night, I thought it must be the same. I did not like to say so."</p> + +<p>"And it's well you did not," was Charlotte's comment. "Those Hughes +people have not been in good odour in Westerbury since last December."</p> + +<p>She went downstairs in a thoughtful mood, her brain at work upon the +question of whether Betsey <i>could</i> be in her right mind. The revelation +regarding Mr. David Dundyke caused her really to doubt it. She, +Charlotte Travice, had a sufficiently correct taste—to give her her +due—and it would have been simply impossible to her to have associated +herself for life with anyone not possessing, outwardly at any rate, the +attributes of a gentleman.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<h3>DISPLEASING EYES.</h3> + + +<p>The wedding day of Mr. William Arkell and Miss Travice dawned. All had +gone well, and was going on well towards completion. You who have learnt +to like Mildred Arkell, may probably have been in hopes that some +impediment might arise to frustrate the wedding—that the bride, after +all, might be Mildred, not Charlotte. But it is in the chronicles of +romance chiefly that this sort of poetical justice takes place. Weddings +are not frustrated in real life; and when I told you at the beginning +that this was a story of real life, I told you the truth. The day +dawned—one of the finest the close of April has ever seen—and the +wedding party went to church to the marriage, and came home again when +it was over.</p> + +<p>It was quite a noted wedding for those quiet days, and guests were +bidden to it from far and near. That the bride looked charmingly lovely +was indisputable, and they called William Arkell a lucky fellow.</p> + +<p>A guest at the breakfast-table, but not in the church, was Mildred +Arkell. She had wholly declined to be the bridesmaid; but it was next to +impossible for her to decline to be at the breakfast. Put the case to +yourselves, as Mildred had put it to herself in that past March night, +that now seemed to be so long ago. Her resolve to pass over the +affliction in silence; to bear, and make no sign, involved its +consequences—and <i>they</i> were, that social life must go on just as +usual, and she must visit at her uncle's as before. Worse than any other +thought to Mildred, was the one, that the terrible blow to her might +become known. She shrank with all the reticence of a pure-minded girl +from the baring of her heart to others—shrank from it with a shivering +dread—and Mildred felt that she would far rather die, than see her love +suspected for one, who, as it now turned out, had never loved her. So +she buried her misery within her, and went to Mr. Arkell's as before, +not quite so frequently perhaps, but sufficiently so to excite no +observation. She had joined in the plans and preparations for the +wedding; had helped to fix upon the bride's attire, simply because she +could not help herself. How she had borne it, and suppressed within her +heart its own agony, she never knew. Charlotte's keen bright eyes would +at times be fixed on hers, as if they could read her soul's secret; +perhaps they did. William's rather seemed to shun her. But she had gone +through it all, and borne it bravely; and none suspected how cruel was +the ordeal.</p> + +<p>And here was Mildred at the wedding-breakfast! There had been no escape +for it. Peter went to church, but Mrs. Dan and Mildred arrived for +breakfast only. Mildred, regarded and loved almost as a daughter of the +house, had the place of honour assigned her next to William Arkell, his +bride being on his other hand. None forgot how chaste and pretty Mildred +looked that day; paler it may have been than usual, but that's expected +at a wedding. She wore a delicate pearl-grey silk, and her gentle face, +with its sweet, sad eyes, had never been pleasanter to look upon. "A +little longer! a little longer!" she kept murmuring to her own +rebellions heart. "May God help me to bear!"</p> + +<p>Perhaps the one who felt the most out of place at that breakfast-table, +was our young friend, Miss Betsey Travice. Miss Betsey had never +assisted at a scene of gaiety in her life—or, as she called it, +grandeur; and perhaps she wished it over nearly as fervently as another +was doing. She wore a new shining silk of maize colour, the gift of Mrs. +Arkell—for maize was then in full fashion for bridesmaids—and Betsey +felt particularly stiff and ashamed in it. What if the young gentleman +on her left, who seemed to partake rather freely of the different wines, +and to be a rollicking sort of youth, should upset something on her +beautiful dress! Betsey dared not think of the catastrophe, and she +astonished him by suddenly asking him if he'd please to move his glasses +to the other side.</p> + +<p>For answer, he turned his eyes full upon her, and she started. Very +peculiar eyes they were, round and black, showing a great deal of the +white, and that had a yellow tinge. His face was sallow, but otherwise +his features were rather fine. It was not the colour of the eyes, +however, that startled Betsey Travice, but their expression. A very +peculiar expression, which made her recoil from him, and it took its +seat firmly thenceforth in her memory. A talkative, agreeable sort of +youth he seemed in manner, not as old by a year or two, Betsey thought, +as herself; but, somehow, she formed a dislike to him—or rather to his +eyes.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon—I did not catch what you asked me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, if you please, sir," meekly stammered Betsey, "I asked if you would +mind moving the wine glasses to the other side; all three of them are +full."</p> + +<p>"And you are afraid of your dress," he said, good-naturedly, doing what +she requested. "Such accidents do happen to me sometimes, for I have a +trick of throwing my arms about."</p> + +<p>But, in spite of the good nature so evident on the surface, there was a +hidden vein of satire apparent to Betsey's ear. She blushed violently, +fearing she had done something dreadfully incongruous. "I wonder who he +is?" she thought; amidst the many names of guests she had not caught +his.</p> + +<p>Later, when all had left, save the Arkell family, and the bride and +bridegroom were some miles on their honeymoon tour, Betsey ventured to +put the question to Mildred—Who was the gentleman who had sat next to +her at breakfast?</p> + +<p>Poor Mildred could not recollect. The breakfast was to her one scene of +confused remembrance, and she knew nothing save that she and William +Arkell sat side by side.</p> + +<p>"I don't remember where you sat," she was obliged to confess to Betsey.</p> + +<p>"Nearly opposite to you, Miss Arkell. He had great black eyes, and he +talked loud."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that was Ben Carr," interrupted Peter; "he did sit next to you. He +is Squire Carr's grandson. Did you see an old gentleman with a good deal +of white hair, at the end of the table, near my mother?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I did," said Betsey; "I thought what beautiful hair it was."</p> + +<p>"That was Squire Carr. I wonder, by the way, what brought Ben at the +breakfast. Aunt," added Peter, turning to Mrs. Arkell; "did you invite +Benjamin Carr?"</p> + +<p>"No, Peter, Benjamin was not invited," was the reply. "Squire Carr and +his son were invited, but John declined. I don't much think he likes +going out."</p> + +<p>"Afraid of being put to the expense of a coat," interrupted Peter.</p> + +<p>There was a general laugh, John Carr's propensity to closeness in +expenditure was well known. Mrs. Arkell resumed—</p> + +<p>"So when John Carr declined, your uncle asked for his eldest son, young +Valentine, to come with the squire; it seems, however, the squire +brought Benjamin instead."</p> + +<p>"Report runs that the squire favours his younger grandson more than he +does his elder," remarked Peter. "For that matter, I don't know who does +like young Valentine; I don't, he is too mean-spirited. Why did you wish +to know who it was, Miss Betsey?"</p> + +<p>"Not for anything in particular, sir. What curious eyes he has got!"</p> + +<p>It was late when Mrs. Dan and her children went home. The evening had +been a quiet one; in no way different from the usual evenings at Mr. +Arkell's. Mildred had borne up bravely, and been cheerful as the rest.</p> + +<p>But, oh! the tension it had been to every nerve of her frame, every +fibre of her heart! Not until she was shut up in the quiet of her own +room, did she know the strain it had been. She took her pretty dress +off, threw a shawl on her shoulders, and sat down; her brain battling +with its misery, her hands pressed upon her throbbing temples.</p> + +<p>How long she thus sat she could not tell. I believe—I honestly and +truly believe—that no sorrow the world knows, can be of a nature more +cruel than was Mildred's that night; certainly none could be more +intensely felt. "How can I bear it?" she moaned, "how can I bear it? To +see them come back here in their wedded happiness, and have to witness +it, and live. Perhaps—after a time, if God will help me, I shall +be——"</p> + +<p>"What on earth are you doing, Mildred?"</p> + +<p>She started from her chair with a scream. So entirely had she believed +herself secure from interruption, that in the first confused moments it +seemed as if her thoughts and anguish had been laid bare. Mrs. Dan stood +there in her night-dress, a candle in her hand.</p> + +<p>"You were moaning, Mildred. Are you ill?"</p> + +<p>"I—I am quite well, mamma," stammered Mildred, her words confused, and +her face a fiery red. "Do you want anything?"</p> + +<p>"But how is it you are not undressed? I had been in bed ever so long."</p> + +<p>"I suppose I had fallen into a train of thought, and let the time slip +away," answered Mildred, beginning to undo her hair in a heap, as if to +make up for the lost time. "Why have you come out of your bed, mamma?"</p> + +<p>"Child, I don't feel myself, and I thought I'd come and call you. It is +well, as it happens, that you are not undressed, for I think I should +like a cup of tea made. If I drink it very hot, it may take away the +pain."</p> + +<p>"Where is the pain?" asked Mildred, beginning to put up her hair again, +as hurriedly as she had undone it.</p> + +<p>"I scarcely know where it is; I feel ill all over. The fact is, I never +ought to go to these festivities," added Mrs. Dan, hastening back to her +own room. "They are sure to upset me."</p> + +<p>Alas! it was not the festivity that had "upset" Mrs. Dan; but that her +time was come. Another hour, and she was so much worse, that Peter had +to be aroused from his bed, and go for their doctor. Mrs. Daniel Arkell +was in danger.</p> + +<p>It may be deemed unfeeling, in some measure, to say it, but it was the +best thing that could have happened for Mildred. It took her out of her +own thoughts—away from herself. There was so much to do, even in that +first night, which was only the commencement; and it all fell on +Mildred. Peter, with his timid heart, and unpractised hands, was utterly +useless in a sick room, as book-worms in general are; and their one +servant, Ann, a young, inexperienced, awkward girl, was nearly as much +so. Mustard poultices had to be got, steaming hot flannels, and many +other things. Before Mildred had made ready one thing, another called +for her. It was well it was so!</p> + +<p>At seven o'clock, Peter started for his uncle's, and told the news +there. Mr. Arkell went up directly; Mrs. Arkell a little later. Mrs. +Dan's danger had become imminent then, and Mr. Arkell went himself, and +brought back a physician.</p> + +<p>Later in the morning, Mildred was called downstairs to the sitting-room. +Betsey Travice was standing there. The girl came forward, a pleading +light in her earnest eye.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Miss Arkell! if you will only please to let me! I have come to ask +to help you."</p> + +<p>"To help me!" mechanically repeated Mildred.</p> + +<p>"I am so good a nurse; I am indeed! Poor papa died suddenly, but I +nursed mamma all through her last long illness; there was only me to do +everything, and she used to say that I was as handy as if I had learnt +it in the hospitals. Let me try and help you!"</p> + +<p>"You are very, very kind," said Mildred, feeling inclined to accept the +offer as freely as it was made, for she knew that she should require +assistance if the present state of things continued. "How came you to +think of it?"</p> + +<p>"When Mrs. Arkell came home to breakfast this morning, she said how +everything lay upon you, and that you would never be able to do it. I +believe she was thinking of sending Tring; but I took courage to tell +her what a good nurse I was, and to beg her to let me come. I said—if +you will not think it presuming of me, Miss Arkell—that Mrs. Daniel was +my Godmother, and I thought it gave me a sort of right to wait upon +her."</p> + +<p>Mildred, undemonstrative Mildred, stooped down in a sudden impulse, and +kissed the gentle face. "I shall be very glad of you, Betsey. Will you +stay now?"</p> + +<p>There was no need of further words. Betsey's bonnet and shawl were off +in a moment, and she stood ready in her soft, black, noiseless dress.</p> + +<p>"Please to put me to do anything there is to do, Miss Arkell. +<i>Anything</i>, you know. I am handy in the kitchen. I do any sort of rough +work as handily as I can nurse. And perhaps your servant will lend me +an apron."</p> + +<p>Three days only; three days of sharp, quick illness, and Mrs. Daniel +Arkell's last hour arrived. Betsey Travice had not boasted +unwarrantably, for a better, more patient, ay, or more skilful nurse +never entered a sick chamber. She really was of the utmost use and +comfort, and Mildred righteously believed that Heaven had been working +out its own ends in sending her just at that time to Westerbury.</p> + +<p>It was somewhat singular that Betsey Travice should again be brought +into the presence of the young gentleman to whose eyes she had taken so +unaccountable a dislike. On that last day, when the final scene was near +at hand, the maid came to the dying chamber, saying that Miss Arkell was +wanted below; a messenger had come over from Mr. John Carr, and was +asking to see her in person.</p> + +<p>"I cannot go down now," was Mildred's answer; "you might have known +that, Ann."</p> + +<p>"I did know it, miss, and I said it; that is, I said I didn't think you +could. But he wouldn't take no denial; he said Mr. Carr had told him +not."</p> + +<p>Giving herself no trouble as to who the "he" might be, Mildred whispered +to Betsey Travice to go down for her, and mention the state of things.</p> + +<p>Excessively to Betsey's discomfiture, she found herself confronted by +the gentleman of the curious eyes, who held out his hand familiarly.</p> + +<p>His errand was nothing particular, after all; but his father had +expressly ordered him to see Miss Arkell, and convey to her personally +his sympathy and inquiries as to her mother's state. For the news of +Mrs. Dan's danger had travelled to Squire Carr's, and urgent business at +home had alone prevented John Carr's coming over in person. As it was, +he sent his son Ben.</p> + +<p>Betsey, more meek than ever, thanked him, and told him how ill Mrs. +Daniel was; that, in point of fact, another hour or two would bring the +end. It was quite impossible Miss Arkell could, under the circumstances, +leave the chamber.</p> + +<p>"Of course she can't," he answered; "and I'm very sorry to hear it. My +father will go on at me, I dare say, saying it was my fault, as he +generally does when anything goes contrary to his orders. But he'd not +have seen her any the more had he come himself. You will tell me who you +are?" he suddenly continued to Betsey, without any break; "I sat by you +at the breakfast, but I forget your name."</p> + +<p>"If you please, sir, it is Betsey Travice," was the reply, and the girl +quite cowered as she stood under the blaze of those black and piercing +eyes.</p> + +<p>"Betsey Travice! and a very pretty name, too. You'll please to say +everything proper for us up there," jerking his head in the direction of +the upper floors. "Oh! and I say, I forgot to add that my grandfather, +the squire, intends to ride in to-morrow, and call."</p> + +<p>He shook hands with her in the passage, and vaulted out at the front +door, a tall, strong, fine young fellow. And those eyes, which had so +unaccountably excited the disfavour of Miss Betsey, were generally +considered the handsomest of the handsome.</p> + +<p>Betsey stole upstairs again, and whispered the message into Mildred's +ear. "It was that tall, dark young man, with the black eyes, that sat by +me at Charlotte's wedding breakfast."</p> + +<p>They waited on, in the hushed chamber: Peter, Mildred, Mr. and Mrs. +Arkell, and Betsey Travice. And at two o'clock in the afternoon the +shutters were put up to the windows, through which Mrs. Daniel Arkell +would never look again.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<h3>GOING OUT AS LADY'S MAID.</h3> + + +<p>A week or two given to grief, and Mildred Arkell sat down to deliberate +upon her plans for the future. It was impossible to conceal from +herself, dutiful, loving, grieving daughter though she was, how +wonderfully her mother's death had removed the one sole impediment to +the wish that had for some little time lain uppermost in her heart. She +wanted to leave Westerbury; it was misery to her to remain in it; but +while her mother had lived, her place was there. All seemed easy now; +and in the midst of her bitter grief for that mother, Mildred's heart +almost leaped at the thought that there was no longer any imperative tie +to bind her to her home.</p> + +<p>She would go away from Westerbury. But how? what to do? For a governess +Mildred had not been educated; and accomplishments were then getting so +very general, even the daughters of the petty tradespeople learning +them, that Mildred felt in that capacity she should stand but little +chance of obtaining a situation. But she might be a companion to an +invalid lady, might nurse her, wait upon her, and be of use to her; and +that sort of situation she determined to seek.</p> + +<p>Quietly, and after much thought, she arranged her plans in her own mind; +quietly she hoped and prayed for assistance to be enabled to carry them +out. Nobody suspected this. Mildred seemed to others just as she had +ever seemed, quiet, unobtrusive Mildred Arkell, absorbed in the domestic +cares of her own home, in thought for the comfort of her not at all +strong brother. Mildred went now but very little to her aunt's. Betsey +Travice had returned to London, to the enjoyments of Mrs. Dundyke's +household, which she had refused to abandon; and William Arkell and his +bride were not yet come home.</p> + +<p>"Peter," she said, one late evening that they were sitting together—and +it was the first intimation of the project that had passed her lips—"I +have been thinking of the future."</p> + +<p>"Yes?" replied Peter, absently, for he was as usual disputing some +knotty point in his mind, having a Greek root for its basis. "What about +it?"</p> + +<p>"I am thinking of leaving home; leaving it for good."</p> + +<p>The words awoke even Peter. He listened to her while she told her tale, +listened without interrupting, he was so amazed.</p> + +<p>"But I cannot understand why you want to go," he said at last.</p> + +<p>"To be independent." Of course she was ready to assign any motive but +the real one.</p> + +<p>Peter could not understand this. She was independent at home. "I don't +know what it is you are thinking of, Mildred! Our house will go on just +the same; my mother's death makes no difference to it. I kept it before, +and I shall keep it still."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, Peter, I know that. That is not it. I—in point of fact, I wish +for a change of scene. I think I am tired of Westerbury."</p> + +<p>"But what can you do if you go away from it?"</p> + +<p>"I intend to ask Colonel and Mrs. Dewsbury: I suppose you have no +objection. They have many influential friends in London and elsewhere, +and perhaps they might help me to a situation."</p> + +<p>"Why do you want to go to London?" rejoined Peter, catching at the word. +"It's full of traps and pitfalls, as people say. I don't know; I never +was there."</p> + +<p>"I don't want to go to London, in particular; I don't care where I go." +Anywhere—anywhere that would take her out of Westerbury, she had nearly +added; but she controlled the words, and resumed calmly. "I would as +soon go to London as to any other place, Peter, and to any other place +as to London. I don't mind where it is, so that I find a—a—sphere of +usefulness."</p> + +<p>"I don't like it at all," said Peter, after a pause of deliberation. +"There are only two of us left now, Mildred, and I think we ought to +continue together."</p> + +<p>"I will come and see you sometimes."</p> + +<p>"But, Mildred——"</p> + +<p>"Listen, Peter," she imperatively interrupted, "it may save trouble. I +have made up my mind to do this, and you must forgive me for saying that +I am my own mistress, free to go, free to come. I wished to go out in +this way some time before my mother died; but it was not right for me to +leave her, and I said nothing. I shall certainly go now. I heard +somebody once speak of the 'fever of change,'" she added, with a poor +attempt at jesting; "I suppose I have caught it."</p> + +<p>"Well, I am sorry, Mildred: it's all I can say. I did not think you +would have been so eager to leave me."</p> + +<p>The ready tears filled her eyes. "I am not eager to leave <i>you</i>, Peter; +it will be my greatest grief. And you know if the thing does not work +well, and I get too much buffeted by the world, I can but come back to +you."</p> + +<p>It never occurred to Peter Arkell to interpose any sort of veto, to say +you shall not go. He had not had a will of his own in all his life; his +mother and Mildred had arranged everything for him, and had Mildred +announced her intention of becoming an opera dancer, he would never have +presumed to gainsay it.</p> + +<p>The following morning Mildred called at Mrs. Dewsbury's. They lived in a +fine house at the opposite side of the river; but only about ten +minutes' walk distance, if you took the near way, and crossed the ferry.</p> + +<p>One of the loveliest girls Mildred had ever in her life seen was in the +drawing-room to which she was shown, to wait for Mrs. Dewsbury. It was +Miss Cheveley, an orphan relative of Mrs. Dewsbury's, who had recently +come to reside with her. She rose from her chair in courteous welcome to +Mildred; and Mildred could not for a few moments take her eyes from her +face—from the delicate, transparent features, the rich, loving brown +eyes, and the damask cheeks. The announcement, "Miss Arkell," and the +deep mourning, had no doubt led the young lady to conclude that it was +the tutor's sister. Mrs. Dewsbury came in immediately.</p> + +<p>"Lucy, will you go into the schoolroom," she said, as she shook hands +with Mildred, whom she knew, though very slightly. "The governess is +giving Maria her music lesson, and the others are alone."</p> + +<p>As Miss Cheveley crossed the room in acquiescence, Mildred's eyes +followed her—followed her to the last moment; and she observed that +Mrs. Dewsbury noticed that they did.</p> + +<p>"I never saw anyone so beautiful in my life," she said to Mrs. Dewsbury +by way of apology.</p> + +<p>"Do you think so? A lovely face, certainly; but you know face is not +everything. It cannot compensate for figure. Poor Miss Cheveley!"</p> + +<p>"Is Miss Cheveley's not a good figure?"</p> + +<p>"Miss Cheveley's! Did you not notice? She is deformed."</p> + +<p>Mildred had not noticed it. She had been too absorbed in the lovely +face. She turned to Mrs. Dewsbury, apologized for calling upon her, told +her errand, that she wished to go out in the world, and craved the +assistance of herself and Colonel Dewsbury in endeavouring to place her.</p> + +<p>"I know, madam, that you have influential friends in many parts of +England," she said, "and it is this——"</p> + +<p>"But in what capacity do you wish to go out?" interrupted Mrs. Dewsbury. +"As governess?"</p> + +<p>"I would go as <i>English</i> governess," answered Mildred, with a stress +upon the word. "But I do not understand French, and I know nothing of +music or drawing: therefore I fear there is little chance for me in that +capacity. I thought perhaps I might find a situation as companion; as +humble companion, that is to say, to make myself useful."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dewsbury shook her head. "Such situations are rare, Miss Arkell."</p> + +<p>"I suppose they are; too rare, perhaps, for me to find. Rather than not +find anything, I would go out as lady's maid."</p> + +<p>"As lady's maid!" repeated Mrs. Dewsbury.</p> + +<p>Mildred's cheek burnt, and she suddenly thought of what the town would +say. "Yes, as lady's maid, rather than not go," she repeated, firm in +her resolution. "I think I have not much pride; what I have, I must +subdue."</p> + +<p>"But, Miss Arkell, allow me to ask—and I have a motive in it—whether +you would be capable of a lady's-maid's duties?"</p> + +<p>"I think so," replied Mildred. "I would endeavour to render myself so. I +have made my own dresses and bonnets, and I used to make my mother's +caps until she became a widow; and I am fond of dressing hair."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dewsbury mused. "I think I have heard that you are well read, Miss +Arkell?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am," replied Mildred. "I am a thoroughly good English scholar; +and my father, whose taste in literature was excellent, formed mine. I +could teach Latin to boys until they were ten or eleven," she added, +with a half smile.</p> + +<p>"Do you read aloud <i>well</i>?"</p> + +<p>"I believe I do. I have been in the habit of reading a great deal to my +mother."</p> + +<p>"Well now I will tell you the purport of my putting these questions, +which I hope you have not thought impertinent," said Mrs. Dewsbury. "The +last time Lady Dewsbury wrote to us—you may have heard of her, perhaps, +Miss Arkell, the widow of Sir John?"</p> + +<p>Mildred did not remember to have done so.</p> + +<p>"Sir John Dewsbury was my husband's brother. But that is of no +consequence. Lady Dewsbury, the widow, is an invalid; and the last time +she wrote to us she mentioned in her letter that she was wishing to find +some one who would act both as companion and maid. It was merely spoken +of incidentally, and I do not know whether she is suited. Shall I write +and inquire?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, thank you, thank you!" cried Mildred, her heart eagerly grasping at +this faint prospect. "I shall not care what I do, if Lady Dewsbury will +but take me."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dewsbury smiled at the eagerness. She concluded that Mrs. Dan's +death had made a difference in their income, hence the wish to go out. +Mildred returned home, said nothing to anybody of what she had done, and +waited, full of hope.</p> + +<p>A short while of suspense, and then Mrs. Dewsbury sent for her. Lady +Dewsbury's answer was favourable. She was willing to make the +engagement, provided Miss Arkell could undertake what was required.</p> + +<p>"First of all," said Mrs. Dewsbury to her, "Lady Dewsbury asks whether +you can bear confinement?"</p> + +<p>"I can indeed," replied Mildred. "And the better, perhaps, that I have +no wish for aught else."</p> + +<p>"Are you a good nurse in sickness?"</p> + +<p>"I nursed my mother in her last illness," said Mildred, with tears in +her eyes. "It was a very short one, it is true; but she had been ailing +for years, and I attended on her. She used to say I must have been born +a nurse."</p> + +<p>"Lady Dewsbury is a great invalid," continued the colonel's wife, "and +what she requires is a patient attendant; a maid, if you like to call it +such; but who will at the same time be to her a companion and friend. 'A +thoroughly-well-brought-up person,' she writes, 'lady-like in her +manners and habits; but not a <i>fine lady</i> who would object to make +herself useful.' I really think you would suit, Miss Arkell."</p> + +<p>Mildred thought so too. "I will serve her to the very best of my power, +Mrs. Dewsbury, if she will but try me;" and Mrs. Dewsbury noted the +same eagerness that had been in her tone before, and smiled at it.</p> + +<p>"She is willing to try you. Lady Dewsbury has, in fact, left the +decision to the judgment of myself and the colonel. She has described +exactly what she requires, and has empowered us to engage you, if we +think you will be suitable."</p> + +<p>"And will you engage me, Mrs. Dewsbury?"</p> + +<p>"I will engage you now. The next question is about salary. Lady Dewsbury +proposes to give at the rate of thirty pounds per annum for the first +six months; after that at the rate of forty pounds; and should you +remain with her beyond two years, it would be raised to fifty."</p> + +<p>"Fifty!" echoed Mildred, in her astonishment. "Fifty pounds a year! For +me!"</p> + +<p>"Is it less than you expected?"</p> + +<p>"It is a great deal more," was the candid answer. "I had not thought +much about salary. I fancied I might be offered perhaps ten or twenty +pounds."