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diff --git a/43449-0.txt b/43449-0.txt index 2c4e9ae..e797dec 100644 --- a/43449-0.txt +++ b/43449-0.txt @@ -1,39 +1,4 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Mrs. Severn, Vol. 1 (of 3), by Mary Elizabeth Carter - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Mrs. Severn, Vol. 1 (of 3) - A Novel - -Author: Mary Elizabeth Carter - -Release Date: August 12, 2013 [EBook #43449] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Mrs. Severn, Vol. 1 (of 3) - A Novel - -Author: Mary Elizabeth Carter - -Release Date: August 12, 2013 [EBook #43449] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. SEVERN, VOL. 1 (OF 3) *** - - - - -Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Sue Fleming and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - MRS. SEVERN - - - - - MRS. SEVERN. A NOVEL - BY MARY E. CARTER, - AUTHOR OF 'JULIET' - - - 'SIN COMES TO US FIRST AS A _TRAVELLER_; IF - ADMITTED, IT WILL SOON BECOME A _GUEST_; IMPORTUNATE - TO RESIDE, AND IF ALLOWED SO FAR, WILL - SOON AND FINALLY BECOME _MASTER_ OF THE HOUSE' - - - _IN THREE VOLUMES_ - _VOL. I_ - - - [Illustration] - - - LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, NEW BURLINGTON - STREET, PUBLISHERS IN ORDINARY TO HER MAJESTY - THE QUEEN - - MDCCCLXXXIX - - - - - _Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, _Edinburgh_ - - - - - CONTENTS - - - PART I - - PROLOGUE - PAGE - AT ROCOZANNE, JERSEY 1 - - CHAPTER I - - OLD LAFER 19 - - CHAPTER II - - A MIDSUMMER EVENING 39 - - CHAPTER III - - BORLASE IS ABSENT-MINDED 55 - - CHAPTER IV - - JOY AND SORROW JOIN HANDS 70 - - CHAPTER V - - OVER THE HILLS 87 - - CHAPTER VI - - CYNTHIA MARLOWE 108 - - CHAPTER VII - - AT THE MIRES 133 - - CHAPTER VIII - - 'SIN THE TRAVELLER' 150 - - CHAPTER IX - - LETTERS 170 - - CHAPTER X - - OPINIONS AT LAFER HALL 190 - - CHAPTER XI - - NEW LIGHTS ON OLD SUBJECTS 206 - - CHAPTER XII - - COUNTER-OPINIONS AT OLD LAFER 230 - - CHAPTER XIII - - SCILLA REASONS WITH HARTAS 253 - - - - - MRS. SEVERN - - PART I - - - - - PROLOGUE - - AT ROCOZANNE, JERSEY - - -'It's very good of you to have met me, Ambrose.' - -'But very unnecessary?' - -Mr. Severn laughed consciously, but re-covered himself by spreading -his broad palm below his nostrils, and smoothing, with a slow downward -movement, the close-cut moustache and beard that concealed his lips and -chin. It was a new habit, but the growth also was new, and Ambrose was -surprised to find that it took ten years from his age. - -'Well, you know I told you not to meet me.' - -'You did, and you don't say for civility's sake what you don't mean. -There are some folk who believe in a system of formal introductions in -Heaven itself. If you'd wished for company to St. Brelade's you would -have left the point to my notions of propriety. However, I'll reassure -you. I am going into town with the returning train.' - -'I'll wait and see you off.' - -'And do as you please about driving. If you prefer to walk, the dog-cart -will wait for me.' - -'Thanks, I should prefer to walk,' said Mr. Severn. - -They had reached the end of the platform and now turned back towards the -bay. Its waves were tossing with spray-crested edges into which gulls -with the sun on their wings were dipping. In the distance a vista of -sun-rays streamed over St. Helier's, lying low along the shore with its -fortified heights in shadow against the blackness of a storm sweeping -up from the West. It was high tide, and Elizabeth Castle was surrounded -by a rolling sea. A curve of yellow sand, with here and there a martello -tower, marked the coast-line. The air was full of the rush of the waves -and the sough of a rising wind. - -'If ever I marry, I don't think I shall act on your experience of the -previous forty hours,' said Ambrose Piton, as they strolled back to the -train with a few more leisurely people. 'A drive of five miles from -your Yorkshire moors at Old Lafer to the nearest station, Wonston, I -suppose--a rush down England to Southampton, ten hours' pitching in -a dirty sea, by our caterpillar of a train to St. Aubin's here, and -finally a three miles' walk. By Jove, you must be feeling rather done -up.' - -'Oh no, I'm accustomed to such journeys. I did precisely the same with -the exception of this final walk when I came out to Jersey five months -ago and had the good fortune to fall in with Miss Hugo. You'll probably -not be a man of fifty, overwhelmed with other people's business, when -you marry, Ambrose. It's this walk to Rocozanne that amuses you,' he -added, with a genial smile. 