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dewsbury smiled. "Lady Dewsbury is liberal in all she does, Miss +Arkell. I should not be surprised, were you to remain with her any +considerable length of time, several years for instance, but she would +double it."</p> + +<p>But for the skeleton preying on Mildred Arkell's heart—the bitter agony +that never left it by night or by day—she would have walked home, not +knowing whether she trod on her head or her heels. The prospect of fifty +pounds a-year to an inexperienced girl, who, perhaps, had never owned +more than a few shillings at a time in her life, was enough to turn her +head.</p> + +<p>But it was not all to be quite plain sailing. Mildred had not disclosed +the project to her aunt yet. Truth was, she shrunk from the task, +foreseeing the opposition that would inevitably ensue. But it must no +longer be delayed, for she was to depart for London that day week, and +she went straight to Mrs. Arkells. As she had expected, Mrs. Arkell met +the news with extreme astonishment and anger.</p> + +<p>"Do you know what you are doing, child! Don't talk to me about being a +burden upon Peter! You——"</p> + +<p>"Aunt, hear me!" she implored: and be it observed, that to Mrs. Arkell, +Mildred put not forth one word of that convenient plea of "seeing the +world," that she had filled Peter with. To Mrs. Arkell she urged another +phase of the reasoning, and one, in truth, which had no slight weight +with herself—Peter's interests. "I ought not to be a burden upon Peter, +aunt, and I will not. You know how his heart is set upon going to the +university; but he cannot get there if he does not save for it? If I +remain at home, the house must be kept up the same as now; the +housekeeping expenses must go on; and it will take every shilling of +Peter's earnings to do all this. Aunt, I could not live upon him, for +very shame. While my mother was here it was a different thing."</p> + +<p>"But—to go to Peter's own affairs for a moment," cried Mrs. Arkell, +irascibly—"what great difference will your going away make to his +expenses? Twenty pounds a year at most. Where's the use of your putting +a false colouring on things to me?"</p> + +<p>"I have not done so, aunt. Peter and I have talked these matters over +since I resolved to go out, and I believe he intends to let his house."</p> + +<p>"To let his house!"</p> + +<p>"It is large for him now; large and lonely. He means to let it, if he +can, furnished; just as it is."</p> + +<p>"And take up his abode in the street?"</p> + +<p>"He will easily find apartments for himself," said Mildred, feeling for +and excusing Mrs. Arkell's unusual irritability. "And, aunt, don't you +see what a great advantage this would be to him in his plans? Saving a +great part of what he earns, receiving money for his house besides, he +will soon get together enough to take him to college."</p> + +<p>"I don't see anything, except that this notion of going away, which you +have taken up, is a very wrong one. It cannot be permitted, Mildred."</p> + +<p>"Oh! aunt, don't say so," she entreated. "Peter must put by."</p> + +<p>"Let him put by; it is what he ought to do. And you, Mildred, must come +to us. Be a daughter to me and to your uncle in our old age. Since +William left it, the house is not the same, and we are lonely. We once +thought—you will not mind my saying it now—that you would indeed have +been a daughter to us, and in that case William's home and yours would +have been here. He should never have left us."</p> + +<p>"Aunt——"</p> + +<p>"Be still, and hear me, Mildred. I do not ask you this on the spur of +the moment, because you are threatening to go out to service; and it is +nothing less. Child! did you think we were going to neglect you? To +leave you alone with Peter, uncared for? Your uncle and I had already +planned to bring you home to us, but we were willing to let you stay a +short while with Peter, so as not to take everybody from him just at +once. Why, Mildred, are you aware that your <i>mother</i> knew you were to +come to us?"</p> + +<p>Mildred was not aware of it. She sat smoothing the black crape tucks of +her dress with her forefinger, making no reply. Her heart was full.</p> + +<p>"A few days after I made that foolish mistake—but indeed the fault was +William's, and so I have always told him—I went and had it all out +with Mrs. Dan. I told her how bitterly disappointed I and George both +were; but I said, in one sense it need make no difference to us, for you +should be our daughter still, and come home to us as soon as ever—I +mean, when the time came that you would no longer be wanted at home. And +I can tell you, Mildred, that your mother was gratified at the plan, +though you are not."</p> + +<p>Mildred's eyes were swimming. She felt that if she spoke, it would be to +break into sobs.</p> + +<p>"Your poor mother said it took a weight from her mind. The house is +Peter's, as you know, and he can't dispose of it, but the furniture was +hers, left absolutely to her by your papa at his death. She had been +undecided whether she ought not to leave the furniture to you, as Peter +had the house; and yet she did not like to take it from him. This plan +of ours provided for you; so her course was clear, not to divide the +furniture from the house. As it turned out, she made no will, through +delaying it from time to time; and in law, I suppose, the furniture +belongs as much to you as to Peter. You must come home to us, Mildred."</p> + +<p>"Oh, aunt, you and my uncle are both very kind," she sobbed. "I should +have liked much to come here and contribute to your comforts; but, +indeed——"</p> + +<p>"Indeed—what?" persisted Mrs. Arkell, pressing the point at which +Mildred stopped.</p> + +<p>"I cannot—I cannot come," she murmured, in her distress.</p> + +<p>"But why?—what is your reason?"</p> + +<p>"Aunt! aunt! do not ask me. Indeed I cannot stop in Westerbury."</p> + +<p>They were interrupted by the entrance of William, and Mildred literally +started from her seat, her poor heart beating wildly. She did not know +of their return—had been in hopes, indeed, that she should have left +the town before it; but, as she now learnt, they came home the previous +night.</p> + +<p>"I can make nothing of Mildred," cried Mrs. Arkell to her son; and in +her anger and vexation, she gave him an outline of the case. "It is the +most senseless scheme I ever heard of."</p> + +<p>Mildred had touched the hand held out to her in greeting, and dried her +tears as she best could, and altogether strove to be unconcerned and +calm. <i>He</i> looked well—tall, noble, good, as usual, and very happy.</p> + +<p>"See if you can do anything to shake her resolution, William. I have +tried in vain."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Arkell quitted the room abruptly, as she spoke. Mildred passed her +handkerchief over her pale face, and rose from her seat.</p> + +<p>Knowing what he did know, it was not a pleasant task for William Arkell. +But for the extreme sensitiveness of his nature, he might have given +some common-place refusal, and run away. As it was, he advanced to her +with marked hesitation, and a flush of emotion rose to his face.</p> + +<p>"Is there <i>anything</i> I can urge, Mildred, that will induce you to +abandon this plan of yours, and remain in Westerbury?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing," she replied.</p> + +<p>"Why should you persist in leaving your native place?—why have you +formed this strange dislike to remain in it?" he proceeded.</p> + +<p>She would have answered him; she tried to answer him—any idle excuse +that rose to her lips; but as he stood there, asking <span class="smcap">why</span> she had taken a +dislike to remain in the home of her childhood—he, the husband of +another—the full sense of her bitter sorrow and desolation came rushing +on, and overwhelmed her forced self-control. She hid her face in her +hands, and sobbed in anguish.</p> + +<p>William Arkell, almost as much agitated as herself, drew close to her. +He took her hand—he bent down to her with a whisper of strange +tenderness. "If <i>I</i> have had a share in causing you any grief, +or—or—disappointment, let me implore your forgiveness, Mildred. It was +not intentionally done. You cannot think so."</p> + +<p>She motioned him away, her sobs seeming as if they would choke her.</p> + +<p>"Mildred, I must speak; it has been in my heart to do it since—you know +when," he whispered hoarsely, in his emotion, and he gathered both her +hands in his, and kept them there. "I have begun to think lately, since +my marriage, that it might have been well for both of us had we +understood each other better. You talk of going into the world, a +solitary wanderer; and my path, I fear, will not be one of roses, +although it was of my own choosing. But what is done cannot be +recalled."</p> + +<p>"I must go home," she faintly interrupted; "you are trying me too +greatly." But he went on as though he heard her not.</p> + +<p>"Can we not both make the best of what is left to us? Stay in +Westerbury, Mildred! Come home here to my father and mother; they are +lonely now. Be to them a daughter, and to me as a dear sister."</p> + +<p>"I shall never more have my home in Westerbury," she answered; "never +more—never more. We can bid each other adieu now."</p> + +<p>A moment's miserable pause. "Is there no appeal from this, Mildred?"</p> + +<p>"None."</p> + +<p>"Will you always remember, then, that you are very dear to me? Should +you ever want a friend, Mildred—ever want any assistance in any +way—do not forget where I am to be found. I am a married man now, and +yet I tell you openly that Westerbury will have lost one of its greatest +charms for me, when you have left it."</p> + +<p>"Let me go!" was all she murmured; "I cannot bear the pain."</p> + +<p>He clasped her for a moment to his heart, and kissed her fervently. +"Forgive me, Mildred—we are cousins still," he said, as he released +her; "forgive me for all. May God bless and be with you, now and +always!"</p> + +<p>With her crape veil drawn before her face, with the cruel pain of +desolation mocking at her heart, Mildred went forth; and in the +court-yard she encountered Mrs. William Arkell, in a whole array of +bridal feathers and furbelows, arriving to pay her first morning visit +to her husband's former home. She held out her hand to Mildred, and +threw back her white veil from her radiant face.</p> + +<p>A confused greeting—she knew not of what—a murmured plea of being in +haste—a light word of careless gossip, and Mildred passed on.</p> + +<p>So there was to be no hindrance, and poor Mildred was to leave her home, +and go forth to find one with strangers! But from that day she seemed to +change—to grow cold and passionless; and people reproached her for it, +and wondered what had come to her.</p> + +<p>How many of these isolated women do we meet in the world, to whom the +same reproach seems due! <i>I</i> never see one of them but I mentally wonder +whether her once warm, kindly feelings may not have been crushed; +trampled on; just as was the case with those of Mildred Arkell.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<h3>MR. CARR'S OFFER.</h3> + + +<p>Rare nuts for Westerbury to crack! So delightful a dish of gossip had +not been served up to it since that affair of Robert Carr's. Miss Arkell +was going out as lady's-maid!</p> + +<p>Such was the report that spread, to the intense indignation of Mrs. +Arkell. In vain that lady protested that her obstinate and +reprehensibly-independent niece was going out as companion, not as +lady's-maid; Westerbury nodded its head and knew better. It must be +confessed that Mildred herself favoured the popular view: she was to be +lady's-maid, she honestly said, as well as companion.</p> + +<p>The news, indeed, caused real commotion in the town; and Mildred was +remonstrated with from all quarters. What could she mean by leaving +incapable Peter to himself?—and if people said true, Mr. and Mrs. +Arkell would have been glad to adopt her. Mildred parried the comments, +and shut herself up as far as she could.</p> + +<p>But she could not shut herself up from all; she had to take the +annoyances as they came. A very especial one arrived for her only the +morning previous to her departure. It was not intended as an annoyance, +though, but as an honour.</p> + +<p>There came to visit her Mr. John Carr, the son and heir of the squire. +He came in state—a phæton and pair, and his groom beside him. John Carr +was a little man, with mean-looking features and thin lips; and there +was the very slightest suspicion of a cross in his light eyes. Mildred +was vexed at his visit; not because she was busy packing, but for a +reason that she knew of. Some twelve months before, John Carr had +privately made her an offer of his hand. She had refused it at once and +positively, and she had never since liked to meet him. She could not +escape now, for the servant said she was at home.</p> + +<p>He had been shown upstairs to the drawing-room, an apartment they rarely +used; and he stood there in top-boots and a rose in his black frock +coat. Mildred saw at once what was coming—a second offer. She refused +him before he had well made it.</p> + +<p>"But you must have me, Miss Arkell, you must," he reiterated. "You know +how much I have wished for you; and—is it true that you think of going +out to service in London?"</p> + +<p>"Quite true," said Mildred. "I am going as companion and maid to Lady +Dewsbury."</p> + +<p>"But surely that is not desirable. If there is no other resource left, +you must come to me. I know you forbid me ever to renew the subject +again; but——"</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, Mr. Carr. Your premises are wrong. I am not going +out because I have no other resource. I have my home here, if I chose to +stay in it. I have one pressed urgently upon me with my aunt and uncle. +It is not that. I am going because I wish to go. I wish for a change. It +is very kind of you to renew your offer to me; but you must pardon my +saying that I should have found it kinder had you abided by my previous +answer."</p> + +<p>"What is the reason you will not have me, Miss Arkell? I know what it +is, though: it is because I have had two wives already. But if I have, I +made them both happy while they lived. They——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, pray, Mr. Carr, don't talk so," she interrupted. "Pray take my +answer, and let the subject be at an end."</p> + +<p>But Mr. Carr was one who never liked any subject to be at an end, so +long as he chose to pursue it; and he was fond of diving into reasons +for himself.</p> + +<p>"I shall be Squire Carr after the old man's gone; the owner of the +property. I can make a settlement on you, Miss Arkell."</p> + +<p>"I don't want it, thank you," she said in her vexation. All Mildred's +life, even when she was a little girl, she had particularly disliked Mr. +John Carr.</p> + +<p>"It's the children, I suppose," grumbled Mr. Carr. "But they need not +annoy you. Valentine must stop at home; for it has not been the custom +in our house to send the eldest son out. But Ben will go; I shall soon +send him now. In fact, I did place him out; but he wouldn't stop, and +came back again. Emma, I dare say, will be marrying; and then there's +only the young children. You will be mistress of the house, and rule it +as my late wife did. It is not an offer to be despised, Miss Arkell."</p> + +<p>"I don't despise it," returned Mildred, wishing he would be said, and +take himself away. "But I cannot accept it."</p> + +<p>"Well, what is it, then? Do you intend never to marry?"</p> + +<p>The question called up bitter remembrances, and a burning red suffused +her cheeks.</p> + +<p>"I shall never marry, Mr. Carr. At least, such is my belief now. +Certainly I shall not marry until I have tried whether I cannot be happy +in my life of dependence at Lady Dewsbury's."</p> + +<p>Mr. John Carr's lucky star appeared not to be in the ascendant that day, +and he went out considerably crest-fallen. Whipping his horses, he +proceeded up the town to pay a visit to his uncle, Mr. Marmaduke Carr. +None, save himself, knew how covetous were the eyes he cast to the good +fortune his uncle had to bequeath to somebody; or that he would cast so +long as the bequeathal remained in abeyance.</p> + +<p>Lady Dewsbury lived in the heart of the fashionable part of London. +Mildred went up alone. Mrs. Arkell had made a hundred words over it; but +Mildred stood out for her independence: if she were not fit to take care +of herself on a journey to London by day, she urged, how should she be +fit to enter on the life she had carved out for herself? She found no +trouble. Mr. Arkell had given instructions to the guard, and he called a +coach for her at the journey's end. One of Mildred's great surprises on +entering Lady Dewsbury's house was, to find that lady young. As the +widow of the colonel's eldest brother—and the colonel himself was past +middle age—Mildred had pictured in her mind a woman of at least fifty. +Lady Dewsbury, however, did not look more than thirty, and Mildred was +puzzled, for she knew there was a grown-up son, Sir Edward. Lady +Dewsbury was a plain woman, with a sickly look, and teeth that projected +very much; but the expression of her face was homely and kindly, and +Mildred liked her at the first glance. She was leaning back in an +invalid chair; a peculiar sort of chair, the like of which Mildred had +never seen, and a maid stood before her holding a cup of tea. Mildred +found afterwards that Lady Dewsbury suffered from an internal complaint; +nothing dangerous in itself, but tedious, and often painful. It caused +her to live completely the life of an invalid; going out very little, +and receiving few visitors. The medical men said if she could live over +the next ten years or so, she might recover, and be afterwards a strong +woman.</p> + +<p>Nothing could be more kind and cordial than her reception of Mildred. +She received her more as an equal than an attendant. It relieved Mildred +excessively. Reared in her simple country home, a Lady Dewsbury, or Lady +anybody else, was a formidable personage to Mildred; one of the +high-born and unapproachable of the land. It must be confessed that +Mildred was at first as timid as ever poor humble Betsey Travice could +have been; and nearly broke down as she ventured on a word of hope that +"My lady," "her ladyship," would find her equal to her duties.</p> + +<p>"Stay, my dear," said Lady Dewsbury, detecting the embarrassment—and +smiling at it—"let us begin as we are to go on. I am neither my lady +nor your ladyship to you, remember. When you have occasion to address me +by name, I am Lady Dewsbury; but that need not be often. Mrs. Dewsbury +said you were coming to be my maid, I think?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Mildred.</p> + +<p>"I told her to say it, because I shall require many little services +performed for me on my worst days that properly belong to a maid to +perform; and I did not like to deceive you in any way. But can you +understand me when I say that I do not wish you to do these things for +me as a servant, but as a friend?"</p> + +<p>"I shall be so happy to do them," murmured Mildred.</p> + +<p>"I do not wish to keep two persons near me, a companion and a maid. I +have tried it, and it does not answer. Until my sister married, she +lived with me, my companion; and I had my maid. After my sister left, I +engaged a lady to replace her, but she and the maid did not get on +together; the one grew jealous of the other, and things became so +unpleasant, that I gave both of them notice to leave. It then occurred +to me that I might unite the two in one, if by good luck I could find a +well-educated and yet domesticated lady, who would not be above waiting +on an invalid. And I happened to mention this to Mrs. Dewsbury."</p> + +<p>"I hope you will like me; I hope I shall suit," was Mildred's only +answering comment.</p> + +<p>"I like you already," returned Lady Dewsbury. "I am apt to take fancies +to faces, and the contrary, and I have taken a fancy to yours. But I +will go on with my explanation. You will not be regarded in the light of +a servant, or ever treated as one. You will generally sit with me, and +take your meals with me when I am alone. If I have visitors, you will +take them in the little sitting-room appropriated for yourself. The +servants will wait upon you, and observe to you proper respect. I have +not told them you are coming here as my maid, but as my friend and +companion."</p> + +<p>Mildred felt overpowered at the kindness.</p> + +<p>"In reality you will, as I have said, in many respects be my maid; that +is, you will have to do for me a maid's duties," proceeded Lady +Dewsbury. "You will dress me and undress me. You will sleep in the next +room to mine, with the door open between, so as to hear me when I call; +for I am sorry to say, my sufferings occasionally require sudden +attendance in the night. As my companion, you will read to me, write +letters for me, go with me in the carriage when I travel, help me with +my worsted work, of which I am very fond, do my personal errands for me +out of doors, give orders to the servants when I am not well enough, +keep the housekeeping accounts, and always be—patient, willing, and +good-tempered."</p> + +<p>Lady Dewsbury said the last words with a laugh.</p> + +<p>Mildred gave one of her sweet smiles in answer.</p> + +<p>"I really mean it though, Miss Arkell," continued Lady Dewsbury. +"Patience is absolutely essential for one who has to be with a sufferer +like myself; and I could not bear one about me for a day who showed +unwillingness or ill-temper. The trouble that I am obliged to give, is +sufficiently present always to my own mind; but I could not bear to have +the expression of it thrown back to me. The last and worst thing I must +now mention; and that is, the confinement. When I am pretty well, as I +am now, it is not so much; but it sometimes happens that I am very ill +for weeks together; never out of my room, scarcely out of my bed: and +not once perhaps during all that time will you be able to go out of +doors."</p> + +<p>"I shall not mind it indeed, Lady Dewsbury," Mildred said, heartily. "I +am used to confinement. I told Mrs. Dewsbury so. Oh, if I can but suit +you, I shall not mind what I do. I think it seems a very, very nice +place. I did not expect to meet with one half so good."</p> + +<p>"How old do you think I am?" suddenly asked Lady Dewsbury. "Perhaps Mrs. +Dewsbury mentioned it to you?"</p> + +<p>"It is puzzling me," said Mildred, candidly, quite overlooking the last +question. "I could not take you to be more than thirty; but I—I had +fancied—I beg your pardon, Lady Dewsbury—that you must be quite +fifty. I thought Sir Edward was some years past twenty."</p> + +<p>"Sir Edward?—what has that to do with—oh, I see! You are taking Sir +Edward to be my son. Why, he is nearly as old as I am, and I am +thirty-five. I was Sir John Dewsbury's second wife. I never had any +children. Sir Edward comes here sometimes. We are very good friends."</p> + +<p>Mildred's puzzle was explained, and Lady Dewsbury sent her away, happy, +to see her room. It had been a gracious reception, a cordial welcome; +and it seemed to whisper an earnest of future comfort, of length of +service.</p> + +<p>Lady Dewsbury was tolerably well at that period, and Mildred found that +she might take advantage of it to pay an afternoon visit to Betsey +Travice. She sent word that she was coming, and Betsey was in readiness +to receive her; and Mrs. Dundyke, a stout lady in faded black silk, had +a sumptuous meal ready: muffins, bread and butter, shrimps, and +water-cress.</p> + +<p>The parlour, on a level with the kitchen, was a very shabby one, and the +bells of the house kept clanging incessantly, and Mrs. Dundyke went in +and out to urge the servant to alacrity in answering them, and two +troublesome fractious children, of eighteen months, and three years old, +insisted on monopolizing the cares of Betsey; and altogether Mildred +<i>wondered</i> that Betsey could or would stop there.</p> + +<p>"But I like it," whispered Betsey, "I do indeed. Mrs. Dundyke is not +handsome, but she's very kind-hearted, and the children are fond of me; +and I feel at home here, and there's a great deal in that. And +besides——"</p> + +<p>"Besides—what?" asked Mildred, for the words had come to a sudden +stand-still.</p> + +<p>"There's David," came forth the faint and shame-faced answer.</p> + +<p>"David?"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Dundyke's son. We are to be married sometime."</p> + +<p>Mildred had the honour of an introduction to the gentleman before she +left—for Mr. David came in—a young man above the middle height, +somewhat free and confident in his address and manners. He was not +bad-looking, and he was attired sufficiently well; for the house he was +in, in Fenchurch-street, was one of the first houses of its class, and +would not have tolerated shabbiness in any of its clerks. The +shirt-sleeve episodes, the blacking-boot and carrying-up coal attire, so +vivid in the remembrance of Charlotte Travice, were kept for home, for +late at night and early morning. Of this, Mildred saw nothing, heard +nothing.</p> + +<p>"He has eighty pounds a year now," whispered Betsey to Mildred; "his +next rise will be a hundred and fifty. And then, when it has got to +that——," the blush on the cheeks, the downcast eyes, told the rest.</p> + +<p>"Them there shrimps ain't bad; take some more of 'em."</p> + +<p>Mildred positively started—not at the invitation so abruptly given to +her, but at the wording of it. It was the first sentence she had heard +him speak. Had he framed it in joke?</p> + +<p>No; it was his habitual manner of speaking. She cast her compassionate +eyes on Betsey Travice, just as Charlotte would have cast her indignant +ones. But Betsey was used to him, and did not <i>feel</i> the degradation.</p> + +<p>"Now, mother, don't you worry your inside out after that girl," he said, +as Mrs. Dundyke, for the fiftieth time, plunged into the kitchen, +groaning over the shortcomings of the servant. "You won't live no longer +for it. Betsey, just put them two squalling chickens down, and pour me +out a drop more tea; make yourself useful if you can till mother comes +back. Won't you take no more, Miss Arkell?"</p> + +<p>"Betsey," asked Mildred, in a low tone, as they were alone for a few +minutes when Mildred was about to leave, "do you <i>like</i> Mr. David +Dundyke?"</p> + +<p>Betsey's face was sufficient answer.</p> + +<p>"I think you ought not to be too precipitate to say you will do this or +do the other. You are young, Mr. Dundyke is young, and—and—if you had +had more experience in the world, you might not have engaged yourself to +<i>him</i>."</p> + +<p>"Thank you kindly; that is just as Charlotte says. But we are not going +to marry yet."</p> + +<p>"Betsey—you will excuse me for saying it: if I speak, it is for your +own sake—do you consider Mr. Dundyke, with his—his apparently +imperfect education, is suitable for you?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed," answered Betsey, "his education is better than it appears. He +has fallen into this odd way of speaking from habit, from association +with his mother. <i>She</i> speaks so, you must perceive. He rather prides +himself upon keeping it up, upon not being what he calls fine. And he is +so clever in his business!"</p> + +<p>Mildred could not at all understand that sort of "pride." Betsey Travice +noticed the gravity of her eye.</p> + +<p>"What education have <i>I</i> had, Miss Arkell? None. I learnt to read, and +write, and spell, and I learnt nothing more. If I speak as a lady, it is +because I was born to it, because papa and mamma and Charlotte so spoke, +not from any advantages they gave me. I have been kept down all my +life. Charlotte was made a lady of, and I was made to work. When I was +only six years old I had to wait on mamma and Charlotte. I am not +complaining of this; I like work; but I mention it, to ask you in what +way, remembering these things, I am better than David Dundyke?"</p> + +<p>In truth, Mildred could not say.</p> + +<p>"What am I now but a burden on his mother?" continued Betsey. "In one +sense I repay my cost; for, if I were not here, she would have to take a +servant for the two little children. I have no prospects at all; I have +nobody in the world to help me; indeed, Miss Arkell, it is <i>generous</i> of +David to ask me to be his wife."</p> + +<p>"You might find a home with your sister, now she has one. You ought to +have it with her."</p> + +<p>Betsey shook her head. "You don't know Charlotte," was all she answered.</p> + +<p>Mildred dropped the subject. She took a ring from her purse, an emerald +set round with pearls, and put it into Betsey's hand.</p> + +<p>"It was my mother's," she said, "and I brought it for you. She had two +of these rings just alike; one of them had belonged to a sister of hers +who died. I wear the other—see! My mother was very poor, Betsey, or she +might have left something worth the acceptance of you, her +goddaughter."</p> + +<p>Betsey Travice burst into tears, partly at the kind words, partly at the +munificence of the gift, for she had never possessed so much as a brass +ring in all her life.</p> + +<p>"It is too good for me," she said; "I ought not to take it from you. I +would not, but for your having one like it. What have I done that you +should all be so kind to me? But I will never part with the ring."</p> + +<p>And, indeed, the contrast between the kindness to her of the Arkells +generally and the unfeeling behaviour of her sister Charlotte, could but +mark its indelible trace on even the humble mind of Betsey Travice.</p> + +<p>"Has Charlotte come home?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Have you heard from her?" exclaimed Mildred in astonishment. "She came +home before I left Westerbury."</p> + +<p>Betsey shook her head. "We are not to keep up any correspondence; +Charlotte said it would not do; that our paths in life lay apart; hers +up in the world, mine down; and she did not care to own me for a sister. +Of course I know I <i>am</i> inferior to Charlotte, and always have been; but +still——"</p> + +<p>Betsey broke down. The grieved heart was full.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<h3>MARRIAGES IN UNFASHIONABLE LIFE.</h3> + + +<p>The next twelvemonth brought little of event, if we except the birth of +a boy to William Arkell and his wife. In the month of March, nearly a +year after their marriage, the child was born; and its mother was so +ill, so very near, as was believed, unto death, that Mrs. Arkell sent a +despatch to bring down her sister, Betsey Travice. Had Charlotte been +able to have a voice in the affair, rely upon it Betsey had never come.</p> + +<p>But Charlotte was not, and Betsey arrived; the same meek Betsey as of +yore. William liked the young girl excessively, and welcomed her with a +warm heart and open arms. His wife was better then, could be spoken to, +and did not feel in the least obliged to them for having summoned +Betsey.</p> + +<p>"I am glad to see you, Betsey," William whispered, "and so would +Charlotte be, poor girl, if she were a little less ill. You shall stand +to the baby, Betsey; he is but a sickly little fellow, it seems, and +they are talking of christening him at once. If it were a girl, we would +name it after you; we'll call it—can't we call it Travice? That will be +after you, all the same, and it's a very pretty name."</p> + +<p>Betsey shook her head dubiously. She had an innate fondness for +children, and she kissed the little red face nestled in her arms.</p> + +<p>"Charlotte would not like <i>me</i> to stand to it," she whispered.</p> + +<p>"Not like it!" echoed William, who did not know his wife yet, and had no +suspicion of the state of things. "Of course she would like it. Who has +so great a right to stand to the child as you, her sister. Would you +like it yourself?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, very much; I should think it was my own little boy all through +life."</p> + +<p>"Until you have little boys of your own," laughed William, and Betsey +felt her face glow. "All right, his name shall be Travice."</p> + +<p>And so it was; the child was christened Travice George; and Betsey had +become his godmother before Charlotte knew the treason that was agate. +She was bitterly unkind over it afterwards to Betsey, reproaching her +with "thrusting herself forward unwarrantably."</p> + +<p>A very, very short stay with them, only until Charlotte was quite out +of danger, and Betsey went back to London. "Do not, if you can help it, +ever ask me down again, dear Mrs. Arkell," she said, with tears. "You +must see how it is—how unwelcome I am; Charlotte, of course, is a lady, +always was one, and I am but a poor working girl. It is natural she +should wish us not to keep up too much intimacy."</p> + +<p>"I call it very unnatural," indignantly remonstrated Mrs. Arkell.</p> + +<p>Perhaps Betsey Travice yearned to this little baby all the more, from +the fact that the youngest of the two children she had taken care of at +Mrs. Dundyke's, had died a few months before. Fractious, sickly, +troublesome as it had been, Betsey's fondness for it was great, and her +sorrow heavy. There had been nobody to mourn it but herself; Mrs. +Dundyke was too much absorbed in her household cares to spare time for +grief, and everybody else, saving Betsey, thought the house was better +without the crying baby than with it. These children were almost +orphans; the mother, David's only sister, died when the last was born; +the father, a merchant captain, given to spend his money instead of +bringing it home, was always away at sea.</p> + +<p>Death was to be more busy yet with the house of Mrs. Dundyke. A few +months after Betsey's return from the short visit to Westerbury, when +the hot weather set in for the summer, the other baby died. Close upon +that, Mrs. Dundyke died—in a fit.</p> + +<p>The attack was so sudden, the shock so great, that for a short time +those left—David and Betsey—were stunned. David had to go to +Fenchurch-street all the same; and Betsey quietly took Mrs. Dundyke's +place in the house, and saw that things went on right. Duty was ever +first with Betsey Travice; what her hand found to do, that she did with +all her might; and the whole care devolved on her now. A clergyman and +his wife were occupying the drawing-rooms, and they took great interest +in the poor girl, and were very kind to her; but they never supposed but +that she was some near relative of the Dundykes. David, who did not want +for plain sense—no, nor for self-respect either—saw, of course, that +the present state of things could not continue.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Betsey," he said to her, one evening that they sat together +in silence; he busy with his account books, and Betsey absorbed in +trying to make out and remember the various items charged in the last +week's butcher's bill; "we must make a change, I suppose."</p> + +<p>She looked up, marking the place she had come to with her pencil. "What +did you please to say, David?—make a change?"</p> + +<p>"Well, yes, I suppose so, or we shall have the world about our ears. I +mean to get rid of the house as soon as I can; either get somebody to +come in and buy the good-will and the furniture; or else, if nobody +won't do that, give up the house, and sell off the old things by +auction, just keeping enough to furnish a room or two."</p> + +<p>"It would be better to sell the good-will and the furniture, would it +not?"</p> + +<p>"Don't I say so? But I'm not sure of doing it, for houses is going down +in Stamford-street: people that pay well for apartments, like to be +fashionable, and get up to the new buildings westward. Any way, I'm +afraid there won't be no more realized than will serve to pay what +mother owed."</p> + +<p>David stopped here and looked down on his accounts again. Betsey, who +sat at the opposite side of the table, with the strong light of the +summer evening lighting up its old red cloth, returned to hers. Before +she had accomplished another item, David resumed—</p> + +<p>"And all this will take time; three or four months, perhaps. And so, +Betsey—if you don't mind being hurried into it—I think we had better +be married."</p> + +<p>"Be married!" echoed Betsey, dropping her book and her pencil. "Whatever +do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I mean what I say," was David's sententious answer; "I don't mean +nothing else. You and me must be married."</p> + +<p>Betsey stared at him aghast. "Oh, David! how can you think of such a +thing yet? It is not a month since your poor mother died."</p> + +<p>"That's just it, her being dead," said David. "Don't you see, Betsey, +neither you nor me can go out of the house until somebody takes to it, +or till something's settled; and, in short, folks might get saying +things."</p> + +<p>Not for a full minute did she in the least comprehend his meaning. Then +she burst into a passion of tears of anger; all her face aflame.</p> + +<p>"Oh! David, how can you speak so? who would dare to be so cruel?"</p> + +<p>"It's because I know the world better than you, and because I know how +cruel it is, that I say it," added David. "Look here, Betsey, there's +nobody left now to take care of you but me; and I <i>shall</i> take care of +you, and I'm saying what's right. I shall buy a licence; it's a dreadful +deal of money, when asking in church does as well, but that takes +longer, and I'll spend the money cheerfully, for your sake. We'll go +quietly to church next Sunday morning, and nobody need know, till it's +all over, what we've been for. Unless you like to tell the servant, and +the parson and his wife in the drawing-room. Perhaps you'd better."</p> + +<p>"But, David——"</p> + +<p>"Now, where's the good of contending?" he interrupted; "you don't want +to give me up, do you?"</p> + +<p>"You know I don't, David."</p> + +<p>"Very well, then."</p> + +<p>Betsey held out for some time longer, and it was only because she saw no +other opening out of the dilemma—for, as David said, neither of them +could leave the house if it was to go on—that she gave in at last. +David at once entered upon sundry admonitions as to future economy, +warning her that he intended they should live upon next to nothing for +years and years to come. He did not intend to spend all his income, and +be reduced to letting lodgings, or what not, when he should get old.</p> + +<p>And a day or two after the marriage had really taken place, Betsey wrote +a very deprecatory note to Charlotte, and another to Mrs. Arkell, with +the news. But she did not give them an intimation of it beforehand. So +that even had Charlotte wished to make any attempt to prevent it, she +had not the opportunity. And from thenceforth she washed her hands of +Betsey Dundyke, even more completely than she had done of Betsey +Travice.</p> + +<p>This first portion of my story is, I fear, rather inclined to be +fragmentary, for I have to speak of the history of several; but it is +necessary to do so, if you are to be quite at home with all our friends +in it, as I always like you to be. The next thing we have to notice, was +an astounding event in the life of Peter Arkell.</p> + +<p>Peter Arkell was not a man of the world; he was a great deal too +simple-minded to be anything of the sort. In worldly cunning, Peter was +not a whit above Moses Primrose at the fair. Peter was getting on +famously; he had let his house furnished, and the family who took it +accommodated Peter with a room in it, and let him take his breakfast and +dinner with them, for a very moderate sum. He worked at the bank, as +usual, and he attended at Colonel Dewsbury's of an evening; that +gentleman's eldest son had gone to college, but he had others coming on. +Peter Arkell had also found time to write a small book, not <i>in</i> Greek, +but touching Greek; it was excessively learned, and found so much favour +with the classical world, that Peter Arkell grew to be stared at in his +native city, as that very rare menagerie animal, a successful author; +besides which, Peter's London publishers had positively transmitted him +a sum of thirty pounds. I can tell you that the sum of thirty hundred +does not appear so much to some people as that appeared to Peter. Had +he gained thousands and thousands in his after life, they would have +been to him as nothing, compared to the enraptured satisfaction brought +to his heart by that early sum, the first fruits of his labours. Ask any +author that ever put pen to paper, if the first guinea he ever earned +was not more to him than all the golden profusion of the later harvest.</p> + +<p>And so Peter, in his own estimation at any rate, was going on for a +prosperous man. He put by all he could; and at the end of three years +and a-half from Mildred's departure—for time is constantly on the wing, +remember—Peter had saved a very nice sum, nearly enough to take him to +Oxford, when he should find time to get there. For that, the getting +there, was more of a stumbling block now than the means, since Peter did +not yet see his way clear to resign his situation in the bank.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile he waited, hoped, and worked. And during this season of +patience, he had an honour conferred upon him by young Fauntleroy the +lawyer: a gentleman considerably older than Peter, but called young +Fauntleroy, in distinction to his father, old Fauntleroy the lawyer. +Young Fauntleroy, who was as much given to spending as Peter was to +saving, and had a hundred debts, unknown to the world, got simple Peter +to be security for him in some dilemma. Peter hesitated at first. Four +hundred pounds was a large sum, and would swamp him utterly should he +ever be called upon to pay it; but upon young Fauntleroy's assuring him, +on his honour, that the bank could not be more safe to pay its quarterly +dividends than he was to provide for that obligation when the time came, +Peter gave in. He signed his name, and from that hour thought no more of +the matter. When a person promised Peter to do a thing he had the +implicit faith of a child. And now comes the event that so astounded +Westerbury.</p> + +<p>You remember Lucy Cheveley, the young lady whose lovely face had so won +on Mildred's admiration? How it came about no human being could ever +tell, least of all themselves; but she and Peter Arkell fell in love +with each other. It was not one of those ephemeral fancies that may be +thrown off just as easily as they are assumed, but a passionate, +powerful, lasting love, one that makes the bliss or the bane of a whole +future existence. The chief of the blame was voted by the meddling town +to Colonel and Mrs. Dewsbury. Why had they allowed Miss Cheveley to mix +in familiar intercourse with the tutor? To tell the truth, Miss Cheveley +had not been much better there than a governess. Her means were very +small. She had only the pension of a deceased officer's daughter, and +Mrs. Dewsbury, what with clothes and maintenance, was considerably out +of pocket by her; therefore she repaid herself by making Miss Cheveley +useful with the children. The governess was a daily one, and Lucy +Cheveley helped the children at night to prepare their lessons for her. +The study for both boys and girls was the same, and thus Lucy was in +constant daily intercourse with Mr. Peter Arkell. Since the publication +of Peter's learned book, and his consequent rise in public estimation, +Colonel Dewsbury had once or twice invited him to dinner; and Miss +Cheveley met him on an equality.</p> + +<p>But the marvel was, how ever that lovely girl could have lost her heart +to Peter Arkell—plain, shy, awkward Peter! But that such things have +been known before, it might have been looked upon as an impossibility.</p> + +<p>There was a fearful rumpus. The discovery came through Mrs. Dewsbury's +bursting one night into the study in search of a book, when the children +had left it, and she supposed it empty. Mr. Peter Arkell stood there +with his arm round Lucy's waist, and both her hands gathered and held in +his. For the first minute or so, Mrs. Dewsbury did not believe her own +eyes. Lucy stood in painful distress, the damask colour glowing on her +transparent cheek, and the explanation, as of right it would, fell to +Peter.</p> + +<p>These shy, timid, awkward-mannered men in every-day life, are sometimes +the most collected in situations of actual embarrassment. It was so with +Peter Arkell. In a calm, quiet way he turned to Mrs. Dewsbury, and told +her the straightforward truth: that he and Miss Cheveley were attached +to each other, and he had asked her to be his wife.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dewsbury was an excitable woman. She went back to the dining-room, +shrieking like one in hysterics, and told the news. It aroused Colonel +Dewsbury from his wine; and it was not a light thing in a general way +that could do that, for the colonel was fond of it.</p> + +<p>Then ensued the scene. Colonel and Mrs. Dewsbury heaped vituperation on +the head of the tutor, asking what he could expect to come to for thus +abusing confidence? Poor Peter, far more composed in that moment than he +was in every-day matters, said honestly that he had not intended to +abuse it; nothing would ever have been farther from his thoughts; but +the mutual love had come to them both unawares, and been betrayed to +each other without thought of the consequences.</p> + +<p>All the abuse ever spoken would not avail to undo the past. Of course +nothing was left now but to dismiss Mr. Peter Arkell summarily from his +tutorship, and order Miss Cheveley never to hold intercourse by word or +look with him again. This might have mended matters in a degree had +Miss Cheveley acquiesced, and carried the mandate out; but, encouraged +no doubt secretly by Mr. Peter, she timidly declined to do so—said, in +fact, she would not. Colonel and Mrs. Dewsbury were rampant as two +chained lions, who long to get loose and tear somebody to pieces.</p> + +<p>For Mr. Peter Arkell was not to be got at. The law did not sanction his +imprisonment; and society would not countenance the colonel in beating +or killing him. Neither could Mrs. Dewsbury lock up Miss Lucy Cheveley, +as was the mode observed to refractory damsels in what is called the +good old time.</p> + +<p>The next scene in the play was their marriage. Lucy, finding that she +could never hope to obtain the consent of her protectors to it, walked +quietly to church from their house one fine morning, met Peter there, +and was married without consent. Peter had made his arrangements for the +event in a more sensible manner than one so incapable would have been +supposed likely to do. The friends who had occupied his house vacated it +previously to oblige him; he had it papered and painted, and put into +thoroughly nice order, spending about a hundred pounds in new furniture, +and took Lucy home to it. Never did a more charming wife enter on +possession of a home; and Westerbury, which of course made everybody's +affairs its own, in the usual manner, was taken with a sudden fit of +envy at the good fortune of Peter Arkell, when it had recovered its +astonishment at Miss Cheveley's folly. One of her order marry poor Peter +Arkell, the banker's clerk! The world must be coming to an end.</p> + +<p>Colonel and Mrs. Dewsbury almost wished it <i>was</i> coming to an end, for +the bride and bridegroom at any rate, in their furious anger. The +colonel went to the bank, and coolly requested it to discharge Peter +Arkell from its service. The bank politely declined, saying that Mr. +Peter Arkell had done nothing to offend it, or of which it could take +cognizance. Colonel Dewsbury threatened to withdraw his account, and +carry it off forthwith to a sort of patent company bank, recently opened +in the town. The bank listened with equanimity; it would be sorry of +course, and hoped the colonel would think better of it; but, if he +insisted, his balance (he never kept more than a couple of hundred +pounds there) should then be handed to him. The colonel growled, and +went out with a bang. He next wrote to Lady Dewsbury a peremptory +letter, almost <i>requiring</i> her to discharge Miss Arkell from her +service. Lady Dewsbury wrote word back that Mildred had become too +valuable to her to be parted with; and that if Peter Arkell was like +his sister in goodness, Lucy Cheveley had not chosen amiss.</p> + +<p>Lucy had been married about a fortnight, and was sitting one evening in +all her fragile loveliness, the red light of the setting sun flickering +through the elm trees on her damask cheeks, when a tall elegant woman +entered. This was Mrs. St. John, whose family had been intimate with the +Cheveleys. The St. Johns inhabited that old building in Westerbury +called the Palmery, of which mention has been made, but they had been +away from it for the past two years. Mrs. St. John had just returned to +hear the scandal caused by the recent disobedient marriage.</p> + +<p>Though all the world abandoned Lucy, Mrs. St. John would not. She had +not so many years been a wife herself, having married the widower, Mr. +St. John, who was more than double her age, and had a grown-up son. Lucy +started up, with many blushes, at Mrs. St. John's entrance; and she told +the story of herself and Peter very simply, when questioned.</p> + +<p>"Well, Lucy, I wish you happy," Mrs. St. John said; "but it is not the +marriage you should have made."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not. I suppose not. For Mr. Arkell's family is of course +inferior to mine——"</p> + +<p>"Inferior! Mr. Arkell's family!" interrupted Mrs. St. John, all her +aristocratic prejudices offended at the words. "What do you mean, Lucy? +Mr. Arkell is of <i>no</i> family! They are tradespeople—manufacturers. We +don't speak of that class as 'a family.' <i>You</i> are of our order; and I +can tell you, the Cheveleys have had the best blood in their veins. It +is a very sad descent for you; little less—my dear, I cannot help +speaking—than degradation for life."</p> + +<p>"If I had good family," spoke Lucy, "what else had I?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Beauty!</i>" was Mrs. St. John's involuntary answer, as she gazed at the +wondrously lustrous brown eyes, the bright exquisite features.</p> + +<p>"Beauty!" echoed Lucy, in surprise. "Oh, Mrs. St. John! you forget."</p> + +<p>"Forget what, Lucy."</p> + +<p>"That I am deformed."</p> + +<p>The word was spoken in a painful whisper, and the sensitive complexion +grew carmine with the sense of shame. It is ever so. Where any defect of +person exists, none can feel it as does its possessor; it is to the mind +one ever-present agony of humiliation. Lucy Cheveley's spine was not +straight; of fragile make and constitution, she had "grown aside," as +the familiar saying runs; but at this early period of her life it was +not so apparent to a beholder (unless the defect was known and searched +for) as it afterwards became.</p> + +<p>"You are not very much so, Lucy," was Mrs. St. John's answer. "And your +face compensates for it."</p> + +<p>Lucy shook her head. "You say so from kindness, I am sure. Do you know," +she resumed, her voice again becoming almost inaudible, "I once heard +Mrs. Dewsbury joking with Sir Edward about me. He was down for a week +about a year ago, and she was telling him he ought to get married and +settle down to a steady life. He answered that he could get nobody to +have him, and Mrs. Dewsbury—of course you know it was only a jesting +conversation on both sides—said, 'There's Lucy Cheveley, would she do +for you?' '<i>She</i>,' he exclaimed; 'she's deformed!' Mrs. St. John, will +you believe that for a long while after I felt sick at having to go out, +or to cross a room?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I can believe it," said Mrs. St. John, sadly, for she was not +unacquainted with this sensitive phase in human misfortune. "Well, Lucy, +you cannot be convinced, I dare say, that your figure is <i>not</i> +unsightly, so we will let that pass. But I do not understand yet, how +you came to marry Peter Arkell."</p> + +<p>Lucy laughed and blushed.</p> + +<p>"Ah! I see; you loved him. And yet, few, save you, would find Peter +Arkell so lovable a man."</p> + +<p>"If you only knew his worth, Mrs. St. John!"</p> + +<p>"I dare say. But as a knight-errant he is not attractive. Of course, the +chief consideration now, is—the thing being irrevocably done, and you +here—what sort of a home will he be able to keep for you."</p> + +<p>"I have no fear on that score; and I am one to be satisfied with so +little. Colonel Dewsbury discharged him, but he soon found an evening +engagement that is as good. He intends to go to Oxford when he can +accomplish it, and afterwards take orders. When he is a clergyman, +perhaps my friends, including you, Mrs. St. John, will admit that his +wife can then claim to be in the position of a gentlewoman."</p> + +<p>"But, meanwhile you must live."</p> + +<p>Lucy smiled. "If you knew how entirely I trust and may trust to Peter, +you would have no fear. We shall spend but little; we have begun on the +most economical plan, and shall continue it. We keep but one +servant——"</p> + +<p>"But one servant!" echoed Mrs. St. John. "For <i>you</i>!"</p> + +<p>"I did not bring Peter a shilling. I brought him but myself and the few +poor clothes I possess, for my bit of a pension ceased at my marriage. +You cannot think that I would run him into any expense not absolutely +necessary. We have no need of more than one servant, for we shall +certainly be free from visitors."</p> + +<p>"How do you know that?"</p> + +<p>"Peter has lived too retired a life to entertain any. And there's no +fear that my friends will visit me. I have put myself beyond their +pale."</p> + +<p>"I cannot say that you have not. But how you will feel this, Lucy!"</p> + +<p>"I shall not feel it. Mrs. St. John, when I chose my position in life as +Peter Arkell's wife, I chose it for all time," she emphatically added. +"Neither now, nor at any future period, shall I regret it. Believe me, I +shall be far happier here, in retirement with him, although I have the +consciousness of knowing that the world calls me an idiot, than I could +have been had I married in what you may call my own sphere. For me there +are not two Peter Arkells in the world."</p> + +<p>And Mrs. St. John rose, and took her leave; deeply impressed with the +fact, that though there might not be two Peter Arkells in the world, +there was a great deal of infatuation. She could not understand how it +was possible for one, born as Lucy Cheveley had been, to make such a +marriage, and to live under it without repentance.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<h3>GOING ON FOR LORD MAYOR.</h3> + + +<p>The years rolled on, bringing their changes. Indeed, the first portions +of this history are more like a panorama, where you see a scene here, +and then go on to another scene there; for we cannot afford to relate +these earlier events consecutively.</p> + +<p>That good and respected man, Mr. George Arkell, had passed away with the +course of time to the place which is waiting to receive us all. His wife +followed him within the year. A handsome fortune, independently of the +flourishing business at the manufactory, was left to our old friend +William; and there was a small legacy to Mildred of a hundred pounds.</p> + +<p>William Arkell had taken possession of all: of his father's place, his +father's position, and his father's house. No son ever walked more +entirely in his father's steps than did he. He was honoured throughout +Westerbury, just as Mr. Arkell had been. His benevolence, his probity, +his high character, were universally known and appreciated. And Mrs. +William Arkell, now of course, Mrs. Arkell, was a very fine lady, but +liked on the whole.</p> + +<p>They had three children, Travice, Charlotte, and Sophia Mary. Travice +bore a remarkable resemblance to his father, both in looks and +disposition; the two girls were more like their mother. They were young +yet; but no expense, even now, was spared upon them. Indeed, expense, +had Mrs. Arkell had her way, would not have been spared in anything. +Show and cost were not to William's taste; they were to hers: but he +restrained it with a firm hand where it was absolutely essential.</p> + +<p>Peter had not got to college yet, and Peter had not on the whole +prospered. The great blow to him was the having to pay the four hundred +pounds for which he had become security for Mr. Fauntleroy the younger. +Mr. Fauntleroy the younger's affairs had come to a crisis; he went away +for a time from Westerbury, and Peter was called upon to pay. There's no +doubt that it was the one great blight upon Peter Arkell's life. He +never recovered it. It is true that the money was afterwards refunded to +him by degrees; but it seemed to do him no good; the blight had fallen.</p> + +<p>He became ill. Whether it was the blow of this, that suddenly shattered +his health, or whether illness was inherent in his constitution, +Westerbury never fully decided; certain it was, that Peter Arkell +became a confirmed invalid, and had to resign his appointment at the +bank. But he had excellent teaching, and was paid well; and he brought +out a learned book now and then, so that he earned a good living. He had +two children, Lucy, and a boy some years younger.</p> + +<p>Never since she quitted the place some ten or twelve years before, had +Mildred Arkell paid a visit to Westerbury. She was going to do so now. +Lady Dewsbury, whose health was better than usual, had gone to stay with +her married sister, and Mildred thought she would take the opportunity +of going to see her brother Peter, and to make acquaintance with his +wife. It is probable that, without that tie, she would never have +re-entered her native place. The pain of going now would be great; the +pain of meeting William Arkell and his wife little less than it was when +she first left it. But she made her mind up, and wrote to Peter to say +she was coming.</p> + +<p>It was on a windy day that Mildred Arkell—had anybody known her—might +have been seen picking her way-through the mud of the streets of London. +She went to a private house in the neighbourhood of Hatton Garden, rang +one of its bells, and walked upstairs without waiting for it to be +answered. Before she reached the third floor, a young woman, with a +coarse apron on, and a quantity of soft flaxen hair twisted round her +head, which looked like a lady's head in spite of the accompaniment of +the apron, came running down it.