'You think it inconsistent with a lover's -ardour that I should not go as fast as your good mare would take me. The -truth is, I want an hour's leisure. When one marries a second time and -is my age, and it is a young girl who is good enough to take one, the -responsibilities are much greater than when two young people marry; one -has more misgiving, you know, about one's wife being happy. Since I won -Clothilde I have scarcely had time to realise my good fortune. Through -this journey I've struggled with correspondence that would be arrears -of work if left over next week. And now a walk will freshen me up and -adjust my thoughts to a proper balance, since to-morrow, please God, I -shall be married. My age must be the excuse for what yours takes for -lukewarmness.' - -'I don't think you lukewarm,' said Piton bluntly. 'But I'll tell you -what, sir, you at fifty are more simple-minded than I at twenty-five.' - -'Simple-minded? How? I don't understand.' - -'You call a spade a spade and you think it is one,' said Piton lamely, -yet with a desperate resolution that showed a serious undercurrent of -thought. - -'Of course, being straightforward. You would yourself.' - -'Oh, certainly,' said Piton with trepidation. 'Here comes the engine,' -he added with awkward haste as he jumped on to the train. - -'One moment--how is she?' - -'Clothilde? Very well.' - -'And Anna? It's very good of you and Mr. Piton to let us carry little -Anna off.' - -'Yes it is,' said Piton. 'But they've never been separated though -they're only half-sisters. And though Anna's my father's niece and -Clothilde is not, and we should like to have her at Rocozanne, we -know she'll be better with a woman; and as we've only servants about, -it seems right that she should go with Clothilde. But my father has -explained all this,' he added, smiling. 'It's a bit of a sore point, we -begrudge her to you.' - -'She must come often to Rocozanne.' - -'Of course. Now we're off. Don't miss your road.' - -'I know the short cuts,' said Mr. Severn, as he turned away. Piton -laughed and waved his hand. Then as he leant forward and watched him -walk up the platform, his face became serious. He was a good-looking -young fellow. Judging from his usual expression of easy good-nature, the -lines of his life had fallen in pleasant places. But now he wore a look -that passed from pain to disgust and resentment. - -'If ever there were a good fellow in this world, it's Severn,' he -thought; 'and that's just what makes him fool enough to think himself -unworthy of any woman who seems lovable. I wonder when he'll begin to -see into Clothilde's genuine moral structure. Thank Heaven, he'll not -be marred though he may be maimed; he's made of sterner stuff than -he'll know of till the occasion comes, and he's very fond of Anna, and -nothing'll spoil Anna, not even Clothilde. If I thought she would, -we'd keep her at Rocozanne after all. I longed to blurt out the truth -and tell him of Clothilde's engagement to that poor fellow in India. -She doesn't care a straw for Severn. What heart she has is in the -Punjaub; but because it's given to a poor man she plays it false. And -she wrote him a letter only yesterday, in the old style! I wish Severn -had heard her tell me so--such confounded coolness! A bird in the -hand, et cetera. She'll keep in with Danby until the register's signed -with Severn; if there were a slip at the last moment the compromising -intelligence would never reach the far East, and if she didn't take up -with some one else, she might wait after all. But where would be the use -of telling Severn? It would only make him confoundedly miserable and -scandalise my father, who thinks she's had an amicable disagreement with -the Punjaub, and leave her to cajole some one else. Her beauty would do -it. By Jove, she _is_ beautiful, but she'll never look for Severn what -she looked for Danby! Heaven knows what might become of her if my father -refused to have her here again. She won't work as a music-teacher, not -she! She's dilettante, not enthusiast. Those moors Severn talks of will -be a safe place for her; her wings'll be clipped and she'll be out of -the way of mischief-making. I only hope he'll soon show the master-hand -and guide her by sheer force of example into honesty.' - -When Mr. Severn left the station he struck up the ravine behind St. -Aubin's where the road inland ran. As he passed the tumble-down, -crooked old stone houses, whose gloomy dampness made them scarcely