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Miss Arkell! if you had but sent me word you were coming!"</p> + +<p>The tone was a joyous one, mixed somewhat with vexation; and Mildred +smiled.</p> + +<p>"Why should I send you word, Betsey? If you are busy, you need not mind +me."</p> + +<p>On the third floor of this house, in two rooms, Mr. and Mrs. David +Dundyke had lived ever since their marriage. David himself had chosen it +from the one motive that regulated most actions of his life—economy. +The two lower floors of the house were occupied by the offices of a +solicitor; the underground kitchen and attic by a woman who kept the +house clean; and David had taken these two rooms, and got them very +cheap, on condition that he should always sleep at home as a protection +to the house. Not having any inducement to sleep out, David acceded +readily; and here they had been for several years. It was, in one sense, +a convenient arrangement for Betsey, for they kept no servant, and the +woman occasionally did cleaning and other rough work for her, receiving +a small payment weekly.</p> + +<p>Will you believe me when I say that David Dundyke was ambitious? Never a +more firmly ambitious man lived than he. There have been men with higher +aims in life, but not with more pushing, persevering purpose. He wanted +to become a rich man; he wanted to become one of importance in this +great commercial city; but the highest ambition of all, the one that +filled his thoughts, sleeping and waking, was a higher ambition +still—and I hope you will hold your breath with proper deference while +you read it—he aspired to become, in time, the <span class="smcap">Lord Mayor</span>!</p> + +<p>He was going on for it. He truly and honestly believed that he was going +on for it; slowly, it is true, but not less sure. Rome, as we all know +was not built in a day; and even such men as the Duke of Wellington must +have had a beginning—a first start in life.</p> + +<p>Whatever David Dundyke's shortcomings might be, in—if you will excuse +the word—gentility, he made up for it by a talent for business. Few men +have possessed a better one; and his value in the Fenchurch-street +tea-house, was fully known and appreciated. This wholesale +establishment, which had tea for its basis, was of undoubted +respectability. It took a high standing amidst its fellows, and was +second in its large dealings to none. It was not one of your +advertising, poetry-puffing, here-to-day and gone-to-morrow houses, but +a genuine, sound firm, having real dealings with Chaney, as the +respected white-haired head of the house was in the habit of designating +the Celestial Empire. Mr. Dundyke sometimes presumed to correct the +"Chaney," and hint to his indulgent master and head, that that +pronunciation was a little antediluvian, and that nobody now called it +anything but "Chinar."</p> + +<p>David Dundyke had gone into this house an errand boy; he had risen to be +a junior clerk. He was now not a junior one, but took rank with the +first. Steady, taciturn, persevering, and industrious to an extent not +often seen, thoroughly trustworthy, and in business dealings of strict +honour, perhaps David Dundyke was one who could not fail to prosper, +wherever he might have been placed. These qualities, combined with rare +business foresight, had brought him into notice, and thence into favour. +The faintest possible hint had been dropped to him by the white-haired +old man, that perseverance, such as his, had been known to meet its +reward in an association with the firm; a share in the business. Whether +he meant anything, or whether it was but a casual remark, spoken without +intention, David did not know; but he saw from thenceforth that one +great ambition, of his, coming nearer and nearer. From that moment it +was sure; it fevered his veins, and coloured his dreams; the massive +gold chain of the Lord Mayor was ever dancing before his eyes and his +brain; to be called "my lord" by the multitude, and to sit in that +arm-chair, dispensing justice in the Mansion House, seemed to him a very +heaven upon earth. Every movement of his mind had reference to it; every +nerve was strained on the hope for it! For that he saved; for that he +pinched; for that he turned sixpences into shillings, and shillings into +pounds: for he knew that to be elected a Lord Mayor he must first of all +be a rich man, and attain to the honour through minor gradations of +wealth. He was judged to be a hard griping man by the few acquaintances +he possessed, possessing neither sympathy for friends, nor pity for +enemies; but he was not hard or griping at heart; it was all done to +further this dream of ambition. For money in the abstract he really did +not very much care; but as a stepping-stone to civic importance, it was +of incalculable value.</p> + +<p>He had four hundred pounds a year now, and they lived upon fifty. +Betsey, the most generous heart in the world, saw but with his eyes, and +was as saving and careful as might be, because it pleased him. Many and +many a time he had taken home a red herring and made his dinner of it, +giving his wife the head and the tail to pick for hers. Not less meek +than of yore was Mrs. Dundyke, and felt duly thankful for the head and +the tail.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dundyke had been at some household work when Mildred entered, but +she soon put it aside and sat down with Mildred in the sitting-room, a +cheerful apartment with a large window. Betsey was considerably over +thirty years of age now, but she looked nearly as young as ever, as she +sat bending her face a little down over her sewing while she talked, the +stitching of a wristband; for she was one who thought it a sin to lose +time. Mildred told her the news she had come to tell—that she was going +on the morrow to Westerbury.</p> + +<p>"Going to Westerbury!" echoed Mrs. Dundyke in great surprise; for it had +seemed to her that Miss Arkell never meant to go to her native place +again.</p> + +<p>Mildred explained. She had a holiday for the first time since going to +Lady Dewsbury's, and should use it to see her brother and his wife. "I +came to tell you, Betsey," she added, "thinking you might have some +message you would like me to carry to your sister."</p> + +<p>A faint change, like a shadow, passed over Betsey Dundyke's face. "She +would not thank you for it, Miss Arkell. But you may give my best love +to her. She never came to see me, you know, when they were in London."</p> + +<p>"When were they in London?" asked Mildred, quickly.</p> + +<p>"Last year. Did you not know of it? Perhaps not, for you were in Paris +with Lady Dewsbury at the time, and the reminiscence to me is not so +pleasing as to make me mention it gratuitously. She came up with Mr. +Arkell and their boy; they were in London about a week: he had business, +I believe. The first thing <i>he</i> did was to come and see us, and he +brought Travice; and he said he hoped I and my husband would make it +convenient to be with them a good deal while they were in town, and +would dine with them often at their hotel. Well, David, as you know, has +no time to spare in the day, for business is first and foremost with +him, but I went the next day to see Charlotte. She was very cool, and +she let me unmistakably know in so many words that she could not make an +associate of Mr. Dundyke. It was not nice of her, Miss Arkell."</p> + +<p>"No, it was not. Did you see much of her?"</p> + +<p>"I only saw her that once. William Arkell was terribly vexed, I could +see that; and as if to atone for her behaviour, he came here often and +brought Travice. Indeed, Travice spent nearly the whole of the time with +us, and David would have let me keep him after they went home, but I +knew it was of no use to ask Charlotte. He is the nicest boy! I—I know +it is wrong to break the tenth commandment," she said, looking up and +laughing through her tears, "but I envy Charlotte that boy."</p> + +<p>It was an indirect allusion to the one great disappointment of Betsey +Dundyke's life: she had no children. She was getting over the grief +tolerably now; we get reconciled to the worst evil in time; but in the +first years of her marriage she had felt it keenly. It may be questioned +if Mr. Dundyke did. Children must have brought expense with them, so he +philosophically pitted the gain against the loss.</p> + +<p>"Why should Mrs. Arkell dislike to be on sisterly terms with you?" asked +Mildred. "I have never been able to understand it."</p> + +<p>"Charlotte has two faults—pride and selfishness," was Mrs. Dundyke's +answer: "though I cannot bear to speak against her, and never do to +David. When she first married, she feared, I believe, that I might +become a burden upon her; and she did not like that I should be in the +position I was at Mrs. Dundyke's; she thought it reflected in a degree +upon her position as a lady. <i>Now</i> she shuns us, because she thinks we +are altogether beneath her. Were we living in style, well established +and all that, she would be glad to come to us; but we are in these two +quiet rooms, living humbly, and Charlotte would cut off her legs before +she'd come near us. Don't think me unkind, Miss Arkell; it is Charlotte +who has forced this feeling upon me. I worshipped her in the old days, +but I cannot be blind to her faults now."</p> + +<p>David Dundyke came in. He shook hands cordially with Mildred, whom he +was always glad to see. He had begun to dress like a city magnate now: +in glossy clothes, and a white neckcloth; and a fine gold cable chain +crossed on his waistcoat, in place of the modest silver one he used to +wear. He had become more personable as he gained years, was growing +portly, and altogether was a fine, gentlemanly-looking man. But his mode +of speech! <i>That</i> had very little changed from the earlier style: +perhaps David Dundyke was one who did not care to change it; or had no +ear to catch the accents of others. If he had but never opened his +mouth!</p> + +<p>"I'm a little late, Betsey. Shouldn't ha' been, though, if I'd known who +was here. Get us some tea, girl; and here's something to eat with it."</p> + +<p>He pulled a paper parcel of shrimps out of his pocket as he spoke: a +delicacy he was fond of. Some of them fell on the carpet in the process, +and Betsey stooped to pick them up. David did not trouble himself to +help her. He sat down and talked to Mildred.</p> + +<p>"The last time you were here, I remember, something kept me out: extra +work at the office, I think that was. I have been round now to +Leifchild's. He is my stock-broker."</p> + +<p>Mildred laughed. She supposed he was saying it for jest. But the keen +look came over Mr. Dundyke's face that was usual to it when he spoke of +money.</p> + +<p>"Leifchild is a steady-going man; he's no fool, he isn't: There's not a +steadier nor a keener on the stock exchange. I've knowed him since he +was that high, for we was boys together; and, like me, he began from +nothing. There was one thing kept him down—want of capital; if he had +had that, he'd ha' been a rich man now, for many good things fell in his +way, and he had to let 'em slip by him. I turned the risk over in my +mind, Miss Arkell; for, and against; and I came to the conclusion to put +a thousand pound in his hands, on condition——"</p> + +<p>"A thousand pounds," involuntarily interrupted Mildred. "Had you so +much—to spare?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I had that," said David Dundyke, with a little cough that seemed +to say he might have found more, if he had cared to do so. "On condition +that I went shares in whatsoever profit my thousand pound should be the +means of realizing," he resumed where he had broken off. "And my +thousand pound has not done badly yet."</p> + +<p>Mildred could not help noting the significant satisfaction of the tone. +"I should have fancied you too cautious to risk your money in +speculating, Mr. Dundyke."</p> + +<p>"And you fancied right. 'Tain't speculating: leastways not now. There +might be some risk at first, but I knew Leifchild. In three months after +that there thousand pound was in his hand, he had made two of it for me, +and I took the one back from him, leaving him the other to go on with +again. <i>That</i> hasn't done badly neither, Miss Arkell; it's paying itself +over and over again. And I'm safe; for if he lost it all, I'm only where +I was afore I began, and my first risked thousand is safe."</p> + +<p>"And if failure should come, is there no risk to you?"</p> + +<p>"Not a penny risk. Trust me for that. But failure won't come. My head's +a pretty long one for seeing my way clear, and Leifchild lays every +thing before me afore he ventures. It's better, this is, than your five +per cent. investments."</p> + +<p>"I think it must be," assented Mildred. "I wish I could employ a trifle +in the same manner."</p> + +<p>She spoke without any ulterior motive, but David Dundyke took the words +literally. He had no objection to do a good turn where it involved no +outlay to himself, and he really liked Mildred. He drew his chair an +inch nearer, and talked to her long and earnestly.</p> + +<p>"Let's say it's a hundred pound," he said. "Risk it. And when Leifchild +has doubled that for you, take the first hundred back. If you lose the +rest, it won't hurt; and if it multiplies its ones into tens, you'll be +so much the better off."</p> + +<p>It cannot be denied that Mildred was struck with the proposition. "But +does Mr. Leifchild do all this for nothing?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"In course he don't. Leifchild ain't a fool. He gets his percentage—and +a good fat percentage too. The thing can afford it. Do as you like, you +know, Miss Arkell; but if you take my advice, you mayn't find cause to +be sorry for it in the end."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said Mildred, "I will think of it."</p> + +<p>"Give Aunt Betsey's dear love to Travice," whispered Mrs. Dundyke, when +Mildred was leaving, "and my best and truest regards to Mr. Arkell. And +oh, Miss Mildred, if you could prevail upon them to let Travice come +back with you to visit me, I should not know how to be happy enough! I +have always so loved children; and David would like it, too."</p> + +<p>"Is there any chance, think you?" returned Mildred.</p> + +<p>"No, no, there is none; his mother would be indignant at the presumption +of the request," concluded Betsey in her bitter conviction.</p> + +<p>And she was not mistaken.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<h3>OLD YEARS BACK AGAIN.</h3> + + +<p>Mildred's heart ached with the changes; Peter was growing into a +middle-aged man, his hair beginning to silver, his tall back bowed with +care.</p> + +<p>They were gathered in the old familiar sitting-room the night of her +arrival at Westerbury. Peter and Mildred sat at the table, Mrs. Peter +Arkell lay on her sofa; the children remained orderly on the hearth rug. +Lucy was getting a great girl now; little Harry—a most lovely child, +his face the counterpart of his mother's—was but three years old.</p> + +<p>Never but once in her life had Mildred seen the exquisite face of Miss +Lucy Cheveley; it had never left her memory. The same, same face was +before her now, looking upwards from the sofa, not a whit altered—not a +shade less beautiful. But Mildred had now become aware of a fact which +she had not known previously—Peter had kept it from her in his +letters—that the defect in Mrs. Peter Arkell's back had become more +formidable, giving her pain nearly always. They had had a hard, +reclining sofa made, a little raised at the one end; and here she had to +lie a great deal, some days only getting up from it to meals.</p> + +<p>"I am half afraid to encounter your wife," Mildred had said, as she +walked home with Peter from the station—for there was a railway from +London now, and the old coaching days had vanished for ever. "She is one +of the Dewsbury family—of Mrs. Dewsbury's, at any rate—and I am but a +dependent in it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mildred! you little know my dear wife; but she is one in a +thousand. She is very poorly this evening, and is so vexed at it; she +says you will not think she welcomes you as she ought."</p> + +<p>"What is it that is really the matter with her? Is it the spine? You did +not tell me all this in your letters."</p> + +<p>"It is the spine. She was never strong, you may be aware; and I believe +there occurred some slight injury to it when the boy was born. The +doctors think she will get stronger again; but I don't know."</p> + +<p>"Is she in pain? Does she walk out?"</p> + +<p>"She is not in pain when she lies, but it comes on if she exerts +herself. Sometimes she walks out, but not often. She is so patient—so +anxious to make the best of things; lying there, as she is often +obliged to do, for hours, and going without any little thing she may +want, because she will not disturb the servant from her work to get it. +I don't think anyone was ever blessed with so patient and sweet a +temper."</p> + +<p>And when Mildred entered and saw the bright expectancy of the +well-remembered face, the eager hands held out to welcome her, she knew +that they were true sisters from that hour. The invalid drew down her +face to her own flushed one.</p> + +<p>"I am so grieved," she whispered, the tears rising in her earnest eyes; +"this is one of my worst days, and I am unable to rise to welcome you."</p> + +<p>"Do not think of it," answered Mildred; "I am glad to be here to wait +upon you, I am used to nursing; I think it is my <i>specialité</i>," she +added, with one of her old sunny smiles. "I will try and nurse you into +health before I go back again."</p> + +<p>"You shall make the tea, and do all those things, now you are here, +Mildred," interposed Peter. "I am as awkward as an owl when I have to +attempt anything, and Lucy lies and laughs at me."</p> + +<p>"Which is to be my room?" asked Mildred. "I will go and take my things +off, and come down to hear all the news of the old place."</p> + +<p>"The blue room," said Mrs. Peter. "You will find little Lucy——"</p> + +<p>"Your own old room, Mildred," interposed Peter. "Lucy, my dear, when +Mildred left home the room was not blue, but a sort of dirty yellow."</p> + +<p>Mildred went and came down again, bringing the children with her, little +orderly things; steady Lucy quite like a mother to her baby brother. +Mildred made acquaintance with them, and she and Peter gossiped away to +their hearts' content; the one telling the news of the "old place," and +its changes, the other listening.</p> + +<p>"We think Lucy so much like you," Peter observed in the course of the +evening, alluding to his little daughter.</p> + +<p>"Like me!" repeated Mildred.</p> + +<p>"It strikes us all. William never sees her but he thinks of you. He says +we ought to have named her 'Mildred.'"</p> + +<p>"<i>His</i> daughters are not named Mildred, either of them," she answered, +hastily—an old sore sensation, that she had been striving so long to +bury, becoming very rife within her.</p> + +<p>"His wife chose their names—not he. She has a will of her own, and +likes to exercise it."</p> + +<p>"How do you get on with William's wife?"</p> + +<p>"Not very well. She and Lucy did not take to each other at first, and I +suppose never will. She is quite a fine lady now; and, indeed, always +was, to my thinking; and William's wealth enables them to live in a +style very different from what we can do. So Mrs. Arkell looks down upon +us. We are invited to a grand, formal dinner there once a year, and that +is about all our intercourse."</p> + +<p>"A grand, formal dinner!" echoed Mildred. "For you!"</p> + +<p>Peter nodded. "She makes it so on purpose, no doubt; a hint that we are +not to be every-day visitors. She invites little Lucy there sometimes to +play with Charlotte and Sophy; but I am sure the two girls despise the +child just as their mother despises us."</p> + +<p>"And does William despise you?" inquired Mildred, a touch of resentment +in her usually gentle tone.</p> + +<p>"How can you ask it, Mildred?" returned Peter, warmly. "I thought you +knew William Arkell better than that. He grows so like his father—good, +kindly, honourable. There's not a man in all Westerbury liked and +respected as he is. He comes in sometimes in an evening; glad, I fancy, +of a little peace and quietness. Between ourselves, Mildred, I fancy +that in marrying Charlotte Travice, William found he had caught a +Tartar."</p> + +<p>"And so they are grand!" observed Mildred, waking out of a fit of +musing, and perhaps hardly conscious of what she said.</p> + +<p>"Terribly grand. <i>She</i> is. They keep their close carriage now. It +strikes me—I may be wrong—but it strikes me that he lives up to every +farthing of his income."</p> + +<p>"My Uncle George did not."</p> + +<p>"No, indeed! Or there'd not have been the fortune that there was to +leave to William."</p> + +<p>"But, Peter, I gather a good deal now and then from the local papers of +the distress that exists in Westerbury, of the depressed state that the +trade is falling into; more depressed even than it was when I left, and +that need not be. Does not this state of things affect William Arkell?"</p> + +<p>"It must affect him; though not, I conclude, to any great extent. You +see, Mildred, he has what so many of the other manufacturers +want—plenty of money, independent of his business. William has not to +force his goods into the market at unfavourable moments; be his stock +ever so large, he can hold it until the demand quickens. It is the being +obliged to send their goods into the market at low prices, that swamps +the others."</p> + +<p>"Will the prosperity of the town ever come back to it, think you?"</p> + +<p>"Never. And I am not sure that the worst has come yet."</p> + +<p>Mildred sighed. She called Lucy to her and held her before her, pushing +the hair from her brow as she looked attentively into her face. It was +not a beautiful or a handsome face; but it was fair and gentle, the +features pale, the eyes dark brown, with a sweet, sad, earnest +expression: just such a face as Mildred's.</p> + +<p>"Do you like your cousins, Charlotte and Sophia, Lucy?" asked Mildred.</p> + +<p>"I like Travice best," was the little lady's unblushing answer. +"Charlotte and Sophy tease me; they are not kind; but Travice won't let +them tease me when he is there. He is a big boy, but he plays with <i>me</i>; +and he says he loves me better than he does them."</p> + +<p>"I really believe he does," said Peter, amused at the answer. "Travice +is just like his father, as this child is like you—the same open, +generous, noble boy that William himself was. When I see Travice playing +with Lucy, I could fancy it was you and William over again—as I used to +see you play in the old days."</p> + +<p>"Heaven grant that the ending of it may not be as mine was!" was the +inward prayer that went up from Mildred's heart.</p> + +<p>"Travice is in the college school, I suppose, Peter?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. With a private evening tutor at home. The girls have a +resident governess. William spares no money on their education."</p> + +<p>"Would it not be a nice thing for Lucy if she could go daily and share +their lessons?"</p> + +<p>"Hush, Mildred! Treason!" exclaimed Peter, while Mrs. Peter Arkell burst +into a laugh, her husband's manner was so quaint. "I have reason to know +that William was hardy enough to say something of the same sort to his +wife, <i>and he got his answer</i>. I and my wife, between us, teach Lucy. It +is better so; for the child could not be spared from her mother. You +don't know the use she is of, already."</p> + +<p>"I am of use to mamma too, I am!" broke in a bold baby voice at +Mildred's side.</p> + +<p>She caught the little fellow on her knee: he thought no doubt he had +been too long neglected. Mildred began stroking the auburn curls from +his face, as she had stroked Lucy's.</p> + +<p>"And I am like mamma," added the young gentleman. "Everybody says so. +Mamma says so."</p> + +<p>Indeed "everybody" might well say it. As the mother's was, so was the +child's, the loveliest possible type of face. The same, the exquisite +features, the refined, delicate look, the lustrous brown eyes and hair, +the rose-flush on the cheeks. "No, I never did see two faces so much +alike, allowing for the difference in age," cried Mildred, looking from +the mother on the sofa to the child on her knee. "Tell me again what +your name is."</p> + +<p>"It's Harry Cheveley Arkell."</p> + +<p>"Do you know," exclaimed Mildred, looking up at Mrs. Peter, "it strikes +me this child speaks remarkably plain for his age."</p> + +<p>"He does," was the answer. "Lucy did not speak so well when she was +double his age. He is unusually forward and sensible in all respects. I +fear it sometimes," she added in a lower tone.</p> + +<p>"By why do you fear it?" quickly asked Mildred.</p> + +<p>"Oh—you know the old saying, or superstition," concluded Mrs. Arkell, +unable further to allude to it, for the boy's earnest eyes were bent +upon her with profound interest.</p> + +<p>"Those whom the gods love, die young," muttered Peter. "But the saying +is all nonsense, Mildred."</p> + +<p>Peter had been getting his books, and was preparing to become lost in +their pages, fragrant as ever to him. Mildred happened to look to him +and scarcely saved herself from a scream. He had put on a pair of +spectacles.</p> + +<p>"Peter! surely you have not taken to spectacles!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have."</p> + +<p>"But why?"</p> + +<p>Peter stared at her. "Why does anybody take to them, Mildred? From +failing sight."</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear!" sighed Mildred. "We seem to have gone away altogether from +youth—to be gliding into old age without any interregnum."</p> + +<p>"But we are not middle-aged yet, Mildred," said Mrs. Peter.</p> + +<p>A sudden opening of the door—a well-known form, tall, upright, noble, +but from which a portion of the youthful elasticity was gone—and +Mildred found herself face to face with her cousin William. How loved +still, the wild beating of her heart told her! His simply friendly +greeting, warm though it was, recalled her to her senses.</p> + +<p>"What a stranger you have been to us, Mildred!" he exclaimed. "Never to +come near Westerbury all these years! When my father was dying, he +wished so much to see you."</p> + +<p>"I would have come then had I been able, but Lady Dewsbury was very ill, +and I could not leave her. Indeed, I wish I could have seen both my aunt +and uncle once more."</p> + +<p>"They felt it, I can tell you, Mildred."</p> + +<p>"Not more than I did; not indeed so much. They could not: they had +others with them nearer than I."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps none dearer," he quietly answered. "My father's death was +almost sudden at the last. The shock to me was great: I did not think to +lose him so early."</p> + +<p>"A little sooner or a little later!" murmured Mildred. "What does it +matter, provided the departure be a hopeful one. As his must have been."</p> + +<p>"As his <i>was</i>," said William. "Mildred, you are not greatly changed."</p> + +<p>"Not changed!"</p> + +<p>"I said, not greatly changed. It is still the same face."</p> + +<p>"Ah, you will see it by daylight. My hair is turning grey."</p> + +<p>"Mildred, which day will you spend with us?" he asked, when leaving. +"To-morrow?"</p> + +<p>Mildred evaded a direct reply. Even yet, though years had passed, she +was scarcely equal to seeing the old home and its installed mistress; +certainly not without great emotion. But she knew it must be overcome, +and when Mr. Arkell pressed the question, she named, not the morrow, but +the day following.</p> + +<p>William Arkell went home, and had the nearest approach to a battle with +his wife that he ever had had. Mrs. Arkell was alone in their handsome +drawing-room; she did not keep it laid up in lavender, as the old people +had done. She was as pretty as ever; and of genial manners, when not put +out. But unfortunately she got put out at trifles, and the +unpleasantness engendered by it was frequent.</p> + +<p>"Charlotte, I have seen Mildred," he began as he entered. "She will +spend the day with us on Friday, but I suppose you will call upon her +to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"No, I shan't," returned Mrs. Arkell. "She's nothing but a lady's-maid."</p> + +<p>William answered sharply. Something to the effect that Mildred was a +lady born and bred, a lady formerly, a lady still, and that he respected +her beyond anyone on earth: in his passion, he hardly knew what he said. +Mrs. Arkell was even with him.</p> + +<p>"I know," she said—"I know you would have been silly enough to make her +your wife, but for your better stars interposing and sending me to +frustrate it. I don't suppose she has overcome the disappointment yet. +Now, William, that's the truth, and you need not look as if you were +going to beat me for saying it. And you need not think that I shall pay +court to her, for I shall not. Whether as Mildred Arkell, your +disappointed cousin, or as Mildred Arkell, Lady Dewsbury's maid, I am +not called upon to do it."</p> + +<p>William Arkell felt that he really could beat her. He did not answer +temperately.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Arkell could be aggravating when she chose; ay, and obstinate. She +would not call on Mildred the following day, but three separate times +did her handsome close carriage parade before the modest house of Mr. +Peter Arkell, and never once, of all the three times, did she condescend +to turn her eyes towards it, as she sat inside. Late that evening there +arrived a formal note requesting the pleasure of Mr. and Mrs. Peter +Arkell's accompanying Miss Arkell to dinner on the following day.</p> + +<p>"She's going to do it grand, Peter," said Lucy to her husband with a +laugh, in the privacy of their chamber at night. "She's killing two +birds with one stone, impressing Mildred with her pomp, and showing her +at the same time that she must not expect to be admitted to +unceremonious intimacy."</p> + +<p>Only Mildred went. Lucy said she was not well enough, and Peter had +lessons to give. The former unpretentious and, for Mr. Arkell, +convenient dinner hour of one o'clock had been long changed for a late +one. Mildred, fully determined <i>not</i> to make a ceremony of the visit, +went in about four o'clock, and found nobody to receive her. Mrs. Arkell +was in her room, the maid said. She had seen Miss Arkell's approach, and +hastened away to dress, not having expected her so early. Would Miss +Arkell like to go to a dressing room and take her bonnet off? Miss +Arkell replied that she would take it off there, and she handed it to +the maid with her shawl.</p> + +<p>The drawing-room had been newly furnished since old Mrs. Arkell's time, +as Mildred saw at a glance. She was touching abstractedly some of its +elegant trifles, musing on the changes that years bring, when the door +flew open, and a tall, prepossessing, handsome boy entered, whistling a +song at the top of his voice, and trailing a fishing line behind him. +There was no need to ask who he was; the likeness was too great to the +beloved face of her girlhood: it was the same manner, the same whistle; +all as it used to be.</p> + +<p>"You are Travice," she said, holding out her hand; "I should have known +you anywhere."</p> + +<p>"And you must be Mildred," returned the boy, impetuously taking the hand +between both of his, and letting his cherished fishing line drop +anywhere. "May I call you Aunt Mildred, as Lucy does?"</p> + +<p>"Call me anything," was Mildred's answer. "I am so glad to see you at +last. And to see you what you are! How like you are to your father!"</p> + +<p>"All the world says that," said the boy with a laugh. "But how is it +that nobody's with you? Where are they all? Where's mamma?"</p> + +<p>Springing to the door he called out in the hall that there was nobody +with Miss Arkell, that she was waiting in the drawing-room alone. His +voice echoed to the very depths of the house, and two slender, pretty +girls came running downstairs in answer to its sound. There was a slight +look of William in both of them, but the resemblance to their mother was +great, and Mildred's heart did not go out yearning to them as it had to +Travice. She kissed them, and found them pleasant, lady-like girls; but +with a dash of coquetry in their manner already.</p> + +<p>"I hope I see you well, Miss Arkell."</p> + +<p>Mildred was bending over the girls, and started at the well-remembered +tones, so superlatively polite, but freezing and heartless. Charlotte +was radiant in beauty and a blue silk dinner-dress, with flowing blue +ribbons in her bright hair. Mildred felt plain beside her. Her rich +black silk was made high, and its collar and cuffs were muslin, worked +with black. Nothing else, save a gold chain; the pretty chain of her +girlhood that William had given her; nothing in her hair. She was in +mourning for a relative of Lady Dewsbury.</p> + +<p>"You have made acquaintance with the children, I see, Miss Arkell."</p> + +<p>"Yes; I am so glad to do it. Peter has sometimes mentioned them in his +letters; and I have heard much of Travice from Betsey—Mrs. Dundyke. +Your sister charged me to give you her best love, Mrs. Arkell. I saw her +on Friday."</p> + +<p>"She's very kind," coldly returned Mrs. Arkell; "but I don't quite +understand how you can have heard much of my son from her; that is, how +she can have had much to say. Mrs. Dundyke had not seen him since he was +an infant, until we were in town last year."</p> + +<p>"I think Travice has been in the habit of writing to her."</p> + +<p>"In the habit of writing to Aunt Betsey,—of course I have been!" +interposed Travice. "And she writes to me, too. I like Aunt Betsey. And +I can tell you what, mamma, for all you go on against him so, I like Mr. +Dundyke."</p> + +<p>"Your likings are of very little consequence at present, Travice," was +the languidly indifferent answer of his mother. "You will learn better +as you grow older. My sister forfeited all claim on me when she married +so low a man as Mr. Dundyke," continued Mrs. Arkell to Mildred; "and she +knows that such is my opinion. I shall never change it. She married him +deliberately, with her eyes open to the consequences, and of course she +must take them. I said and did what I could to warn her, but she would +not listen. And now look at the way in which they are obliged to live!"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Dundyke earns an excellent income; in fact, I believe he is making +money fast," observed Mildred. "Their living in the humble way they do +is from choice, I think, not from necessity."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Arkell shrugged her pretty shoulders with contempt.</p> + +<p>"We will pass to another topic, Miss Arkell, that one does not interest +me. What are the new fashions for the season? You must get them at +first hand, from your capacity in Lady Dewsbury's household."</p> + +<p>Mildred would not resent the hint.</p> + +<p>"Indeed, Mrs. Arkell, if you only knew how little the fashions interest +either Lady Dewsbury or me, you would perhaps laugh at us both," she +answered. "Lady Dewsbury lives too much out of the world to need its +fashions. She is a great invalid."</p> + +<p>Peter's wife was right in her conjecture, for Mrs. Arkell had hastily +summoned a dinner party. Mr. Arkell took his revenge, and faced his wife +in a morning coat. Ten inclusive; and the governess and Travice were +desired to sit down in the place of Mr. and Mrs. Peter. It may be +concluded that Mildred was of the least consequence present, in social +position; nevertheless, Mr. Arkell took her in to dinner, and placed her +at his right hand. All were strangers to her, excepting old Marmaduke +Carr. Squire Carr was dead, and his son John was the squire now.</p> + +<p>It was not the quiet evening Mildred had thought to spend with them. She +slipped from the drawing-room at ten, Mrs. Peter's health being the +excuse for leaving early. Mr. Arkell had his hat on at the hall door +waiting for her, just as it used to be in the days gone by.</p> + +<p>"But, William, I do not wish to take you out," she remonstrated. "You +have your guests."</p> + +<p>"They are not my guests to-night," was his quiet answer, as he gave his +arm to Mildred.</p> + +<p>Travice came running out. "Oh, papa, let me go with you!"</p> + +<p>"Get your trencher, then."</p> + +<p>He stuck the college cap on his head and went leaping on, through the +gates and up the street, just in the manner that college boys like to +leap. Mr. Arkell and Mildred followed more soberly, speaking of +indifferent things. Mildred began talking of Mr. Carr.</p> + +<p>"How well he wears!" she said. "Peter tells me he has retired from +business."</p> + +<p>"These three or four years past. He did wisely. Those who keep on +manufacturing, only do it at a loss."</p> + +<p>"You keep it on, William."</p> + +<p>"I know. But serious thoughts occur to me now and then of the wisdom of +retiring. There are reasons against it, though. Were I to give up +business, we should have to live in a very different style from what we +do now; for my income would be but a small one, and that would not suit +Mrs. Arkell. Besides, I really could not bear to turn my workmen adrift. +There are too many unemployed already in the town; and I am always +hoping, against my conviction, that times will mend."</p> + +<p>"But if you only make to lose, how would the retiring from business +lessen your income?"</p> + +<p>William laughed. "Well, Mildred, of course I do get something still by +my business; but in speaking of the bad times, we are all apt to make +the worst of it. I dare say I make about half what we spend; but that +you know, compared to the profits of old days, is as nothing."</p> + +<p>"If you do make that, William, why think at all of giving up?"</p> + +<p>"Because the doubt is upon me whether worse times may not come, and +bring ruin with them to all who have kept on manufacturing. Were I as +Marmaduke Carr is, a lonely man, I should give up to-morrow; but I have +my wife and children to provide for, and I really do not know what to do +for the best."</p> + +<p>"What has become of Robert Carr? Has he ever been home?"</p> + +<p>"Never. He is in Holland still for all I know. I have not heard his name +mentioned for years in the town. Old Marmaduke never speaks of him; and +others, I suppose, have forgotten him. You know that the old squire's +dead?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; and that John has succeeded him. Did John's daughter—Emma, I +mean—ever marry?"</p> + +<p>"She married very well indeed; a Mr. Lewis. Valentine, the son and heir, +is at home with his father; steady, selfish, mean as his father was +before him; but I fancy John Carr has trouble with the second, Ben."</p> + +<p>"Ben promised to be a spendthrift, I remember," remarked Mildred. "What +is Travice gazing at?"</p> + +<p>Travice had come to a stand-still, and was standing with his face turned +upwards. Mr. Arkell laughed.</p> + +<p>"Do you remember my propensity for star-gazing, Mildred? Travice has +inherited it. But with him it is more developed than it was with me. I +should not be surprised at his turning out an astronomer one of these +days."</p> + +<p><i>Did she remember it!</i> Poor Mildred fell into a reverie that lasted +until William said good night to her at her brother's door.</p> + +<p>She was not sorry when her visit to Westerbury came to an end. The town +seemed to look cold upon her. Of those she had left in it, some had +died, some had married, some had quitted the place for ever. The old had +vanished, the middle-aged were growing old, the children had become men +and women. It did not seem the same native place to Mildred; it never +would seem so again. Some of the inhabitants of her own standing had +dwindled down to obscurity; others who had <i>not</i> been of her standing, +had gone up and become very grand indeed. These turned up their noses at +Mildred, just as did Mrs. William Arkell; and thought it excessive +presumption in a lady's maid to come amongst them as an equal. She had +persisted in going out to service in defiance of all her friends, and +the least she could do was to keep her distance from them.</p> + +<p>Mildred did not hear these gracious comments, and would not have cared +very much if she had heard them. She returned to her post at Lady +Dewsbury's, and a few more years passed on.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<h3>THE DEAN'S DAUGHTER.</h3> + + +<p>The tender green of early spring was on the new leaves of the cathedral +elm trees. Not sufficient to afford a shade yet; but giving promise of +its fulness ere the sultry days of summer should come.</p> + +<p>The deanery of Westerbury was a queer old building to look at, +especially in front. It had no lower windows. There were odd-looking +patches in the wall where the windows ought to have been, and three or +four doors. These doors had their separate uses. One of them was the +private entrance of the dean and his family; one was used by the +servants; one was allotted to official or state occasions, at the great +audit time, for instance, when the dean and chapter held their +succession of dinners for ever so many days running; and one (a little +one in a corner) was popularly supposed to be a sham. But the windows +above were unusually large, and so they compensated in some degree for +the lack of them below.</p> + +<p>Standing at the smallest of the windows on this spring day, was a young +lady of some ten or twelve years old. She had a charming countenance, +rather saucy, and great blue eyes as large as saucers. She wore a pretty +grey silk frock, trimmed with black velvet—perhaps, as slight +mourning—and her light brown hair fell on her neck in curls, that were +apt to get untidy and entangled. It was Georgina Beauclerc, the only +child of the Dean of Westerbury.</p> + +<p>The window commanded a good view of the grounds, as the space here at +the back of the cathedral was called—a large space; the green, inclosed +promenade, shaded by the elm-trees, in the middle; well-kept walks +outside; and beyond, all around, the prebendal and other houses. +Opposite to the deanery, on the other side the walks, the elm-trees, and +the grassy promenade, was the house of the Rev. Mr. Wilberforce, minor +canon and sacrist of the cathedral, rector of St. James the Less, and +head-master of the college school. Side by side with it was the quaint +and small house once inhabited by the former rector of St. James the +Less, an old clergyman, subject to gout, now dead and gone. The Rev. +Wheeler Prattleton lived in the house now: he was also a minor canon, +and chanter to the cathedral—that is, he held the office of what was +called the chanter, which gave him the right to fix upon the services +for the choir when the dean did not, but he only took his turn for +chanting in rotation with the rest of the minor canons. On the other +side the head-master's house was a handsome, good-sized dwelling, +tenanted by a gentleman of the name of Lewis, who held a good and +official position in connexion with the bishop, and had married the +daughter of old Squire Carr, the sister to the present squire, and niece +to Marmaduke. Beyond this, in a corner, was the quaintest house in the +grounds, all covered with ivy, and seeming to have nothing belonging to +it but a door; but the fact was, although the door was here, the house +itself was built out behind, and could not be seen—its windows facing, +some the river, some the open country, and catching a view of St. James +the Less in the distance. Mr. Aultane, Westerbury's greatest lawyer, so +far as practice went, though not perhaps in honour, lived here; and he +held up his head and thought himself above the minor canons. In this one +nook of the grounds a few private individuals congregated—it is not +necessary to mention them all; but the rest of the houses were mostly +occupied by the prebendaries and minor canons. In some lived the widows +and families of prebendaries deceased.</p> + +<p>Looking to the left, as Georgina Beauclerc stood at the deanery window, +just beyond the gate that inclosed the grounds on that side, might be +seen the tall red chimneys of the Palmery. It was, perhaps, inside, the +worst of all the larger houses; but the St. John's came to it often +because they owned it. They (the St. John's) were the best family in +Westerbury, and held sway as such. Mr. St. John had died some years ago, +leaving one son, about thirty years of age, greatly afflicted; and a +young little son, by his second wife. But that young son was growing up +now: time flies.</p> + +<p>Georgina Beauclerc's great blue eyes, so clear and round, were fixed on +one particular spot, and that appeared to be one rather difficult to +see. She had her face and nose pressed against the glass, looking toward +the college schoolroom, a huge building on the right of the deanery, +just beyond the cloisters.</p> + +<p>"They are late again!" she exclaimed, in a soliloquy of resentment. "I +wish that horrid old Wilberforce was burnt!"</p> + +<p>"Georgina!"</p> + +<p>The tone of the reproof, more fractious than surprised, came from a +recess in the large room, and Georgina turned hastily.</p> + +<p>"Why, when did you come in, mamma? I thought you were safe in your bed +room."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Beauclerc came forward, a thin woman with a somewhat discontented +look on her face, and a little nose, red at the tip. She had long given +up all real rule of Georgina, but she had not given up attempting it. +And Georgina, a wild, spoilt child, was in the habit of saying and doing +very much what she liked. She made great friends of the college +schoolboys, and had picked up many of their sayings; and this was +particularly objectionable to the reserved Mrs. Beauclerc.</p> + +<p>"What did you say about Mr. Wilberforce?"</p> + +<p>"I <i>said</i> I wished he was burnt."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Georgina!"</p> + +<p>"I <i>do</i> wish he was scorched. It has struck one o'clock and the boys are +not out! What business has he to keep them in? He did it once before."</p> + +<p>"May I ask what business it is of yours, Georgina? But it has not struck +one."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure it has," returned Georgina.</p> + +<p>"It has <i>not</i>, I tell you. How dare you contradict me? And allow me to +ask why Miss Jackson quitted you so early to-day?"</p> + +<p>"Because I dismissed her," returned the young lady, with equanimity. "I +had the headache, mamma; and I can't be expected to attend to my studies +when I have <i>that</i>."</p> + +<p>"You have it pretty often," grumbled Mrs. Beauclerc; and indeed upon +this plea, or upon some other, Georgina was perpetually contriving, when +not watched, to get rid of her daily governess. "My opinion is, you +never had the headache in your life."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, mamma. That is just what Miss Jackson herself said yesterday +afternoon. I paid her out for it. I sent her away with Baby Ferraday's +kite fastened to her shawl behind."</p> + +<p>"What?" exclaimed Mrs. Beauclerc.</p> + +<p>"The kite was small, not bigger than my hand, but the tail was fine," +continued the imperturbable Georgina. "You cannot imagine how grand the +effect was as she walked along the grounds, and the wind took the tail +and fluttered it. The college boys happened to come out of school at the +moment; and they followed her, shouting out 'kites for sale; tails to +sell.' Miss Jackson couldn't think what was the matter, and kept turning +round. She'd have had it on till now, I hope, only Fred St. John went +and tore it off."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Beauclerc had listened in speechless amazement. When Georgina +talked on in this rapid way, telling of her exploits—and to do the +young lady justice, she never sought to hide them—Mrs. Beauclerc felt +powerless for correction.</p> + +<p>"What is to become of you?" groaned Mrs. Beauclerc.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I don't know, mamma; something good, I hope," returned the +saucy girl. "Little Ferraday—I had called him up here to give him some +cakes—could not think where his kite had vanished, and began to roar; +so I found him sixpence and sent him into the town to buy another. I +don't know whether he got lost or run over. The nurse seemed to think it +would be one of the two, for she went into a fit when she found he had +gone off alone."</p> + +<p>"Georgina, I tell you these things cannot be permitted to continue. You +are no longer a child."</p> + +<p>The colloquy was interrupted by the entrance of the dean: a +genial-looking man, with silver buckles in his shoes, and a face very +much like Georgina's own. He had apparently just come in, for he had his +shovel hat in his hand. The girl loved her father above everything on +earth; to <i>his</i> slightest word she rendered implicit homage; though she +waged hot war with all others in authority over her, commencing with +Mrs. Beauclerc. She flew to the dean with a beaming face, and he clasped +his arms round her with a gesture of the fondest affection. Mrs. +Beauclerc left the room. She never cared to enter into a contest with +her daughter before the dean.</p> + +<p>"My Georgina!" came forth the loving whisper.</p> + +<p>"Papa, <i>is</i> it one o'clock?"</p> + +<p>"Not yet, my dear."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I heard the college clock strike."</p> + +<p>"You thought you did, perhaps. It must have been the quarters."</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear! I have been calling Mr. Wilberforce hard names for nothing."</p> + +<p>"What has Mr. Wilberforce done to you, my Georgie?"</p> + +<p>"I thought he was keeping the school in; and I want to speak to +Frederick St. John."</p> + +<p>They were interrupted. One of the servants appeared, and said a +gentleman was asking permission to see the dean. The dean took the +credential card handed to him: "Mr. Peter Arkell."</p> + +<p>"Show Mr. Arkell up," said the dean. "Georgina, my dear, you can go to +your mamma."</p> + +<p>"I'd rather stay here, papa," she said, boldly.</p> + +<p>One word of explanation as to this visit of Peter Arkell's. It had of +course been his intention to get his son Henry entered at the college +school, and to this end had the boy been instructed. Of rare capacity, +of superior intellect, of sense and feeling beyond his years, it had +been a pleasure to his teachers to bring him on: and they consisted of +his father and mother. From the one he learnt the classics and figures; +from the other music and English generally. Henry Arkell was apt at all +things: but if he had genius for one thing more than another, it was +certainly music. The sole luxury Mrs. Peter Arkell had retained about +her, was her piano; and Henry was an apt pupil. Few boys are gifted +with so rare a voice for singing, as was he; and his mother had +cultivated it well: it was intended that he should enter the cathedral +choir, as well as the school.</p> + +<p>By the royal charter of the school, its number was confined to forty +boys, king's scholars; of these, ten were chosen to be choristers: but +the head master had the privilege of taking private pupils, who paid him +handsomely. The dean had the right of placing in ten of these king's +scholars, but he rarely exercised it; leaving it in the hands of the +head master. Mr. Peter Arkell had applied several times lately to Mr. +Wilberforce; and had received only vague answers from that +gentleman—"when there was a vacancy to spare, he would think of his +son"—but Peter Arkell grew tired. Henry was of an age to be in the +school now, and he resolved to speak to the dean.</p> + +<p>He came in, leading Henry by the hand. Georgina fell a little back, +struck—awed—by the boy's wondrous beauty. The dean, one of the most +affable men that ever exercised sway over Westerbury cathedral, shook +hands with Peter Arkell, whom he knew slightly.</p> + +<p>"I don't know that there's a vacancy," said the dean, when Mr. Arkell +told his tale. "Your son shall have it, and welcome, if there is. I have +left these things to Mr. Wilberforce."</p> + +<p>At this juncture Miss Beauclerc threw the window up, and beckoned to +some one outside. Had her mother been present she would have +administered a reprimand, but the dean was absorbed with the visitors, +and he was less particular than his wife. Georgina was but a child, he +reasoned; she might be too careless in her manners now, but it would all +come right with years. Better, far better see her genuine and truthful, +if a little brusque, than false, mincing, affected, as young ladies were +growing to be. And the dean checked her not.</p> + +<p>"I know Mr. Wilberforce well, sir, and he has said he will do what he +can," said Peter Arkell, in reply to the dean. "But I fear that I may +have to wait an indefinite period. There are others in the town of far +greater account than I, who are anxious to get their sons into the +school; and who have, no doubt, the ear of Mr. Wilberforce. A word from +you, Mr. Dean, would effect all, I am sure: if you would only kindly +speak it in my behalf."</p> + +<p>Dr. Beauclerc turned his head to see who was entering the room, for the +door had opened. It was a handsome stripling, growing rapidly into +manhood—Frederick, heir of the St. John's. He was already keeping his +terms at Oxford; Mrs. St. John had sent him there too early; and in the +intervals, when they were sojourning at Westerbury, he was placed in +the college; not as an ordinary scholar; the private pupil, and the +chief one too, of Mr. Wilberforce.</p> + +<p>The dean gave him a nod, and took the hand of the eager, exquisite face +turned to him. Like his daughter, he was a great admirer of beauty in +the human face: it would often give him a thrill of intense pleasure.</p> + +<p>"What is your name, my boy?"</p> + +<p>"Henry Cheveley Arkell, sir."</p> + +<p>The dean glanced at Peter Arkell with a half smile. He remembered yet +the commotion caused in Westerbury when Miss Cheveley married the tutor, +and the name brought it before him.</p> + +<p>"How old are you?"</p> + +<p>"Nearly ten, sir."</p> + +<p>"If I could paint faces, I'd paint his," cried Georgina to young St. +John, in a half whisper. "Why don't <i>you</i> do it?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose you mean his portrait?"</p> + +<p>"You know I do. But, Fred, is he not beautiful?"</p> + +<p>"You may get sent away if you talk," was the gentleman's answer.</p> + +<p>"Has he been brought on well in his Latin? Is he fit to enter as a +king's scholar?" inquired the dean of Peter Arkell.</p> + +<p>"He has been brought on well in all necessary studies, Mr. Dean; I may +say it emphatically, <i>well</i>. I was in the college school myself, and +know what is required. But learning has made strides of late, sir; boys +are brought on more rapidly; and I can assure you that many a lad has +quitted the college school in my days, his education finished, not as +good a scholar as my son is now. I have taken pains with him."</p> + +<p>"And we know what that implies from you, Mr. Arkell," said the dean, +with a kindly smile. "You would like to be a king's scholar, my brave +boy?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, sir," said Henry, his transparent cheek flushing with hope.</p> + +<p>"Then you shall be one. I will give you the first vacancy under myself."</p> + +<p>They retired with many thanks; Frederick St. John giving Henry's bright +waving hair a pull, as he passed him, by way of parting salutation.</p> + +<p>"Papa! if you don't put that child into the college school, I will," +began Georgina; her tone one of impassioned earnestness. "I will; though +I have to beg it of old Wilberforce. I never saw such a face. I have +fallen in love with it."</p> + +<p>"I am going to put him in, Georgie. I like his face myself. But he can't +go in until there's a vacancy. I must ask Mr. Wilberforce."</p> + +<p>"There are two vacancies now, Dr. Beauclerc," spoke up Frederick St. +John. "One of them is under you, I know."</p> + +<p>"Indeed!"</p> + +<p>"That is, there will be to-morrow. Those two West Indian boys, the +Stantons, are sent for home suddenly: their mother's dying, or something +of that. The master had the news this morning, and the school is in a +commotion over it. If you do wish to fill the vacancy, sir, you should +speak to Mr. Wilberforce at once, or he may stand it out that he has +promised it," concluded Frederick St. John, with that freedom of speech +he was fond of using, even to the dean.</p> + +<p>"Stanton?" repeated the dean. "But were they not private pupils of the +master's?"</p> + +<p>"Oh dear no, sir, they are on the foundation. You might have seen them +any Sunday in their surplices in college. They board at the master's +house; that's all."</p> + +<p>"Two dark boys, papa, the ugliest in the school," struck in Georgina, +who knew a great deal more about the school than the dean did.</p> + +<p>When Mr. Peter Arkell and Henry quitted the deanery, the former turned +to the cloisters; for he had an errand to do in the town, and to go +through the cloisters was the shortest way. He encountered some of the +college boys in the cloisters, whooping, hallooing, shouting; their feet +and their tongues a babel of confusion. Mr. Arkell looked back at them +with strange interest. It did not seem so very long since he and his +cousin William had been college boys themselves, and had shouted and +leaped as merrily as these. Two or three of them touched their trenchers +to Mr. Arkell: they were evening pupils of his.</p> + +<p>Henry had turned the other way, towards his home. At the gate, when he +reached it, the boundary of the cathedral grounds on that side, he found +a meek donkey drawn up, the drawer of a sort of truck, holding a water +barrel. A woman was in the habit of bringing this water every day from a +famous spring outside the town, to supply some of the houses in the +grounds. The water was drawn out by means of a contrivance called a +spigot and faucet, and she was stooping over this, filling a can. Henry, +boy like, halted to watch the process, for the water rushed out full +force.</p> + +<p>Putting in the spigot when the can was full, she was proceeding to carry +it up the old stairs belonging to the gateway, above which lived one of +the minor canons, when the first shout of the college boys broke upon +her ear.