fit -for cattle, various old crones and children came out to stare at him. -There was not so tall a man on the island. They knew nothing of Anakims -as personified in Yorkshire dalesmen. His height, his massive limbs -and breadth of shoulder, his jet-black hair, fresh colour and gleaming -teeth, were a revelation to them. A group of market-people waiting at -the station for Corbière pressed up to the railings and made audible -remarks. They were in French, however, and he did not understand. Seeing -them look interested, he nodded, then raised his hat. He was less -interested in them than he had been a little earlier by a water-wheel -against the road which imprisoned a silvery stream that shot over the -edge of a brambly bank above. A little farther on was a quarry, over -whose stone he stood some moments speculating. It struck into the heart -of the hill, an ochreous blotch against the dense velvetiness of the -furze. A man in a blue blouse was chipping at its base. These touched -at once his love of colour, and his instincts as steward for a large -estate where earths and rocks were in constant consideration. There was -a short cut below the quarry to St. Brelade's, but he did not take it. -He and Clothilde Hugo had not taken the short cuts when together, and -he remembered a point on the road which she had showed him from whence -there was a glimpse of the white houses of St. Helier's gleaming against -the amethystine sea in a land-locked setting. He went round by the road -and loitered a little, thinking of her. - -How good it was of her to take him! What faith she showed in him! He -fully realised the isolation of the home to which marriage with him -would condemn her. He was not only much older than she but was impressed -by the sense of their different social positions. He had risen from -small tenant-farmer to the stewardship of Admiral Marlowe's estates, -and she was of a good old family that ranked high among the aristocracy -of proud Guernsey. He could give her comfort but not luxury. She was -beautiful, she was clever. Would she feel herself buried at Old Lafer, -or would his affection atone for the loss of social congenialities and -throw a glamour over the eeriness of winter storms and the loneliness of -summer sunshine? The innate poetry of his nature had enthroned her as a -flower among flowers at Rocozanne. He should never forget the wealth of -bloom in the garden when he entered it on his first visit, the glow of -colour from plants that were tropical compared to the homely herbs and -posies of Old Lafer. It had dazzled him. The white house, the blaze of -geranium, the scent of heliotrope, the lap of the sea that quivered in -the sun like the million facets of diamonds, the heat mists that bathed -the cliffs, the mellow mushroom tints of the old church beyond the -evergreen oaks whose glossy denseness of foliage threw the whole picture -into high relief, had impressed him with the perception of brilliancy -and ease and luxury. Clothilde, rising slowly and gracefully from a low -chair in the shade of the trees and coming towards him with outstretched -hands, gave the touch of human nature which at once subordinated all -to itself. Her eyes shone with welcome. Little Anna, running from the -gate into the churchyard betwixt whose bars she had been playing with -the grave-digger's dog, slid her fingers into his palm and stared at -him with an elfish gaze from beneath her breeze-blown hair. Clothilde -stooped, smoothed the hair and kissed the child's forehead. The action -sealed Mr. Severn's fate. - -The November twilight was deepening when he reached the highest point -of his walk to-day. A few more steps took him to the edge of the cliffs -above St. Brelade's bay. The sun had set, leaving lurid gleams piercing -a fringe of cloud that seemed to have been torn from the thicker clouds -above, and would soon hide the sky-line in a driving mist of rain. -The wind was increasing. Sheets of foam dashed against Noirmont, the -bay was a waste of tumbled water driving on to the beach. His gaze -travelled across it to the church nestling at the foot of a gorge full -of chestnuts and evergreen oaks. He could distinguish the bulk of its -tower against the hill. The sea-wall that buttressed the grave-yard -was continued along the terrace garden of Rocozanne. But he could not -distinguish Rocozanne until suddenly a light flared out from a window, -and after a fitful gleam or two, settled there. - -His heart leapt at the sight of that light. He pleased himself by -imagining that Clothilde had placed it on the sill perhaps to guide -him to her side. His thoughts flew to the many nights when she would -watch for him at Old Lafer. No more lonely evenings there for him, no -more comfortless home-comings to dull and empty rooms. Good God! to -think this beloved and beautiful presence was to be his guiding star. -But he must hurry now. It was certain Clothilde would be expecting -him, pressing her face to the glass and watching the road. Had it been -daylight she could have seen him silhouetted on the cliff edge. She -might expect he was driving and be growing anxious at the delay. He -walked on rapidly, the beat of his heart keeping time with his steps, -his thoughts full of vows and resolutions to compass her lifelong -happiness so far as was in his power. He remembered that once, on a -previous visit he had found her thus looking out when Ambrose and he -had walked late one night. The slight anxiety had then given her a -pinched whiteness which changed to a blush the moment her eyes lit on -them coming up the steps from the beach into the garden. She was at the -door before they were. The tide was not yet too high to admit of his -going up the steps to-day. Perhaps she would again open the door for him. - -He was in the village now, and soon traversing it, went down the -sand-bank to the beach, of which a strip was still bare of more sea than -the yeasty flakes flying on the wind. Another moment and he had mounted -the steps. They were overhung by a mass of chrysanthemums in full bloom. -He stepped between two clumps of pampas grass into the garden and faced -the low white front of Rocozanne. All was quiet and at the moment dark. -He stood motionless, listening. Then he perceived that the front door -was wide open. The next moment a glimmer of light fell high upon the -walls within and gradually diffused itself as a figure came slowly down -the stairs. It was Clothilde Hugo. She was carrying a lamp, and as she -reached the lowest step, it illumined her strongly. She was tall and -slender. Her face was pale, with exquisitely cut features, and was set -above a throat of matchless curves. A loose mass of dark wavy hair was -parted above a low white brow. Her sombre eyes gained lustrous depths by -the intensity of her unconscious gaze into the outside gloom. She wore -a black dress, long, flowing, and plain as the fashion then was. It was -cut low, and a ribbon of vividest scarlet velvet was round her throat. -Sleeves hanging from the elbow showed beautifully modelled arms, and a -scarlet band clasped her waist. - -She put the lamp upon the table and stood, half-turned to the door, -listening. Oh! if only he could have known the vital fear gnawing at her -heart-strings--he was late; had he not come, had he heard anything, -_was he not coming_? Would she have to wait for Lucius Danby after all? -Well, she had not dismissed Lucius yet, that letter would only go after -she was another man's wife; he need never know---- - -'Clothilde!' - -It was Mr. Severn's voice. He was close to her, so close indeed that -his eager eyes, dimmed with happiness, had no time to see a swift -convulsive shadow that swept over her face, seeming to recall her from -some pleasant dream to a reality that was repugnant to every sense. For -a moment she stood motionless as though paralysed. He seized her hands. -They were icy-cold. - -'Clothilde,' he said again, 'my darling, my----' - -She turned. Another instant and she was in his arms and had thrown her -arms round his neck. No! no! she had not longed for Lucius! _This_ was -what she had wanted. The haunting fear lest it should fail her was -gone--a fear she would never have known had she not failed another. - -But he did not know this. He thought she truly loved him and him only. - - - - - CHAPTER I - - OLD LAFER - - -'Now children, come in; bed-time!' - -'Oh Anna!' came in a muffled reproachful chorus as four lap-cocks in -the meadow into which Anna Hugo was looking over the garden wall at -Old Lafer, sat up and revealed four children. Three were girls, by -name Antoinette, Emmeline, and Joan. All were handsome--with creamy -skins, dark eyes, and curly brown hair hanging to their waists over -holland smocks. These smocks were cut low at the neck and short-sleeved, -allowing rebellious shoulders to push themselves with shrugs and twists -from their confinement and showing dimpled, nut-brown elbows. - -Anna smiled as the children pushed back their hair and turned their -flushed faces to her. She wondered whose voice would be the first to -protest against her hard-heartedness. - -'We're playing at graves,' said Emmeline timidly, winks and nods having -failed to make Antoinette take the lead. - -'For the very last time this year,' said Antoinette. - -'Because this is the very last hay left out at Old Lafer; Elias says -so,' said Jack. - -'Well, of course it is,' said Antoinette; 'haven't we played graves in -all the other fields in turn, silly boy?' - -'Elias won't be long now, Anna,' said Emmeline. 