</p> + +<p>"Oh, mercy!" she screamed out, as if in abject fear; and Henry Arkell, +who was then continuing his way, halted again and stared at her.</p> + +<p>"Young gentleman," she said in a voice of appeal, "would you do me a +charity?"</p> + +<p>"What is it?" he asked. He was tall and manly for his years.</p> + +<p>"If you would but stand by the barrel and guard it! The day afore +yesterday, while my donkey and barrel was a stopped in this very spot, +and I was a going up these here stairs with this very can, them wild +young college gents came trooping by, and they pulled out the spigot and +set the water a running. There warn't a drop left in the barrel when I +got down. It was a loss to me I haven't over got."</p> + +<p>"Go along," said Henry, "I'll guard it for you."</p> + +<p>Unconscious boast! The boys came on in a roar of triumph, for they had +caught sight of the water barrel. A young gentleman of the name of +Lewis, a little older than Henry, was the first to get to the barrel, +and lay his hand on the spigot.</p> + +<p>"Oh, if you please, you are not to touch it," said Henry; "I am taking +care of it."</p> + +<p>"Halloa! what youngster are you? The donkey's brother?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't take it out—don't!" pleaded Henry. "I promised the woman I'd +guard it for her."</p> + +<p>At this moment the woman's head was protruded through one of the small, +deep, square loopholes of the ancient staircase; and she apostrophized +the crew in no measured terms, and rather contradictory. They were a set +of dyed villains, of young limbs, of daring pigs; and they were dear, +good, young gentlemen, that she prayed for every night; and that she'd +be proud to give a drink of the beautiful spring water to any thirsty +day.</p> + +<p>You know schoolboys; and may, therefore, guess the result of this. The +derisive shouts increased; the woman was ironically cheered; and Henry +Arkell had a struggle with Master Lewis for possession of the spigot, +which ended in the former's ignominious discomfiture. He lay on the +ground, the water pouring out upon him, when a tall form and +authoritative voice dashed into the throng, and laid summary hands on +Lewis.</p> + +<p>"Now then, Mr. St. John! Please to let me alone, sir. It's no affair of +yours."</p> + +<p>"I choose to make it my affair, young Lewis. You help that boy up that +you have thrown down."</p> + +<p>Lewis rebelled. The rest of the boys had drawn back beyond reach of the +splashing water. St. John stooped for the spigot, and put it in; and +then treated Lewis to a slight shaking.</p> + +<p>"You be quiet, Mr. St. John. If you cock it over us boys in school, it's +no reason why you should, out."</p> + +<p>Another instalment of the shaking.</p> + +<p>"Help him up, I tell you, Lewis."</p> + +<p>Perhaps as the best way of getting out of it, Lewis jerked himself +forward, and did help him up. Henry had been unable to rise of himself, +and for a few moments he could not stand: his knee was hurt. It was a +curious coincidence that the first fall, when he was entering the +school, and the last fall——But it may be as well not to anticipate.</p> + +<p>"Now, mind you, Mr. Lewis: if you attempt a cowardly attack on this boy +again—you are bigger and stronger than he is—I'll thrash you kindly."</p> + +<p>Lewis walked away, leaving a mental word behind him—not spoken, he +would not have dared that—for Frederick St. John. The woman came down +wailing and lamenting at the loss of the water, and the boys scuttered +off in a body. St. John threw the woman half-a-crown, and helped Henry +home.</p> + +<p>The dean held to his privilege for once, and gave Mr. Wilberforce notice +that he had filled up the vacancy by bestowing it on the son of Mr. +Peter Arkell. Mr. Wilberforce, privately believing that the world was +about to be turned upside-down, could only bow and acquiesce. He did it +with a good grace, and sent a courteous message for Henry to be there +on the following Monday, at early school.</p> + +<p>Accordingly, at seven o'clock, Henry was there. He did not like to troop +in with the college boys, but waited until the head-master had come, and +entered then. Mr. Wilberforce called him up, inscribed his name on the +school-roll, put a few questions to him as to the state of his studies, +and then assigned him his place.</p> + +<p>The boy was walking to it with that self-consciousness of something like +a thousand eyes being on him—so terrible to the mind of a sensitive +nature, and his was eminently one—when the head-master's voice was +heard.</p> + +<p>"Arkell, junior."</p> + +<p>Never supposing "Arkell, junior," could be meant for him, he went +timidly on; but the voice rose higher.</p> + +<p>"Arkell, junior."</p> + +<p>It was so peremptory that Henry turned, and found it <i>was</i> meant for +him. The sensitive crimson dyed his face deeper and deeper as he +retraced his steps to the head-master's desk.</p> + +<p>"Are you lame, Arkell, junior?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's nothing, sir. It's nearly well."</p> + +<p>"What's the matter, then?"</p> + +<p>"I fell down last week, sir, and hurt my knee a little."</p> + +<p>"Oh. Go to your desk."</p> + +<p>"What a girl's face!" cried one, as Henry recommenced his promenade, for +the indicated place was far down in the school.</p> + +<p>"I'm blest if I don't believe it is the knight of the water-barrel!" +exclaimed a big boy at the first desk. "Won't Lewis take it out of him! +I hope he may get off with whole bones; but I'd not bet upon it."</p> + +<p>"Lewis had better not try it on, or you either, Forbes," quietly struck +in the second senior of the school, who was writing within hearing.</p> + +<p>"Why, do you know him, Mr. Arkell?"</p> + +<p>"Never you mind. I intend to take care of him."</p> + +<p>The boys were trooping through the cloisters when school was over, and +met the dean. Georgina was with him. She caught sight of Henry's face, +and in her impulsive fashion dashed through the throng of boys to his +side.</p> + +<p>"Papa, he's here! Papa! he <i>is</i> here."</p> + +<p>The dean, in his kindly manner, shook Henry by the hand. "Be a good boy, +mind," he said. "Remember, you are under me."</p> + +<p>"I'll try, sir," replied Henry.</p> + +<p>"Do. I shall not lose sight of you." And, with a general nod to the +rest, he departed, taking his daughter's hand.</p> + +<p>For a full minute there was a dead silence. It was so entirely unusual a +thing for the dean to shake hands familiarly with a college boy, that +those gentry did not at first decide how to take it. Then one of them, +more impudent than the rest, bowed his body down before the new junior +with mock gravity.</p> + +<p>"If you please, sir, wouldn't you be pleased to make yourself cock of +the school after this, and cut out St. John?"</p> + +<p>"Take care of your tongue, Marshall," admonished St. John, who made one +of the throng.</p> + +<p>"I <i>am</i> blowed, though!" returned Marshall. "<i>Did</i> anybody ever see such +a go as this?"</p> + +<p>"What's the row?" demanded Hennet, a fine youth, one of Mr. +Wilberforce's private pupils, and who only now came up.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my! you should have been here, Hennet," responded Marshall. "We +have got a lord, or something else, among us. The Dean of Westerbury has +been bowing down to worship him."</p> + +<p>Hennet, not understanding, looked at St. John.</p> + +<p>"No. Trash!" explained St. John. "Marshall is putting his tongue and his +foot into it to-day. I'm off to breakfast."</p> + +<p>The word excited anticipations of the meal, and all the rest were off to +breakfast too—making the grounds echo with their shouts as they ran.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<h3>A CITY'S DESOLATION.</h3> + + +<p>Henry Arkell had been in the college school rather more than a year, and +also in the choir—for he entered the two almost simultaneously, his +fine voice obtaining him the place before any other candidate—when the +rank and fashion of Westerbury found itself in a state of internal, +pleasurable commotion, touching an amateur concert about to be given for +the benefit of the distressed Poles.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lewis, the daughter of the late Squire Carr, Mrs. Aultane, and a +few more of the lesser satellites residing near the cathedral clergy, +suddenly found themselves, from some cause never clearly explained to +Westerbury, aroused into a state of sympathy and compassion for that +ill-starred country, Poland, and its ill-used inhabitants. Casting about +in their minds what they could do to help those <i>misérables</i>—the French +word slipped out at my pen's end—they alighted on the idea of an +amateur morning concert, and forthwith set about organizing one. +Painting in glowing colours the sufferings and hardships of this distant +people, they contrived to gain the ear of the good-natured dean, and of +Mrs. St. John of the Palmery, and the rest was easy. Canons and minor +canons followed suit; all the gentry of the place took the concert under +their especial patronage; and everybody with the slightest pretension to +musical skill, intimated that they were ready to assist in the +performances, if called upon. In fact, the miniature scheme grew into a +gigantic undertaking; and no expense, trouble, or time was spared in the +getting up of this amateur concert. Ladies of local rank and fashion +were to sing at it; the mayor accorded the use of the guildhall; and +Westerbury had not been in so delightful a state of excited anticipation +for years and years.</p> + +<p>But it is impossible to please everybody—as I dare say you have found +out for yourselves at odd moments, in going through life. So it proved +with this concert; and though it was productive of so much satisfaction +to some, it gave great dissatisfaction to others. This arose from a +cause which has been a bone of contention even down to our own days: the +overlooking near distress, to assist that very far off. There are +ill-conditioned spirits amidst us who protest that the dear little +interesting black Ashantees should not be presented with nice fine warm +stockings, while our own common-place young Arabs have to go without +shoes. While the destitution in Westerbury was palpably great, crying +aloud to Heaven in its extent and helplessness, it seemed to some +inhabitants of the city—influential ones, too—that the movement for +the relief of the far-off Poles was strangely out of place; that the +amateur concert, if got up at all, ought to have been held for the +relief of the countrymen at home. This opinion gained ground, even +amidst the supporters of the concert. The dean himself was heard to say, +that had he given the matter proper consideration, he should have +advised postponement of this concert for the foreigners to a less +inopportune moment.</p> + +<p>You, my readers, may know nothing of the results following the opening +of the British ports for the introduction of French goods, as they fell +on certain local places. When the bill was brought into the House of +Commons by Mr. Huskisson, these results—ruin and irrecoverable +distress—were foreseen by some of the members, and urged as an argument +against its passing. Its defenders did not deny the probable fact; but +said that in all great political changes the <span class="smcap">FEW</span> must be content to +suffer for the good of the <span class="smcap">MANY</span>. An unanswerable argument; all the more +plain that those who had to discuss it were not of the few. That the few +did suffer, and suffered to an extremity, none will believe who did not +witness it, is a matter of appalling history. Ask Coventry what that +bill did for it. Ask Worcester. Ask Yeovil. Ask other places that might +be named. These towns lived by their staple trade; their respective +manufactures; and when a cheaper, perhaps better article was introduced +from France, so as to supersede, or nearly so, their own, there was +nothing to stand between themselves and ruin.</p> + +<p>Ah! my aged friends! if you were living in those days, you may have +taken part in the congratulations that attended the opening of the +British ports to French goods. The popular belief was, that the passing +of the measure was as a boon falling upon England; but you had been awed +into silence had you witnessed, but for a single day, the misery and +confusion it entailed on these local isolated places. Take Westerbury: +half the manufacturers went to total ruin, their downfall commencing +with that year, and going on with the following years, until it was +completed. It was but a question of the extent of private means. Those +who had none to fly to, sunk at once in a species of general wreck; +their stock of goods was sold for what it would fetch; their +manufactories and homes were given up; their furniture was seized; and +with beggary staring them in the face, they went adrift upon the cold +world. Some essayed other means of making their living; essayed it as +they best could without money and without hope, and struggled on from +year to year, getting only the bread that nourished them. Others, more +entirely overwhelmed with the blow, made a few poor efforts to recover +themselves, in vain, in vain; and their ending was the workhouse. +Honourable citizens once, good men, as respectable and respected as you +are, who had been reared and lived in comfort, bringing up their +families as well-to-do manufacturers ought; these were reduced to utter +destitution. Some drifted away, seeking only a spot where they might +die, out of sight of men; others found an asylum in their old age in the +paupers' workhouse! You do not believe me? you do not think it could +have been quite so bad as this? As surely as that this hand is penning +the words, I tell you but the truth. For no fault of theirs did they +sink to ruin; by no prudence could they have averted it.</p> + +<p>The manufacturers who had private property—that is, property and money +apart from the capital employed in their business—were in a different +position, and could either retire from business, and make the best of +what they had left, or keep on manufacturing in the hope that they +should retrieve their losses, and that times would mend. For a very, +very long time—for years and years—a great many cherished the +delusive hope that the ports would be reclosed, and English goods again +fill the markets. They kept on manufacturing; content, perforce, with +the small profit they made, and drawing upon their private funds for +what more they required for their yearly expenditure. How they could +have gone on for so many years, hoping in this manner, is a marvel to +them now. But the fact was so. There were but very few who did this, or +who, indeed, had money to do it; but amidst them must be numbered Mr. +Arkell.</p> + +<p>But, if the masters suffered, what can you expect was the fate of the +workmen? Hundreds upon hundreds were thrown out of employment, and those +who were still retained in the few manufactories kept open, earned +barely sufficient to support existence; for the wages were, of +necessity, sadly reduced, and they were placed on short work besides. +What was to become of this large body of men? What did become of them? +God only knew. Some died of misery, of prolonged starvation, of broken +hearts. <i>Their</i> end was pretty accurately ascertained; but those who +left their native town to be wanderers on the face of the land, seeking +for employment to which they were unaccustomed, and perhaps finding +none—who can tell what was their fate? The poor rates increased +alarmingly, little able as were the impoverished population to bear an +increase; the workhouses were filled, and lamentations were heard in the +streets. Poor men! They only asked for work, work; and of work there was +none. Small bodies of famished wretches, deputations from the main body, +perambulated the town daily, calling in timidly at the manufactories +still open, and praying for a little work. How useless! when those +manufactories had been obliged to turn off many of their own hands.</p> + +<p>It will not be wondered at, then, if, in the midst of this bitter +distress, the grand scheme for the relief of the Poles, which was +turning the town mad with excitement, did not find universal favour. The +workmen, in particular, persisted in cherishing all sorts of obstinate +notions about it. Why should them there foreign Poles be thought of and +relieved, while <i>they</i> were starving? Would the Polish clergy and the +grand folks, over there, think of <i>them</i>, the Westerbury workmen, and +get up a concert for 'em, and send 'em the proceeds? There was certainly +rough reason in this. The discontent began to be spoken aloud, and +altogether the city was in a state of semi-rebellion.</p> + +<p>Some of the men were gathered one evening at a public-house they used; +their grievances, as a matter of course, the theme of discussion. So +many years had elapsed since the blow had first fallen on the city by +the passing of the bill, almost a generation as it seemed, that the +worn-out theme of closing the ports was used threadbare; and the men +chiefly confined themselves to the hardships of the present time. Bad as +the trade was at Westerbury, it was expected to be worse yet, for the +more wealthy of the manufacturers were beginning to say they should be +forced at last to close their works. The men lighted their pipes, and +called for pints or half pints of ale. Those who were utterly penniless, +and could, in addition, neither beg nor borrow money for this luxury, +sat gloomily by, their brows lowering over their gaunt and famished +cheeks.</p> + +<p>"James Jones," said the landlord, a surly sort of man, speaking in reply +to a demand for a half pint of ale, "I can't serve you. You owe five and +fourpence already."</p> + +<p>What Mr. James Jones might have retorted in his disappointment, was +stopped by the entrance of several men who came in together. It was the +"deputation;" the men chosen to go round the city that day and ask for +work or alms. The interest aroused by their appearance overpowered petty +warfare.</p> + +<p>"Well, and how have ye sped?" was the eager general question, as the men +found seats.</p> + +<p>"We went round, thirteen of us, upon empty stomachs, and we left them at +home empty too," replied a tidy-looking man with a stoop in his +shoulders; "but we've done next to no good. Thorp, he has gone home; we +gave him the money out of what we've collected for a loaf o' bread, for +his wife and children's bad a-bed, and nigh clammed besides. The tale +goes, too, that things are getting worse."</p> + +<p>"They can't get worse, Read."</p> + +<p>"Yes, they can; there was a meeting to-day of the masters. Did you hear +of it?"</p> + +<p>Of course the men had heard of it. Little took place in the town, +touching on their interests, that they did not hear of.</p> + +<p>"Then perhaps you've heard the measure that was proposed at it—to +reduce the wages again. It was carried, too. George Arkell & Son's was +the only firm that held out against it."</p> + +<p>"Nobody has held out for us all along like Mr. Arkell," observed one who +had not yet spoken. "He was a young man when these troubles first fell +on the city, and he's middle-aged now, but never once throughout all the +years has his voice been raised against us."</p> + +<p>"True," said Read; "and when he speaks to us it is kindly and +sympathizingly, like the gentleman he is, and as if <i>we</i> were fellow +human beings, which they don't all do. Some of the masters don't care +whether we starve or live; they are as selfish as they are high. Mr. +Arkell has large means and an open hand; it's said he has the interests +of us operatives at heart as much as he has his own; for my part, I +believe it. His contribution to-day was a sovereign—more than twice as +much as anybody else gave us."</p> + +<p>"And why not!" broke in Mr. James Jones "If Arkells have got plenty—and +it's well known they have—it's only right they should help us."</p> + +<p>"As to their having such plenty, I can't say about that," dissented +Markham—a superior man, and the manager of a large firm. "They have +kept on making largely, and they must lose at times. It stands to +reason, as things have been. Of course they had plenty of money to fall +back upon. Everybody knows that; and Mr. Arkell has preferred to +sacrifice some of that money—all honour to him—rather than turn off to +destitution the men who have grown old in his service, and in his +father's before him."</p> + +<p>"It's true, it's true," murmured the men. "God bless Mr. William +Arkell!"</p> + +<p>"It's said that young Mr. Travice is to be brought up to the business, +so things can't be very bad with them."</p> + +<p>"Yah! bad with 'em!" roared a broad-shouldered old man. "It riles me to +sit here and hear you men talk such foolery. Haven't he got his close +carriage and his horses? and haven't he got his fine house and his +servants? Things bad with the Arkells!"</p> + +<p>"You should not cast blame to the masters," continued Markham. "How many +of them are there who still keep on making, but whose resources are +nearly exhausted!"</p> + +<p>"No, no, 'taint right," murmured some of the more just-thinking of the +men. "The masters' troubles must be ten-fold greater than ours."</p> + +<p>"I should be glad to hear how you make that out?" grumbled a malcontent. +"I have got seven mouths to feed at home, and how am I to feed 'em, not +earning a penny? We was but six, but our Betsey, as was in service as +nuss-girl at Mrs. Omer's, came home to-day. I won't deny that Mrs. Omer +have been kind to her, keeping her on after they failed, and that; but +she up and told her yesterday that she couldn't afford it any longer. I +remember, brethren, when Mr. and Mrs. Omer held up their heads, and paid +their way as respectable as the first manufacturer in Westerbury. Good +people they was."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Omer came to our place to-day," interrupted Markham, "to pray the +governor to give him a little work at his own home, as a journeyman. But +we had none to give, without robbing them that want it worse than he. I +think I never saw our governor so cut up as he was, after being obliged +to refuse him."</p> + +<p>"Ay," returned the former speaker; "and our Betsey declares that her +missis cried to her this morning, and said she didn't know but what they +should come to the parish. Betsey, poor girl," he continued, "can't bear +to be a burden upon us; but there ain't no help for it. There be no +places to be had; what with so many of the girls being throwed out of +employment, and the families as formerly kept two or three servants +keeping but one, and them as kept one keeping none. There's nothing that +she can do, brethren, for herself or for us."</p> + +<p>"The Lord keep her from evil courses!" uttered a deep, earnest voice.</p> + +<p>"If I thought as her, or any of my children, was capable of taking to +<i>them</i>," thundered the man, his breast heaving as he raised his sinewy, +lean arm in a threatening attitude, "I'd strike her flat into the earth +afore me!"</p> + +<p>"Things as bad with the masters as they be with us!" derisively resumed +the broad-shouldered old man. "Yah! Some on you would hold a candle to +the devil himself, though he appeared among ye horned and tailed! Why, I +mind the time—I'm older nor some o' you be—when there warn't folks +wanting to defend Huskisson! And I mind," he added, dropping his voice, +"the judgment that come upon him for what he done."</p> + +<p>"It's of no good opening up that again," cried Thomas Markham. "What +Huskisson did, he did for his country's good, and he never thought it +would bring the ill upon us that it did bring. I have told you over and +over again of an interview our head governor—who has now been dead +these ten years, as you know—had with Huskisson in London. It was on a +Sunday evening in summer; and when the governor went in, Huskisson was +seated at his library table, with one of the petitions sent up from +Westerbury to the House of Commons, spread out before him. It was the +one sent up in the May of that year, praying that the ports might be +closed again—some of you are old enough to recollect it, my +friends—the one in which our sufferings and wrongs were represented in +truer and more painful colours than they were, perhaps, in any other of +the memorials that went up. It was reported, I remember, that Mr. +William Arkell had the chief hand in drawing out that petition: but I +don't know how that might have been. Any way, it told on Mr. Huskisson; +and the governor said afterwards, that if ever he saw remorse and care +seated on a brow, it was on his."</p> + +<p>"As it had cause to be!" was echoed from all parts of the room.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Huskisson began speaking at once about the petition," continued the +manager. "He asked if the sufferings described in it were not +exaggerated; but the governor assured him upon his word of honour, as a +resident in Westerbury and an eye-witness, that they were underdrawn +rather than the contrary; for that no pen, no description, could +adequately describe the misery and distress which had been rife in +Westerbury ever since the bill had passed. And he used to say that, live +as long as he would, he should never forget the look of perplexity and +care that overshadowed Mr. Huskisson's face as he listened to him."</p> + +<p>"It was repentance pressing sore upon him," growled a deep bass voice. +"It's to be hoped our famished and homeless children haunted his +dreams."</p> + +<p>"The next September he met with the accident that killed him," continued +Thomas Markham; "and though I know some of us poor sufferers were free +in saying it was a judgment upon him, I've always held to my opinion +that if he had foreseen the misery the bill wrought, he would never have +brought it forward in the House of Commons."</p> + +<p>"Here's Shepherd a coming in! I wonder how his child is? Last night he +thought it was dying. Shepherd, how's the child?"</p> + +<p>A care-worn, pale man made his way amid the throng. He answered quietly +that the child was well.</p> + +<p>"Well! why, you said last night that it was as bad as it could be, +Shepherd! You was going off for the doctor then. Did he come to it?"</p> + +<p>"One doctor came, from up there," answered Shepherd, pointing to the +sky. "He came, and He took the child."</p> + +<p>The words could not be misunderstood, and the room hushed itself in +sympathy. "When did the boy die, Shepherd?"</p> + +<p>"To-day, at one; and it's a mercy. Death in childhood is better than +starvation in manhood."</p> + +<p>"Could Dr. Barnes do nothing for him?" inquired a compassionate voice.</p> + +<p>"He didn't try; he opened his winder to look out at me—he was +undressing to go to bed—and asked whether I had got the money to pay +him if he came."</p> + +<p>"Hiss—iss—ss!" echoed from the room.</p> + +<p>"I answered that I had not; but I would pay him with the very first +money that I could scrape together; and I said he might take my word for +it, for that had never been broken yet."</p> + +<p>"And he would not come?"</p> + +<p>"No. He said he knew better than to trust to promises. And when I told +him that the boy was dying, and very precious to me, the rest being +girls, he said it was not my word he doubted but my ability, for he +didn't believe that any of us men would ever be in work again. So he +shut down his winder and doused his candle, and I went home to my boy, +powerless to help him, and I watched him die."</p> + +<p>"Drink a glass of ale, Shepherd," said Markham, getting a glass from the +landlord, and filling it from his own jug.</p> + +<p>"Thank ye kindly, but I shall drink nothing to-night," replied Shepherd, +motioning back the glass. "There's a sore feeling in my breast, +comrades," he continued, sighing heavily; "it has been there a long +while past, but it's sorer far to-day. I don't so much blame the +surgeon, for there has been a deal of sickness among us, and the doctors +have been unable to get their pay. Hundreds of us are nigh akin to +starvation; there's scarcely a crust between us and death; we desire +only to work honestly, and we can't get work to do. As I sat to-day, +looking at my dead boy, I asked what we had done to have this fate +thrust upon us?"</p> + +<p>"What have we done? That's it!—what have we done?"</p> + +<p>"But I did not come here to-night to grumble," resumed Shepherd, "I came +for a specific purpose, though perhaps I mayn't succeed in it. I went +down to Jasper, the carpenter, to-day, to ask him to come and take the +measure for the little coffin. Well, he's like all the rest, he won't +trust me; at last he said, if anybody would go bail he should be paid +later, he'd make it; and I have come down to ye, friends, to ask who'll +stand by me in this?"</p> + +<p>A score of voices answered, each that he would—eager, sympathizing +voices—but Shepherd shook his head. There was not one among them whose +word the carpenter would take, for they were all out of work. In the +silence that ensued, Shepherd rose to leave.</p> + +<p>"Many thanks for the good-will, neighbours," he said. "And I don't +grumble at my unsuccess, for I know how powerless many of ye are to aid +me. But it's a bitter trial. I would rather my boy had never been born +than that he should come to be buried by the parish. God knows we have +heavy burdens to bear."