'He's clearing the last -sledge-load by the beck, and the game is he should guess which lap-cock -is which of us.' - -'And when he guesses right we give him a kiss,' said Joan. - -'I don't,' said Jack. - -'Because you're only a boy,' said Antoinette, whose vocation it seemed -to snub Jack and thus temper any yielding to him as the only boy, to -which others might be tempted. - -'You may wait,' said Anna hastily, and as they re-covered themselves -with hay with much subdued tittering and exhortations to caution, and -calling out to Anna to be sure and say if a nose or foot were left -visible, she climbed to the top of the wall and sat down. - -The sun was low--a few moments more and it would sink below the moor -behind the house. The shadows lay long on the grass. The garden was -to the right of the front door, whose flight of uneven steps led down -upon flags bright with golden bosses of stone-crop. Old Lafer had a -long frontage and a steep thatched roof with deep eaves where swallows -loved to build. The two rows of windows were latticed with leaded panes; -monthly roses reached to the sills of the lower ones. A thick growth -of ivy round the door was climbing to the eaves at the end of the house -farthest from the garden, heightening the rough effect of the lichened -stone. Below it a little stream, clear and cold as crystal, issued from -beneath the dairy and slipped down the flags in a runnel, murmuring -softly as though eager to hide in the fern-fringed trough on the other -side of the wall. The walls were all full of rue, and polypody, and -crane's-bill--a growth of years--which no one was allowed to touch. -There was nothing Mr. Severn valued more about the place than its bits -of untutored nature. He had a horror of the pruning-knife, which Elias -would have applied ruthlessly to lilacs and thorns, clipping them back -to look tidy. These, edging the fir clump that sheltered Old Lafer from -the north, were allowed to overhang the garden, their wild sprays of -bloom following in fragrance close upon the wall-flowers that grew in a -thick border under the windows of the best parlour. The garden had been -made for the best parlour years ago when Old Lafer was the Hall and the -Marlowes lived there. It was full of old-fashioned flowers and herbs, a -garden for bees to go mad in. Mr. Severn had a row of hives under the -sunniest wall, and before the ling was in blow the bees boomed to and -fro all day on wings that should have been tipsy if they were not. When -the ling was ablow the garden knew them no more. - -It was the end of July, and there was a flush on the moors which -rolled abruptly to the sky-line behind the house. In front the meadows -dipped into the valley of the Woss, then rose again to the village -of East Lafer. After this, foliage and cultivation increased. The -plain stretching away to the wolds was varied with fallow and stubble -and pasture. Its tints were opalescent. Anna loved better the deep -blue shadows that lurked in every hollow of the hills, showing their -mouldings and intensifying their sunshine. - -When Elias Constantine came up the slope from the beck, he was ahead -of the sledge. His rake was over his shoulder and he leant on a holly -stick. He did not wait for the pony, straining every muscle to land its -load, but casually remarking, 'Hi, come up, Jane my bonny one!' made -for the lap-cocks. He looked up to the business, and winked at Anna as -much as to say so. He lumbered round, prodding one after the other and -contriving to gather some hint for his guesses. He was never random and -hated to be wrong. His keen old eyes did not deceive him now. When Jane -reached them they were all ready to go up the field together, the girls -shaking hay-seeds out of their hair, Jack pushing fodder under Jane's -nose each time Elias 'breathed' her. - -'I'm so sorry all our hay's in,' said Antoinette, looking across the -beck to fields still in swathe and pike. - -'You wouldn't be if you'd the getting of it,' said Elias. 'It's a -rarely exercising time for watching the weather and the wankly ways o' -Providence wi' shower and shine.' - -'Lias, why won't Jane eat this hay?' asked Jack, whose wisps were -snuffed at and disdained. - -'Because she's full.' - -'Oh! you ought to say she's had plenty; Anna says so,' said Joan. - -'Danged if I ought to say otherwise than I do, missie.' - -'Oh! what a jolly word, banged!' said Jack. - -'I reckon I was wrong there,' said Elias sheepishly. - -'It wasn't banged, there's nothing to bang,' said Antoinette. - -'I know there are no doors out here, Netta----' - -'Now you mean Dinah when she's cross. For shame, Jack.' - -'I lay that's when some one's crossed her,' said Elias, who as Dinah's -husband not only knew how doors could bang but was loyal in his excuses. - -They had reached the stile now and Elias sent them over it. In his -opinion Miss Anna had waited quite long enough for the 'baärns.' Not -a bit of quiet had she had that day and she must be longing for it. -She was as the apple of his eye. Mrs. Severn might be a handsome lady -but she did not 'act handsome.' He begrudged calling 'Missis' one who -was only such as 'Master's' wife, and in spite of Dinah's exhortations -to conventional respect he very rarely did call her 'Missis'; she was -generally 'Clo' in his vocabulary. What was there of the mistress in -a woman whose time was spent in a hammock under the trees in summer, -and on the sofa in winter, twiddling on a guitar or fiddle or playing -with her children, while her husband ordered the dinners, made up -the tradesmen's books, and at nights had his rest broken by acting as -head-nurse? There had been no comfort about the place until Miss Anna -had left school. Yet Mr. Severn adored his wife! It 'maddled' him how -a man of sense could be so daft! His opinion of him would have sunk -several degrees had he not adored Miss Anna too and thus redeemed his -character from the charge of being taken by good looks. Even Elias knew -she was not handsome by the side of Mrs. Severn and her children, but -she had a smile and a sparkle in her eyes such as Mrs. Severn never had. - -Anna jumped from the wall, and crossing the garden met the children on -the flags. They all trailed through the hall and up the shallow oak -stairs, talking in whispers lest mother or baby were asleep. At the -top various strips of old-fashioned corded drugget led to the several -bedroom doors. Mrs. Severn's door was ajar and Jack and Anna peeped in -together, he peering round her skirts and shaking his curly head for the -benefit of the others. There was no sound or movement. The room was low, -heavily-furnished with mahogany and looked dark. A settee covered with -red dimity was drawn across one window. Its cushions were piled high at -one end, and on them rested a dark head and the ivory-like profile of a -face on which fell the last soft gleams of sunshine. - -'Clothilde,' said Anna gently. - -There was no answer but she advanced, and leaning over the back of the -settee she found that Mrs. Severn's eyes were wide open. - -'Come in, children, mother's awake,' she said. - -The door was flung wide and they all trooped in and up to the cot where -the baby lay. - -'Ah! Clothilde,' said Anna, 'there's none so deaf as those who won't -hear, is there now? I was certain you were awake but you feel lazy, and -the longer you lie here the lazier you will feel! The heat, added to -that constitutional tendency, is stupefying, isn't it?' - -She spoke satirically and smiled, but at the same moment tried to -arrange the cushions more comfortably. Mrs. Severn, however, pushed her -away and sat up. - -'You always think me lazy when I'm tired; you are a tiresome -contradictious creature,' she said. - -'No, I don't, not always. But you would never be so tired if you were -not so lazy, which thing is a paradox! And you look so strong and well -to-night----' - -'Strong! I never look strong, Anna; you might as well say robust at -once. And you know I never look vulgar.' - -'Dearest, who said a word about vulgarity? I only meant as much as I -said. If to look strong means to be vulgar, then I am so and thank God -for it. But you do look well to-night, and if Mr. Borlase saw you I'm -certain he would say you were well. When are you going to delight our -eyes by being in the parlour again, you beautiful woman? What an ugly -duckling I am among you all, only Elias to comfort me with his "divine -plain face of a woman." Perhaps mine may develop into that phase.' - -She had taken up a brush from the dressing-table and loosened Mrs. -Severn's hair. Brushed