</p> + +<p>"Shepherd!" cried the clear voice of Thomas Markham, "I will stand by +you in this. Tell Jasper I pass my word to see him paid."</p> + +<p>Shepherd turned back and grasped the hand of Thomas Markham.</p> + +<p>"I can't thank you as I ought, sir," he said; "but you have took a load +from my heart. Though you were never repaid here, you would be +hereafter; for I have come to feel a certainty that if our good deeds +are not brought home to us in this world, they are only kept to speak +for us in the next."</p> + +<p>"I say, stop a minute, Shepherd," called out James Jones, as the man was +again making his way to the door. "What made you go to Jasper? He's +always cross-grained after his money, he is. Why didn't you go to +White?"</p> + +<p>"I did go to White first," answered Shepherd, turning to speak; "but +White couldn't take it. He has got the job for all the new wooden chairs +that are wanted for this concert at the town-hall, and hadn't time for +coffins."</p> + +<p>The mention was the signal for an outburst. It came from all parts of +the room, one noise drowning another. Why couldn't a concert be got up +for them? Weren't they as good as the Poles? Hadn't they bodies and +souls to be saved as well as the Poles? Wasn't there a whole town of 'em +starving under the very noses of them as had got up the concert? They +could tell the company that French revolutions had growed out of less +causes.</p> + +<p>"And <i>I</i>'ll tell ye what," roared out the old man with the broad +shoulders, bringing his fist down on the table with such force that the +clatter amidst the cups and glasses caused a sudden silence. "Every +gentleman that puts his foot inside that there concert room, is no true +man, and I'd tell him so to his face, if 'twas the Lord Lieutenant. +What do our people want a fattening up of them there Poles, while we be +starving? I wish the Poles was——"</p> + +<p>"Hold your tongue, Lloyd," interposed Markham. "It's not the fault of +the Poles, any more than it's ours; so where's the use of abusing them?"</p> + +<p>"Yah!" responded Mr. Lloyd.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + +<h3>A DIFFICULTY ABOUT TICKETS.</h3> + + +<p>Amidst those who held a strong opinion on the subject of the +concert—and it did not in any great degree differ from the men's—was +Mr. Arkell. Mrs. Arkell knew of this, but never supposed it would extend +to the length of keeping her away from it: or perhaps she wilfully shut +her eyes to any suspicion of the sort.</p> + +<p>On the morning preceding the concert, she was seated making up some pink +bows, intended to adorn the white spotted muslin robes of her daughters, +when the explanation came. She said something about the concert—really +inadvertently—and Mr. Arkell took it up.</p> + +<p>"You are surely not thinking of going to the concert?" he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Indeed I am. I shall go and take Lottie and Sophy."</p> + +<p>"Then, Charlotte, I desire that you will put away all thoughts of it," +he said. "I could not allow my wife and daughters to appear at it."</p> + +<p>"Why not? why not?" she asked in irritation.</p> + +<p>"There is not the least necessity for my going over the reasons; you +have heard me say already what I think of this concert. It is a +gratuitous insult on our poor starving people, and neither I nor mine +shall take part in it."</p> + +<p>"All the influential people in the town are supporting it, and will be +there."</p> + +<p>"Not so universally as you may imagine. But at any rate what other +people do is no rule for me. I should consider it little less than a sin +to purchase tickets, and I will not do it, or allow it to be done."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Arkell gave a flirt at the ribbon in her hand, and sent it flying +over the table.</p> + +<p>"What will Charlotte and Sophy say? Pleasant news this will be for them! +These bows were for their white dresses. I might have spared myself the +time and trouble of making them up. Travice goes to it," she added, +resentfully.</p> + +<p>"But Travice goes as senior of the college school. It has pleased Mr. +Wilberforce to ask that the four senior boys shall be admitted; it has +been accorded, and they have nothing to do but make use of the +permission in obedience to his wishes. That is a different thing. If I +had to buy a ticket for Travice, I assure you, Charlotte, the concert +would wait long enough before it saw him there."</p> + +<p>"Our tickets would cost only fifteen shillings," she retorted.</p> + +<p>"I can't afford fifteen shillings," said Mr. Arkell, getting vexed. +"Charlotte, hear me, once for all; if the tickets cost but one shilling +each, I would not have you purchase them. Not a coin of mine, small or +large, shall go to swell the funds of the concert. If you and the girls +feel disappointed, I am sorry," he continued, in a kind tone. "It is not +often that I run counter to your wishes; but in this one instance—and I +must beg you distinctly to understand me—I cannot allow my decision to +be disputed."</p> + +<p>To say that Mrs. Arkell was annoyed, would be a very inadequate word to +express what she felt. She had been fond of gaiety all her life; was +fond of it still; she was excessively fond of dress; any project +offering the one or the other was eagerly embraced by Mrs. Arkell. +Though of gentle birth herself—if that was of any service to her—as +the wife of William Arkell, the manufacturer, she did not take her +standing in what was called the society of Westerbury—and you do not +need, I presume, to be reminded what "society" in a cathedral town is; +or are ignorant of its pretentious exclusiveness. There was not a more +respected man in the whole city than Mr. Arkell; the dean himself was +not more highly considered; but he was a manufacturer, the son of a +manufacturer, and therefore beyond the pale of the visiting society. It +never occurred to him to wish to enter it; but it did to his wife. To +have that barrier removed, she would have sacrificed much; and now and +again her reason would break out in private complaint against it. She +could not see the justice of it. It is true her husband was a +manufacturer; but he had been reared a gentleman; he was a brilliant +scholar, one of the most accomplished men of his day. His means were +ample, and their style of living was good. Mrs. Arkell glanced to some +of the people revelling in the <i>entrée</i> of that society, with their poor +pitiful income of a hundred pounds, or two, a year; their pinching and +screwing; their paltry expedients to make both ends meet. Why should +they be admitted and she excluded, was the question she often asked +herself. But Mrs. Arkell knew perfectly well, in the midst of her +grumbling, that one might as well try to alter the famed laws of the +Medes and Persians, as the laws that govern society in a cathedral town: +or indeed in any town. This concert she had looked forward to with more +interest than usual, because it would afford her the opportunity of +hearing some of the great ones of the county play and sing.</p> + +<p>But she did not now see how to get to it; and her disappointment was +bitter. It had fallen upon her as a blow. Mrs. Arkell had her faults, +but she was a good wife on the whole; not one to run into direct +disobedience. She generally enjoyed her own way; her husband rarely +interfered to counteract it; certainly he had never denied her anything +so positively as this. She sat, the image of discontent, listlessly +tossing the pink bows about with her fingers, when her eldest daughter, +a tall, elegant girl, came in.</p> + +<p>"Oh, mamma! how lovely they are! won't they look well on the white +dresses!"</p> + +<p>"Well!" grunted Mrs. Arkell, "I might have spared myself the trouble of +making them. We are not to go to the concert now."</p> + +<p>"Not to go to the concert!" echoed Charlotte, opening her eyes in utter +astonishment. "Does papa say so?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; he will not allow tickets to be purchased. He does not approve of +the concert. And he says, if the tickets cost but a shilling each, he +should think it a sin to give it."</p> + +<p>Charlotte sat down, the picture of dismay.</p> + +<p>"Where will be the use of our new dresses now!" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Where will be the use of anything," retorted Mrs. Arkell. "Don't whirl +your chain round like that, Charlotte, giving me the fidgets!"</p> + +<p>Charlotte dropped her chain. A bright idea had occurred to her.</p> + +<p>"If papa's objection lies in the purchase of tickets, let us ask Henry +Arkell for his, mamma. Mrs. Peter is sure to be too ill to go."</p> + +<p>One minute's pause of thought, and Mrs. Arkell caught at the suggestion, +as a famished outcast catches at the bread offered to him. If a doubt +obtruded itself, that their appearing at the concert at all would be +almost as unpalatable to her husband as their spending money upon its +tickets, she conveniently put it out of sight.</p> + +<p>The gentlemen forming the choir of the cathedral, both lay-clerks and +choristers, had been solicited to give their services to the concert; as +an acknowledgment two tickets were presented to each of them, in common +with the amateur performers. Henry Arkell had, of course, two with the +rest, and these were the tickets thought of by Charlotte.</p> + +<p>Not a moment lost Mrs. Arkell. Away went she to pay a visit to Mrs. +Peter—a most unusual condescension; and it impressed Mrs. Peter +accordingly, who was lying on her sofa that day, very poorly indeed. +Mrs. Arkell at once proclaimed the motive of her visit; she did not +beat about the bush, or go to work with crafty diplomacy, but she +plunged into it with open frankness, telling of their terrible +disappointment, through Mr. Arkell's objecting, on principle, to buy +tickets.</p> + +<p>"If you do not particularly wish to go yourself, Mrs. Peter—I know how +unequal you are to exertion—and would give Henry's tickets to myself +and Charlotte, I should feel more obliged than I can express."</p> + +<p>There was one minute's hesitation on Mrs. Peter Arkell's part. She had +really wished to go to this concert; she was nursing herself up to be +able to go; and she knew how greatly Lucy, who had but few chances of +any sort of pleasure, was looking forward to it. But the hesitation +lasted the minute only; the next, the coveted tickets, with their pretty +little red seal in the corner, were in the hand of Mrs. Arkell.</p> + +<p>She went home as elated as though she had taken an enemy's ship at sea, +and were sailing into port with it.</p> + +<p>"Sophy must make up her mind to stay at home," she soliloquized. "It is +her papa's fault, and I shall tell her so, if she's rebellious over it, +as she is sure to be. This gives one advantage, however: there will be +more room in the carriage for me and Charlotte. I wondered how we +should all three cram in, with new white dresses on."</p> + +<p>About the time that she was hugging this idea complacently to herself, +the college clock struck one; and the college boys came pelting, +pell-mell, down the steps of the schoolroom, their usual mode of egress. +Travice Arkell, the senior boy of the school now—and the senior of that +school possessed great power, and ruled his followers with an iron hand, +more or less so according to his nature—waited, as he was obliged, to +the last; he locked the door, and went flying across the grounds to +leave the keys at the head master's. Travice Arkell was almost a man +now, and would quit the school very shortly.</p> + +<p>Bounding along as fast as he could go when he had left the keys—taking +no notice of a knot of juniors who were quarrelling over +marbles—Travice made a detour as he turned out of the grounds, and +entered the house of Mrs. Peter Arkell. He was rather addicted to making +this detour, but he burst in now at an inopportune moment. Lucy was in +tears, and Mrs. Arkell was remonstrating against them in a reasoning, +not to say a reproving tone. Henry, who had got in previously, was +nursing his leg, a very blank look upon his face.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" asked Travice, as Lucy made her escape.</p> + +<p>"I thought Lucy had more sense," was the vexed rejoinder made by Mrs. +Peter. "Don't ask, Travice. It is nothing."</p> + +<p>"What is it, Harry, boy?" cried Travice, with scant attention to the +"don't ask." "She can't be crying for nothing."</p> + +<p>"It's about the concert," returned Henry, ruefully, his disappointment +being at least equal to Lucy's. "Mamma has given away the tickets, and +Lucy can't go."</p> + +<p>"Whatever's that for?" asked Travice, who was as much at home at Mrs. +Peter's as he was at his own house. "Who has got the tickets?"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Arkell."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Arkell!" shouted Travice, staring at the boy as if he questioned +the truth of the words. "Do you mean my mother? What on earth does she +want with your tickets?"</p> + +<p>As he put the question he turned to Mrs. Peter, lying there with the +sensitive crimson on her cheeks. She had certainly not intended to +betray this to Travice: it had come out in the suddenness of the moment, +and she strove to make the best of it now.</p> + +<p>"I am glad it has happened so, Travice. I feel so weak to-day that I was +beginning to think it would be imprudent, if not impossible, for me to +venture to go to-morrow. To say the least, I am better away. As to Lucy, +she is very foolish to cry over so trifling a disappointment. She'll +forget it directly."</p> + +<p>"But what does my mother want with your tickets?" reiterated Travice, +unable to understand that point in the matter. "Why can't she buy +tickets for herself?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Arkell has scruples, I believe. But, Travice, I am happy to——"</p> + +<p>"Well, I shall just tell my mother what I think of this!" was the +indignant interruption.</p> + +<p>"Don't, Travice," said Mrs. Arkell. "If you only knew how <i>glad</i> I am to +have the opportunity of rendering any little service to your home!" she +whispered, drawing him to her with her gentle hand; "if you knew but +half the kindness my husband and I receive from your father! I am only +sorry I did not think to offer the tickets at first; I ought to have +done so. It is all right; let us say no more about it."</p> + +<p>Travice bent his lips to the flushed cheek: he loved her quite as much +as he did his own mother.</p> + +<p>"Take care, or you will get feverish; and that would never do, you +know."</p> + +<p>"My dear boy, I am feverish already; I have been a little so all day; +and I am sure there could be no concert for me to-morrow, had I a +roomful of tickets. It has all happened for the best, I say. I should +only have been at the trouble of finding somebody to take Lucy."</p> + +<p>As he was leaving the room he came upon Lucy in the passage, who was +returning to it—the tears dried, or partially so; and if the long dark +eye-lashes glistened yet, there was a happy smile upon the sweet red +lips. Few could school themselves as did that thoughtful girl of +fifteen, Lucy Arkell.</p> + +<p>Travice stopped her as he closed the door.</p> + +<p>"You'll trust me, will you not, Lucy?"</p> + +<p>"For what?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"To put this to rights. It——"</p> + +<p>"Oh pray, pray don't!" she cried, fearing she hardly knew what. "Surely +you are not thinking of asking for the tickets back again! I would not +use them for the world. And they would be of no use to us now, for mamma +says she shall not be well enough to go, and I don't think she will. I +shall not mind staying at home."</p> + +<p>Travice placed his two hands on her shoulders, and looked into her face +with his sweet smile and his speaking eyes; she coloured strangely +beneath the gaze.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what it is, Lucy: you are just one of those to get put +upon through life and never stand up for yourself. It's a good thing you +have me at your side."</p> + +<p>"You can't be at my side all through life," said Lucy, laughing.</p> + +<p>"Don't make too sure of that, Mademoiselle." And the colour in her face +deepened to a glowing crimson, and her heart beat wildly, as the +significance of the tone made itself heard, in conjunction with his +retreating footsteps.</p> + +<p>He dashed home, spending about two minutes in the process, and dashed +into the room where his mother was, her bonnet on yet, talking to +Charlotte, and impressing upon her the fact that their going to the +concert must be kept an entire secret from all, until the moment of +starting arrived, but especially from papa and Sophy. Charlotte, in a +glow of delight, acquiesced in everything.</p> + +<p>"I say, mamma, what's this about your taking Mrs. Peter's tickets?"</p> + +<p>He threw his trencher on the table, as he burst in upon them with the +question, and his usually refined face was in a very unrefined glow of +heat. The interruption was most unwelcome. Mrs. Arkell would have put +him down at once, but that she knew, from past experience, Travice had +an inconvenient knack of not allowing himself to be put down. So she +made a merit of necessity, and told how Mr. Arkell had interdicted their +buying tickets.</p> + +<p>"Well, of all the cool things ever done, that was about the coolest—for +you to go and get those tickets from Mrs. Peter!" he said, when he had +heard her to an end. "They don't have so many opportunities of going +out, that you should deprive them of this one. I'd have stopped away +from concerts for ever before I had done it."</p> + +<p>"You be quiet, Travice," struck in Charlotte; "it is no business of +yours."</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> be quiet," retorted Travice. "And it is my business, because I +choose to make it mine. Mother, just one question: Will you let Lucy go +with you to the concert? Mrs. Peter fears she shall be too ill to go. +I'm sure I don't wonder if she is," he continued, with a spice of +impertinence; "I should be, if I had had such a shabby trick played upon +me."</p> + +<p>"It is like your impudence to ask it, Travice. When do I take out Lucy +Arkell? She is not going to the concert."</p> + +<p>"She is going to the concert," returned Travice, that decision in his +tone, that incipient rebellion, that his mother so much disliked. "You +have deprived them of their tickets, and I shall, therefore, buy them +two in place of them. And when my father asks me why I spent money on +the concert against his wish, I shall just lay the whole case before +him, and he will see that there was no help for it. I shall go and tell +him now, before I——"</p> + +<p>"You will do no such thing, Travice," interrupted Mrs. Arkell, her face +in a flame. "I forbid you to carry the tale to your father. Do you hear +me? <i>I forbid you</i>;—and I am your mother. How dare you talk of spending +your money on this concert? Buy two tickets, indeed!"</p> + +<p>The first was a mandate that Travice would not break; the latter he +conveniently ignored. Flinging his trencher on his head, he went +straight off to buy the tickets, and carried them to Mrs. Peter +Arkell's. There was not much questioning as to how he obtained them, for +Mrs. St. John was sitting there. That they were fresh tickets might be +seen by the numbers.</p> + +<p>"My dear Travice," cried Mrs. Peter, "it is kind of you to bring these +tickets; but we cannot use them. I shall be unable to go; and there is +no one to take Lucy."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, there are plenty to take her," returned Travice. "Mrs. +Prattleton would be delighted to take her; and I dare say," he added, in +his rather free manner, as he threw his beaming glance into the +visitor's face, "that Mrs. St. John would not mind taking charge of +her."</p> + +<p>"I <i>will</i> take charge of her," said Mrs. St. John—and the tone of the +voice showed how genuinely ready was the acquiescence—"that is, if I go +myself. But Frederick is ill to-day, and I am not sure that I can leave +him to-morrow. But Lucy shall go with some of us. My niece, Anne, will +be here, I expect, to-night. She is coming to pay a long visit."</p> + +<p>"What is the matter with Frederick?" asked Travice, quickly.</p> + +<p>"It appears like incipient fever. I suppose he has caught a violent +cold."</p> + +<p>"I'll go and see him," said Travice, catching up his trencher, and +vaulting off before anyone could stop him.</p> + +<p>Mrs. St. John rose, saying something final about the taking Lucy, and +the arrangements for the morrow. She was the only one of the +acquaintances of Miss Lucy Cheveley who had not abandoned Mrs. Peter +Arkell. It is true the St. Johns were not very often at the Palmery, but +when they were there, Mrs. St. John never failed to be found once a week +sitting with the wife of the poor tutor, so neglected by the world.</p> + +<p>And, after all, when the morrow came, Mrs. Peter Arkell <i>was</i> too ill to +go. So she folded the spare ticket in paper, and sent it, with her love, +to Miss Sophia Arkell.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + +<h3>THE CONCERT.</h3> + + +<p>Never did there rise a brighter morning than the one on which the +amateur concert was to take place. And Westerbury was in a ferment of +excitement; carriages were rolling about, bringing the county people +into the town; and fine dresses, every colour of the rainbow, crowded +the streets.</p> + +<p>Three parts of the audience walked to the concert, nothing loth, gentle +and simple, to exhibit their attire in the blazing sunlight. It was +certainly suspiciously bright that morning, had people been at leisure +to notice it.</p> + +<p>The Guildhall was filled to overflowing, when three ladies came in, +struggling for a place. One was a middle-aged lady, quiet looking, and +rather dowdy; the other was an elegant girl of seventeen, with clear +brown eyes and a pointed chin; the third was Lucy Arkell.</p> + +<p>There was not a seat to be found. The elder lady looked annoyed; but +there was nothing for it but to stand with the mass. And they were +standing when they caught—at least Lucy did—the roving eye of Travice +Arkell.</p> + +<p>Now, it happened that the four senior pupils of the college school—not +the private pupils of Mr. Wilberforce, but the king's scholars—were +being made of much account at this concert; and, by accident, or design, +a side sofa, near to the orchestra—one of the best places—was assigned +to them. Travice Arkell suddenly darted from his seat on it, and began +to elbow his way down the room, for every avenue was choked. He reached +Lucy at last.</p> + +<p>"How late you are, Lucy! But I can get you a seat—a capital one, too. +Will you allow me to pilot you to a sofa?" he courteously added to had +the two ladies with her.</p> + +<p>The elder lady turned at the address, and saw a tall, slender young man, +with a pale, refined face. The college cap under his arm betrayed that +he belonged to the collegiate school; otherwise, she had thought him too +old for a king's scholar.</p> + +<p>"You are very kind. In a few moments. But we ought to wait until this +song that they are beginning is over."</p> + +<p>It was not a song, but a duet—and a duet that had given no end of +trouble to the executive management—for none of the ladies had been +found suitable to undertake the first part in it. It required a +remarkably clear, high, bell-like voice, to do it justice; and the +cathedral organist, privately wishing the concert far enough—for he had +never been so much pestered in all his life as since he undertook the +arrangements—proposed Henry Arkell. And Mrs. Lewis, who took the second +part, was fain to accept him: albeit, the boy was no favourite of hers.</p> + +<p>"How singularly beautiful!" murmured the elder lady to Travice Arkell, +as the clear voice burst forth.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he has an excellent voice. The worst of him is, he is timid. He +will out-grow that."</p> + +<p>"I did not allude to the voice; I spoke of the boy himself. I never saw +a more beautiful face. Who is he?"</p> + +<p>Travice smiled. "It is Henry Arkell, Lucy's brother, and my cousin."</p> + +<p>"Ah! I knew his mother once. Mrs. St. John was telling me her history +last night. Anne, my dear, you have heard me speak of Lucy Cheveley: +that is her son, and it is the same face. Then you," she continued, +"must be Mr. Travice Arkell? Hush!"</p> + +<p>For the duet was in full force just then, and Mrs. Lewis's rich +contralto voice was telling well.</p> + +<p>"Who is she?" asked Travice of Lucy in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. James. She's the governess," came the answer.</p> + +<p>When the duet was over, Travice Arkell held out his arm to Mrs. James. +"If you will do me the honour of taking it, the getting through the +crowd may be easier for you," he said. But Mrs. James drew back, as she +thanked him, and motioned him towards the younger lady with her. So +Travice took the younger lady; not being quite certain, but suspecting +who she was; and Mrs. James and Lucy followed as they best could.</p> + +<p>And his reward was a whole host of daggers darted at him—if looks can +dart them. The two ladies were complete strangers to the aristocracy of +the grounds; and seeing Peter Arkell's daughter in their wake, the +supposition that they belonged in some way to that renowned tutor, but +obscure man, was not unnatural. Mrs. Lewis, who had come down to her +sofa then, and Mrs. Aultane, who sat with her, were especially +indignant. How dared that class of people thrust themselves at the top +of the room amidst them?</p> + +<p>"Travice," said Mrs. Arkell, bending forward from one of the cross +benches, and pulling his sleeve as he passed on, "you are making +yourself too absurd!"</p> + +<p>"Am I! I am very sorry."</p> + +<p>But he did not look sorry; on the contrary, he looked highly amused; and +he bent his head now and again to say a word of encouragement to the +fair girl on his arm, touching the difficulties of their progress. On, +he bore, to the sofa he had quitted, and ordered the three seniors he +had left on it to move off. In school or out, they did not disobey him; +and they moved off accordingly. He seated the two ladies and Lucy on it, +and stood near the arm himself; never once more sitting down throughout +the concert. But he stayed with them the whole of the time, talking as +occasion offered.</p> + +<p>But, oh! that false morning brightness! Before the concert was over, the +rain was coming down with fury, pelting, as the college boys chose to +phrase it, cats and dogs. Very few had given orders for their carriages +to be there; and they could only wait in hopes they would come, or send +messengers after them. What, perhaps, rendered it more inconvenient was, +that the concert was over a full half-hour earlier than had been +expected.</p> + +<p>The impatient company began to congregate in the lower hall; its folding +doors of egress and its large windows looking to the street. Some one +had been considerate enough to have a fire lighted at the upper end; and +most inviting it was, now the day had turned to damp. The head master, +who had despatched one of the boys to order his close carriage to be +brought immediately, gave the fire a vigorous poke, and turned round to +look about him. He was a little man, with silver-rimmed spectacles.</p> + +<p>Two causes were exciting some commotion in the minds of the lesser +satellites of the grounds. The one was the presuming behaviour of those +people with Lucy Arkell, and the unjustifiable folly of Travice; the +other was the remarkable absence of the Dean of Westerbury and his +family from the concert. It, the absence, was put down to the dean's +having at the last moment refused to patronize it, in consequence of its +growing unpopularity; and Mrs. St. John's absence was attributed to the +same cause. People knew later that the dean and Mrs. Beauclerc had +remained at home in consequence of the death of a relative; but that is +of no consequence to us.</p> + +<p>"The dean is given to veering round," remarked Mrs. Aultane in an under +tone to the head master. "Those good-natured men generally are."</p> + +<p>The master cleared his throat, as a substitute for a reply. It was not +his place to speak against the dean. And, indeed, he had no cause. He +walked to the window nearest him, and looked out at the carriages and +flies as they came tardily up.</p> + +<p>Travice Arkell seemed determined to offend. He was securing chairs for +those ladies now near the fire; and Mrs. Lewis put her glass to her eye, +and surveyed them from head to foot. Her wild brother, Benjamin Carr, +could not have done it more insolently.</p> + +<p>"Who is that lady, Arkell?" demanded the master, of Travice, when he got +the opportunity.</p> + +<p>"It is a Mrs. James, sir."</p> + +<p>"Oh. A friend of yours?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir. I never saw her until to-day."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Aultane bent her head. "Mrs. James? Who <i>is</i> Mrs. James? And the +other one, too? I should be glad to know, Mr. Travice Arkell."</p> + +<p>"I can't tell you much about them, Mrs. Aultane," returned Travice, +suppressing the laugh of mischief in his eye. "I saw them for the first +time in the concert-room."