back from her forehead it swept the cushions in -a dark cloudy mass. Her face was as pale as marble, for now there was -no sunshine to tinge it. Its expression was one of statuesque repose. -The perfect features admitted of no play of thought or feeling; they -were not only blank as an empty page but suggested the inner blank of -utter self-absorption. She looked dreamy and apathetic. Her eyes seemed -larger but were no longer bright; their lustre was quenched as though -an impalpable mist were drawn over them. One felt that whether in joy -or sorrow her face would remain the same. But its beauty and refinement -of chiselled repose was heightened into absolute fascination by that -preoccupied indifference. It roused speculation. What had it been as a -child's face? Had no emotion in girlhood overwhelmed the abstraction, -or had some overwhelming emotion fixed it there? Would she grow old -and still wear it? Death could not enhance its calm. Borlase, her -doctor, giving her skilled attention in her hours of agony, felt with -a strange shiver that even in her agony she was, in some strange way, -impersonal--her epitaph, what could be more appropriate than this, 'She -died as she had lived, coldly?' - -And now Anna's deft fingers had gathered up the rich hair and were -plaiting it into plaits to coil high on her head with a tiara-like -effect. Mrs. Severn had raised herself to admit of this manipulation -and watched it in a glass which Anna had put into her hands. When it -was complete Anna stood back and surveyed her, her own face lit up with -proud and enthusiastic delight. But this delight did not affect Mrs. -Severn, who had been pondering over her last words. - -'I don't believe in the divine getting inextricably mixed with the -human,' she said. - -'That's sheer perversity. You not only rob me of my crumb of comfort but -make yourself out to be heterodox. I don't believe, moreover, that you -ever have thought about it.' - -'That is true.' - -'Yes, you might say with Hodge, "I mostly thinks o' nowt." Hodge, -digging, is excusable, for there's no inspiration in the mould where the -only variety is in the size of the stones and the worms that he turns -up. But you are so different. I'm sure you would be happier if you were -busier--"Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do."' - -Mrs. Severn listlessly submitted to the vehement kiss with which Anna -finished her lecture. - -'When you quote Satan I am at home, but I know nothing of Hodge,' she -said in her slow mellifluous voice. - -Anna laughed. It was like demonstrating logic to a jelly-fish to argue -with Clothilde. - -'I really believe that's a fact,' she said, 'though Hodge lives at your -doors, and we'll hope Satan has no foothold in the neighbourhood. But -how profane we are! How shocked Canon Tremenheere would be if he heard -us! By the bye, do you know his sister Julia's husband is dead--died -after a few weeks' illness?' - -'What could she expect when she married again?' - -'He was a strong man and she has been so ailing. What sorrows she has -had!' - -'Sorrows? And if she has, she has had great joys too.' - -'Oh Clothilde! Well, let us hope that will console her now. Do you think -it would console you?' - -'Me? How can I say, Anna? I know neither, I have had neither. The -superlative does not enter into my experience of life.' - -'It's your own fault then, dearest,' said Anna wistfully. 'Life is what -we make it. Joy won't come unbidden; we must help to prepare the ground -or there'll only be a weedy plant that will wither in the sun. The joys -of one are the cares of another. I suppose Dad and the children are -cares to you.' - -Mrs. Severn was silent. Anna turned, and leaning against the window -looked down into the garden. Its midsummer brilliancy had faded with the -sunshine, and the tangle of flowers, missing the caresses of breeze and -sun and bees, looked subdued and shame-faced. At least so she fancied. -A dewy sweetness hung above, floating up to her in incense-like whiffs. -The landscape was becoming neutral. Above the valley there spread, as -she looked, a haze of blue smoke from a cottage by the beck at the -corner where it tumbled into the Woss. - -'Mr. Borlase rode past about six,' said Mrs. Severn suddenly. She -scrutinised Anna as she spoke. - -'He would be going into Wherndale. Perhaps he'll come in for supper on -his way home. Dad will be back soon.' - -'You might let him see baby, she's been restless. But John is not coming -home to-night. I've had a note from the office; he's gone to Scotland -on business, something important occurred, and nothing would satisfy -the Admiral but that he should start at once. And there's a letter from -Rocozanne, from Ambrose, somewhere,' she added vaguely, searching in -the folds of her dressing-gown. As that was useless she got up, and, -while shaking her draperies, discovered it on the floor. Anna picked -it up. It was addressed to her. She turned it over, half expecting to -find the seal broken. Mrs. Severn had had a habit of opening all the -Rocozanne letters until lately, when Anna had firmly expostulated. This, -however, was intact. - -'Why didn't you send it down?' said Anna. 