</p> + +<p>"They came with your relative, Peter Arkell's daughter."</p> + +<p>"Exactly so. That is, she came with them."</p> + +<p>"Some people from the country, I suppose," concluded Mrs. Aultane, with +as much hauteur as she thought it safe to put into her tone. "It is easy +to be seen they have no style about them."</p> + +<p>Travice laughed and went across the room. He was speaking to the ladies +in question, when a gentleman of three or four-and-twenty came up and +tapped him on the back.</p> + +<p>"Won't you speak to me? It <i>is</i> Travice Arkell, I see, though he has +shot up into a man."</p> + +<p>One moment's indecision, and Travice took the hand in his. "Anderson! +Can it be?"</p> + +<p>"It can, and is. <i>Captain</i> Anderson, if you please, sir, now."</p> + +<p>"No!"</p> + +<p>"It's true. I have been lucky, and have got my company early."</p> + +<p>"But what brings you here? I did not know you were in Westerbury."</p> + +<p>"I arrived only this morning. Hearing of your concert when I got here, I +thought I'd look in; but it was half over then, and I barely got inside +the room. You don't mean to say that you are in the school still?"</p> + +<p>Travice laughed, and held out the betraying cap. "It is a shame. I am +too big for it. I have only a month or two longer to stay."</p> + +<p>"But you must have been in beyond your time."</p> + +<p>"I know I have."</p> + +<p>"And who is senior?"</p> + +<p>"Need you ask, looking at my size. This is Lucy; have you forgotten +her?"</p> + +<p>Captain Anderson turned. He had been educated in the college school, a +private pupil of the head master's. Travice Arkell was only a junior in +it when Anderson left; but Anderson had been intimate at the houses of +both the Arkells.</p> + +<p>"Miss Lucy sprung up to this! You were the prettiest little child when I +left. And your sisters, Travice? I should like to see them."</p> + +<p>Lucy laughed and blushed. Captain Anderson began talking to Mrs. James, +and to the young lady who sat between her and Lucy.</p> + +<p>"I can't stop," he presently said. "I see the master there. And +that—yes, that must be Mr. and Mrs. Prattleton. There! the master is +scanning me through his spectacles, wondering whether it's me or +somebody else. I'll come back to you, Arkell."</p> + +<p>He went forward, and was beset at once. People were beginning to +recognise him. Anderson, the private pupil, had been popular in the +grounds. Mrs. Aultane on one side, Mrs. Lewis on the other, took +forcible possession of him, ere he had been a minute with the head +master and his wife. It was hard to believe that the former somewhat +sickly, fair-haired private pupil, who had been coddled by Mrs. +Wilberforce with bark and flannel and beaten-up eggs, could be this fine +soldierly man.</p> + +<p>"Those ladies don't belong to you, do they?" cried Mrs. Aultane, +beginning to fear she had made some mistake in her treatment of the +ladies in question, if they did belong to Anderson.</p> + +<p>"Ladies! what ladies?"</p> + +<p>"Those to whom Travice Arkell is talking. He has been with them all +day."</p> + +<p>"They don't belong to me. What of them?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing. Only these inferior people, strangers, have no right to push +themselves amidst us, taking up the best places. We are obliged to draw +a line, you know, in this manufacturing town; and none but strangers, +ignorant of our distinctions, would dare to break it."</p> + +<p>Captain Anderson laughed; he could not quite understand. "I don't think +they are inferior," he said, indicating the two ladies. "Anything but +that, although they may belong to manufacturers, and not be in your set. +The younger one is charming; so is Lucy Arkell."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Aultane vouchsafed no reply. It was rank heresy. The college boys +were making a noise and commotion at the other end of the hall, and the +master called out sharply—</p> + +<p>"Arkell, keep those boys in order."</p> + +<p>Travice sauntered towards them, gave his commands for silence, and +returned to the place from whence he came. Henry Arkell came into the +hall from the upper room, and there was a lull in the proceedings. The +carriages came up but slowly.</p> + +<p>"Don't you think we might walk home, Mrs. James?" inquired the younger +lady. "I do not care to stay here longer to be stared at. I never saw +people stare so in my life."</p> + +<p>She said it with reason. Many were staring, and not in a lady-like +manner, but with assuming manner and eye-glass to eye.</p> + +<p>"They look just as though they thought we had no right to be here, Mrs. +James."</p> + +<p>"Possibly, my dear. It may be the Westerbury custom to stare at +strangers. But I cannot allow you to walk home; you have thin shoes on. +Mrs. St. John is certain to send your carriage, or hers."</p> + +<p>"You did well, Harry," cried Travice Arkell, laying his hand on the +young boy's shoulders. "Many a fair dame would give her price for your +voice."</p> + +<p>"And for something else belonging to you," added Mrs. James, taking the +boy's hand and holding him before her as she gazed. "It is the very +face; the very same face that your mother's was at your age."</p> + +<p>"Did you know mamma then? Then, you must be a friend of hers," was Henry +Arkell's eager answer.</p> + +<p>"No, I never was her friend—in that sense. I was a governess in a +branch of the Cheveley family, and Miss Lucy Cheveley and her father the +colonel used to visit there. She had a charming voice, too; just as you +have. Ah, dear me! speaking to you and your sister here, her children, +it serves to remind me how time has flown."</p> + +<p>"I am reminded of that, when I look at Captain Anderson here," said +Travice Arkell, with a laugh. "Only the other day he was a schoolboy."</p> + +<p>"If you want to be reminded of that, you need only look at yourself," +retorted Anderson. "You have shot up into a maypole."</p> + +<p>"Will you see me to the carriage, Travice, if you are not too much +engaged?" cried out a voice which Travice knew well.</p> + +<p>It was his mother's. She had seen the approach of her carriage from the +windows of the upper hall, and was going down to it. Travice turned in +obedience to the summons; and Captain Anderson sprang forward to renew +his former friendship.</p> + +<p>"You might set down Lucy on your way," said Travice, as they were +stepping in. "I don't know how she'll get home through this pouring +rain."</p> + +<p>"And how would our dresses get on?" returned Mrs. Arkell, in hot +displeasure. "Lucy, it seems, could contrive to get to the concert, and +she must contrive to get from it. You can come in, Travice; you take up +no room."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, I'd not run the chance of damaging your dresses for all the +money they cost."</p> + +<p>As he returned to the hall, the boys, gathered round the door, were +making a great noise, and Mr. Wilberforce spoke in displeasure.</p> + +<p>"<i>Can't</i> you keep those boys in order, Mr. Arkell?"</p> + +<p>Travice dealt out a very significant nod, one bespeaking punishment for +the morrow, and the boys subsided into silence.</p> + +<p>"Please, sir, your carriage is coming up the street," said Cockburn, +junior, a little fellow of ten, to the head master, rather gratified +possibly to be enabled to say it. "Somebody else's is coming too."</p> + +<p>The windows became alive with heads. But the "somebody else's" proved to +be of no interest, for it did not belong to any of the concert goers, +and it went on past the Guildhall. Of course all the attention was then +concentrated on the master's. It was a sober, old fashioned, rather +shabby brown chariot; and it came up the street at a sober pace. The +master, full of congratulation that the imprisonment was over, looked at +it complacently. What then was his surprise to see another carriage dash +before it, just as it was about to draw up, and usurp the place it had +been confidingly driving to. A dashing vision of grandeur; an elegant +yellow equipage bright as gold; its hammer-cloth gold also; its servants +displaying breeches of gold plush, with powdered hair and gold-headed +canes.</p> + +<p>"Why, whose is it?" exclaimed the discomfited master, almost forgetting +in his surprise the eclipse his own chariot had received.</p> + +<p>"Whose can it be?" repeated the gazers in puzzled wonder. The livery was +that of the St. John family; the colour was theirs; and, now that they +looked closely, the arms were the St. Johns'. But the St. Johns' panels +did not display a coronet! And there was not a single head throughout +the hall, but turned itself in curiosity to await the announcement of +the servant. He came in with his powder and his cane, and the college +boys made way for him.</p> + +<p>"The Lady Anne St. John's carriage."</p> + +<p>She, Lady Anne, the fair girl of seventeen, looked at Travice Arkell, +appearing to expect his arm as a matter of course. Travice gave it. Mrs. +James tucked Lucy's arm within her own, in an old-fashioned manner, and +followed them out.</p> + +<p>They stepped into the carriage. Lady Anne waiting in her stately +courtesy for Lucy to take the precedence; she followed; Mrs. James went +last. And Travice Arkell lifted his trencher as they drove away.</p> + +<p>The head master, smoothing his ruffled plumes, came out next, and +Travice returned to the hall. Mrs. Aultane, feeling fit to faint, +pounced upon him.</p> + +<p>"Did <i>you</i> know that it was Lady Anne St. John?"</p> + +<p>"Not at first," he answered, suppressing his laughter as he best could, +for the whole thing had been a rich joke to him. "I guessed it: because +I heard Mrs. St. John tell Mrs. Peter Arkell yesterday that Lady Anne +was coming."</p> + +<p>"And you couldn't open your mouth to say it! You could let us treat her +as if—as if—she were a nobody!" gasped Mrs. Aultane. "If you were not +so big, Travice Arkell, I could box your ears."</p> + +<p>The next to come down from the upper hall was a group, of whom the most +notable was Marmaduke Carr. A hale, upright man still, with a healthy +red upon his cheeks: a few more years, and he would count fourscore. +With him, linked arm in arm, was a mean little chap, looking really +nearly as old as Marmaduke: it was Squire Carr. His eldest son, +Valentine, was near him, a mean-looking man also, but well-dressed, with +a red nose in his button-hole. Mrs. Lewis, the squire's daughter, came +forward and joined them, putting her arm within her husband's, a big man +with a very ugly face; and the squire's younger children, the second +family, women grown now, followed. Old Marmaduke Carr—he was always +open-handed—had treated every one of these younger children, six of +them, and all girls, to the concert, for he knew the squire's meanness; +and he was taking the whole party home to a sumptuous dinner. All the +family were there except one, Benjamin, the second son. The Reverend Mr. +Prattleton and his wife were of the group; the two families were on +intimate terms; and if you choose to listen to what they are saying, you +may hear a word about Benjamin.</p> + +<p>The rain was coming down fiercely as ever, so there was nothing for it +but to wait until some of the flies came back again. Mr. Prattleton, the +squire, and Marmaduke Carr sought the embrasure of a window, where they +could talk at will, and watch the approach of any vehicle that could be +seized upon. Squire Carr was a widower still; he had never married a +third wife. It may be, that the persistent rejection of Mildred Arkell +in the days long gone by, had put him out of conceit of asking anybody +else. Certain it was, he had not done it.</p> + +<p>"And where is he now?" asked Mr. Prattleton of the squire, pursuing a +conversation which had reference to Benjamin.</p> + +<p>"Coming home," growled the squire; "so he writes us word. I thought how +long this American fever would last."</p> + +<p>"I never clearly understood what it was he went to do there," observed +the clergyman.</p> + +<p>"Nor I," said Squire Carr, drawing down the thin lips of his +discontented mouth. "All I know is, it has cost me two hundred pounds, +for he took a heap of things out there on speculation, which I have +since paid for. He wrote word home that the things were a dead loss; +that he sold them to a rogue who never paid him for them. That's six +months ago."</p> + +<p>"Then how has he lived since?" asked Mr. Prattleton.</p> + +<p>"Heaven knows. I don't."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps he has lived as he lived at Homberg, John," put in old +Marmaduke, who had a trick of saying home truths to the squire, by no +means palatable. "You know how he lived <i>there</i>, for two seasons."</p> + +<p>"I don't know what he's doing, and I don't care," repeated the squire to +Mr. Prattleton, completely ignoring Marmaduke's interruption. "I have +tried to throw him off, but he won't be thrown off. He is coming home +now, in the hope that I will put him into a farm; I know he is, though +he has not said so. Pity but the ship would go cruizing round the world +and never come back again."</p> + +<p>"You did put him into a farm once."</p> + +<p>"I put him into one twice, and had to take them on my own hands again, +to save the land from being ruined," returned Squire Carr, wrathfully. +"He——"</p> + +<p>"But you know, John, Ben always said that the fault was partly yours," +again put in old Marmaduke; "you would not allow proper money to be +spent upon the land."</p> + +<p>"It's not true. Ben said it, you say?—tush! it's not much that Ben +sticks at. When he ought to have been over the farm in the early +morning, he was in bed, tired out with his doings of the night. He was +never home before daylight; gambling, drinking; evil knows what his +nights would be spent in. The fact is, Ben Carr was born with an +antipathy to work, and so long as he can beg or borrow a living without +it, he won't do any."</p> + +<p>"It is a pity but he had been put to some regular profession," said the +minor canon.</p> + +<p>"I put him to fifty things, and he came back from all," said the squire, +tartly.</p> + +<p>"He was never put regularly to anything, John," dissented Marmaduke. +"You sent him to one thing—'Go and try whether you like it, Ben,' said +you; Ben tried it for a week or two, and came back and said he didn't +like it. Then you put him to another—'Try that, Ben,' said you; and Ben +came back as before. The fact is, he ought to have been fixed at some +one thing off hand, and my brother, the old squire, used to say it; not +have had the choice of leaving it given him over and over again. 'You +keep to that, Mr. Ben, or you starve,' would have been my dealings with +him."</p> + +<p>John Carr cast his thoughts back, and there was a sneer upon his thin +lips; old Marmaduke had not dealt so successfully with his own son that +he need boast. But John did not say it; for many years the name of +Robert Carr had dropped out of their intercourse. Had he been dead—and, +indeed, for all they heard of Robert, he might be dead—his name could +not have been more completely sunk in silence. Marmaduke Carr never +spoke of him, and the squire did not choose to speak: he had his +reasons.</p> + +<p>"It was the premium you stuck at, John. We can't put young men out +without one, when they get to the age Ben was. <i>There</i> was another +folly!—keeping the boy at home till he was twenty years of age, doing +nothing except just idling about the land. But it's your affair, not +mine; and Ben has certainly gone on a wrong tack this many a year now. I +should have discarded him long ago, had he been my son."</p> + +<p>"I should have felt tempted to do the same," observed the clergyman. +"Benjamin has entailed so much trouble on you."</p> + +<p>"And he'll entail more yet," was the consolatory prediction of old +Marmaduke.</p> + +<p>The squire made no reply. He had his arm on the window-frame supporting +his chin, and looking dreamily out. His thoughts were with Benjamin. Why +had he not yet discarded this scapegrace son—he, the hard man? Simply +because there was a remote corner in his heart where Benjamin was +cherished—cherished beyond all his other children. Petty, mean, hard as +John Carr was, he had passionately loved his first wife; and Benjamin, +in features, was her very image. His eldest son, Valentine, resembled +him, the squire; Mrs. Lewis was like nobody but herself; his other +children were by a different mother. He only cared for Benjamin. He did +not care for Valentine, he did not care for the daughters, but he loved +Benjamin; and the result was, that though Ben Carr brought home grief +continually, and had done things for which Valentine, had <i>he</i> done +them, would never have been pardoned, the squire, after a little holding +out, was certain to take him into favour again, and give him another +chance.</p> + +<p>"When does George go out?" asked the squire of Mr. Prattleton, alluding +to that gentleman's half-brother, who was nearly twenty years younger +than himself.</p> + +<p>"Immediately. And very fortunate we have been in getting him so good a +thing. I hope the climate will agree with him."</p> + +<p>"Grandpapa," said young Lewis, running up to the squire, "here are two +flies coming down the street now. Shall I rush out and secure them +first?"</p> + +<p>"Ask Mr. Carr, my boy. He may like to stay longer, and give a chance to +the rain to abate."</p> + +<p>Mr. Carr, old Marmaduke, laughed. He knew John Carr of old, and his +stingy nature. He would not order the flies to be retained lest the +payment of them should fall to him.</p> + +<p>"Go and secure them both, boy," said old Marmaduke; "and there's a +shilling for your own trouble."</p> + +<p>Young Lewis galloped out, spinning the shilling in his hand. "Don't I +hope old Marmaduke will leave all his money to me!" quoth he, mentally. +To say the truth, the whole family of the Carrs indulged golden dreams +of this money more frequently than they need have done—apart from the +squire, who was the most sanguine dreamer of all.</p> + +<p>They were going out, to stow themselves in the two flies as they best +could, when Marmaduke's eye fell on Travice Arkell. The old man caught +his hand.</p> + +<p>"Will you come home and dine with us, Travice? Five o'clock, sharp!"</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir—I shall be very glad," replied Travice, who liked good +dinners as well as most schoolboys, and Mr. Carr's style of dinner, when +he did entertain, was renowned.</p> + +<p>"If you don't want these flies to be taken by somebody else, you had +better come!" cried out young Lewis, putting his wet head in at the +entrance door. "Mamma, I am stopping another for you."</p> + +<p>Travice Arkell for once imitated the junior college boys, and splashed +recklessly through the puddles of the streets, as fast as his legs would +carry him, on his way to the Palmery, for he wanted to see Frederick St. +John: he had just time. His nearest road led him past Peter Arkell's, +and he spared a minute to look in.</p> + +<p>"So you have got home safely, Lucy?"</p> + +<p>"As if I could get home anything but safely, coming as I did!" returned +Lucy, in merriment. "Such a commotion it caused when the carriage dashed +up! The elm-trees became alive with rooks'-heads, not to speak of the +windows. You should have seen the footman and his cane marshalling me to +the door! But oh, Travice! when I got inside, the gilt was taken off the +gingerbread!"</p> + +<p>"How so?"</p> + +<p>"You know how badly papa sees now without his spectacles. He did not +happen to have them on, and he took it to be the old beadle of St. +James the Less, with his laced hat and staff. He said he could not think +what he wanted."</p> + +<p>Travice laughed, laughed merrily, with Lucy. He stayed a minute, and +then splashed on to the Palmery.</p> + +<p>Frederick St. John was sitting up, but he had been really ill in the +morning. Mrs. James and Lady Anne were giving him and Mrs. St. John the +details of the concert. It was not surprising that no one had known Lady +Anne. She had paid a long visit to Westerbury several years before, when +she was a little girl; but growing girls alter, and her face was not +recognised again. She had come for a long visit now, bringing, as +before, her carriage and three or four servants—for she was an orphan, +and had her own establishment.</p> + +<p>"I say, Arkell, I'm glad you are come. Anne is trying to enlighten us +about the grand doings this morning, and she can't do it at all. She +protests that Mr. Wilberforce sang the comic song."</p> + +<p>Lady Anne eagerly turned to Travice. "That little gentleman in silver +spectacles, who was looking so impatiently for his carriage—who told +you once or twice to pay attention to the college boys—was it not Mr. +Wilberforce?"</p> + +<p>"Undoubtedly."</p> + +<p>"Well, did he <i>not</i> sing the comic song? I'm sure, if not, it was some +one very like him."</p> + +<p>Travice enjoyed the mistake. "It was little Poyns, the lay-clerk, who +sang the comic song," he said, looking at Mrs. St. John and Frederick. +"When Poyns gets himself up in black, as he did to-day, he looks exactly +like a clergyman; and his size and spectacles do bear a resemblance to +Mr. Wilberforce. But it was not Mr. Wilberforce, Lady Anne."</p> + +<p>"Arkell," cried St. John, from his place on the sofa by the fire, Mrs. +St. John being opposite to him, and the others dispersed as they chose +about the small square room, glittering with costly furniture, "who was +it came in unexpectedly and surprised you? Anne thinks it was one of the +old college fellows."</p> + +<p>"It was Anderson. Don't you remember him? He has got his company now."</p> + +<p>"Anderson! I should like to see him. I hope he'll come and see me. +Where's he stopping? I shall go out to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"You'll do no such thing, Frederick," interposed Mrs. St. John.</p> + +<p>"What a charming girl is Miss Lucy Arkell!" exclaimed Mrs. James to +Travice. "She puts me greatly in mind of her mother, and yet she is not +like her in the face. There is the same expression though, and she has +the same gentle, sweet, modest manners. I like Lucy Arkell."</p> + +<p>"So do I," cried Mr. St. John. "If my heart were not bespoken, I'm sure +I should give it to her."</p> + +<p>The words were uttered jestingly; nevertheless, Mrs. St. John glanced up +uneasily. Frederick saw it. <i>He</i> knew in what direction his heart was +expected to be given, and he stole a glance involuntarily at Lady Anne; +but it passed from her immediately to rest upon his mother—a glance in +which there was incipient rebellion to the wishes of his family; and +Mrs. St. John had feared that it might be so, since the day when he had +said, in his off-hand way, that Anne St. John was not the wife for his +money.</p> + +<p>Mrs. St. John's pulses were beating a shade quicker. There might be +truth in his present careless assertion, that his heart was bespoken.</p> + + +<h3>END OF VOL. I.</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p class="center">LONDON:<br /> +SAVILL AND EDWARDS, PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET,<br /> +COVENT GARDEN.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p class="center">MESSRS. TINSLEY BROTHERS'</p> + +<p class="center">NEW WORKS,</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Obtainable at all the Libraries.</i></p> + + +<p class="center">NEW NOVEL BY THE AUTHOR OF "DENIS DONNE."<br /> +THEO LEIGH: <span class="smcap">A Novel.</span> By <span class="smcap">Annie Thomas</span>, Author of "Denis Donne." In 3 +vols.</p> + + +<p class="center">BITTER SWEETS: <span class="smcap">A Love Story.</span> By <span class="smcap">Joseph Hatton</span>. In 3 vols.</p> + + +<p class="center">SHOOTING AND FISHING <span class="smcap">in the Rivers, Prairies, and Backwoods of North +America</span>. By <span class="smcap">B. H. Revoil</span>. In 2 vols.</p> + + +<p class="center">MR. SALA'S</p> + + +<p class="center">MY DIARY IN AMERICA IN THE MIDST OF WAR. By <span class="smcap">George Augustus Sala</span>. In 2 +vols.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>"In two large volumes Mr. Sala reproduces a portion of the +correspondence from America which he lately published in a London daily +paper. He has added, however, a good deal which did not appear in the +columns of that journal. Mr. Sala's is decidedly a clever, amusing, and +often brilliant book."—<i>Morning Star.</i></p></blockquote> + + +<p class="center">THE THIRD EDITION OF<br /> +"GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT," <span class="smcap">the Novel</span>. By <span class="smcap">G. F. Trafford</span>, author of +"City and Suburb," "Too Much Alone," &c. In 3 vols.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>"Rarely have we seen an abler work than this, or one which more +vigorously interests us in the principal characters of its most +fascinating story."—<i>Times.</i></p></blockquote> + + +<p class="center">MASANIELLO OF NAPLES. By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Horace St. John</span>. In 1 vol.</p> + + +<p class="center">WIT AND WISDOM FROM WEST AFRICA; <span class="smcap">or, A Book of Proverbial Philosophy, +Idioms, Enigmas, and Laconisms</span>. Compiled by <span class="smcap">Richard F. Burton</span>, late H. +M.'s Consul for the Bight of Biafra and Fernando Po, author of "A +Pilgrimage to El Medinah and Meccah," "A Mission to Dahomey," &c.</p> + + +<p class="center">NEW STORY OF LANCASHIRE LIFE, BY BENJAMIN BRIERLY.</p> + + +<p class="center">IRKDALE: <span class="smcap">A Lancashire Story</span>. By <span class="smcap">Benjamin Brierly.</span></p> + + +<p class="center">NEW NOVEL BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE FIELD OF LIFE."<br /> +A WOMAN'S WAY. By the Author of "The Field of Life."</p> + + +<p class="center">NEW EDITION OF "DENIS DONNE."<br /> +DENIS DONNE: <span class="smcap">A Novel</span>. By <span class="smcap">Annie Thomas</span>, author of "Theo Leigh."</p> + + +<p class="center">FACES FOR FORTUNES. By <span class="smcap">Augustus Mayhew</span>, author of "How to Marry, and +Whom to Marry," "The Greatest Plague in Life," &c.</p> + + +<p class="center">A MISSION TO DAHOMEY, <span class="smcap">being a Three Months' Residence at the Court of +Dahomey, in which are described the Manners and Customs of the Country, +including the Human Sacrifice</span>, &c. By Capt. <span class="smcap">R. F. Burton</span>, late H. M. +Commissioner to Dahomey, and the Author of "A Pilgrimage to El Medinah +and Meccah." In 2 vols., with Illustrations. Second Edition, revised.</p> + + +<p class="center">THE MARRIED LIFE OF ANNE OF AUSTRIA, <span class="smcap">Queen of France, Mother of Louis +XVI.; and the</span> HISTORY OF DON SEBASTIAN, KING OF PORTUGAL. Historical +Studies; from numerous Unpublished Sources. By <span class="smcap">Martha Walker Freer</span>. In 2 +vols., with Portrait. Second Edition.</p> + + +<p class="center">TODLEBEN'S DEFENCE OF SEBASTOPOL: <span class="smcap">Being A Review of General Todleben's +Narrative</span>, 1854-5. By <span class="smcap">William Howard Russell</span>, LL.D., Special +Correspondent of the Times during the Crimean War.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>A portion of this Work appeared in the Times; it has since been greatly +enlarged, and may be said to be an abridgment of General Todleben's +great work.</p></blockquote> + + +<p class="center">NEW EDITION OF "THE WORLD IN THE CHURCH."<br /> +THE WORLD IN THE CHURCH. By the Author of "George Geith of Fen Court," +"Too Much Alone," &c.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Also, uniform with the above, New Editions of—</i></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">City and Suburb.</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">John Marchmont's Legacy.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Seven Sons of Mammon.</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Recommended to Mercy.</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Eleanor's Victory.</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Buckland's Fish Hatching.</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Maurice Dering.</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Trevlyn Hold.</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Guy Livingstone.</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Barren Honour.</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Border and Bastile.</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Sword and Gown.</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Too Much Alone.</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Arnold's Life of Macaulay.</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Dutch Pictures.</span> By Sala.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Two Prima Donnas.</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Bundle of Ballads.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Mildred Arkell, (Vol 1 of 3), by Ellen Wood + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MILDRED ARKELL, (VOL 1 OF 3) *** + +***** This file should be named 39692-h.htm or 39692-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/6/9/39692/ + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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