'How long have you had it? You -could have thrown it out when you heard me in the garden. You must have -heard me there.' - -'It was enclosed and I forgot it. John's news upset me. Really, the -Admiral might have a little consideration for me. Now read the letter, -Anna. Is there any news from Rocozanne? I suppose the Kerrs' yacht won't -have got to Jersey yet; they can't have seen Miss Marlowe?' - -'Oh dear no! They were only leaving Zante on the 15th. But I haven't -time to read it now,' said Anna. Reproach had kindled an unexpected -brilliancy over her whole face, and she looked at Mrs. Severn with eyes -that suddenly glowed with finely controlled anger. 'Every one is busy -because of the hay, and I'm going to see the children to bed. Come, -children, kiss mother. What, Joan, pick-a-pack?' - -She knelt for Joan to clasp her neck, then tucking her little fat legs -under her arms, rose and careered on to the landing. Joan was not too -tired to gurgle with laughter at the jogging. The others ran after them, -having dabbed random kisses on Mrs. Severn's face and throat. They left -the door wide open in spite of her charge to them to shut it. - -'Netta, Jack, Jack,' she called. But they were heedless. - -She watched them dart across the landing, and listened to the dying -away down a passage of steps and voices. Then a door banged, raising -reverberating echoes in the rambling old house, and when they died away, -all was still. She got up and closed the door herself. As she re-crossed -the room she did not pause at her baby's cot, but went up to the mirror -and stood before it for some moments, thinking how admirably these loose -white draperies set off her dark hair and sombre eyes. She had a strong -impression that she ought to have been a prophetess, or a tragic singer. -Nature had overlooked her own opportunities. There is a difference -between being created and being a creation. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - A MIDSUMMER EVENING - - -An hour later Anna crossed the flags, reading Ambrose Piton's letter. It -was long and she stood some time engrossed in it, but at last she folded -it and slipped it into her pocket with a sigh of decided relief. Then, -mounting the stile, she jumped down into the meadow. - -At that moment she caught the sound of a horse cantering along the road. -It stopped and a gate clicked, then fell to with a clash that roused the -dogs. She knew it must be Mr. Borlase. Standing on tiptoe she looked -through the hedge, expecting he would turn off to the stable. - -But he did not. He scanned the garden and the fields, and seeing the -glimmer of her white dress between the bars of the stile, rode up and -stood in his stirrups, looking over. Her eyes met his with a laughing -glance of defiance. - -'Don't speak. Let me anticipate your remark. I know it,' she said. - -'You may anticipate anything agreeable.' - -'"The grass is dewy, your feet will be wet, Miss Hugo."' - -He laughed, glancing down at his horse's head and flicking a fly from -its ear, then back at her with a swift sidelong look of admiration. It -was lost upon her for she was standing on the stile surveying her shoes. - -'They are wet,' she said. - -'Of course they are. You must take them off instantly.' - -'If you had not come, I should have had a walk by the beck.' - -'Well, you are not going to walk now and must take them off.' - -'Yes, I will, directly;' then patting his horse she added, 'My sister -wants you to see baby, at least she did an hour ago. She saw you ride -past, into the Dale, I suppose.' - -'Now, Miss Hugo, there should not be all this difference between -_instantly_ and _directly_,' said Borlase. He swung off his horse, drew -her hand from its neck, and interposed himself between them. 'Must I put -up while you speak to Mrs. Severn?' - -'And change my shoes? Then you need not dream of a new and unruly -patient at Old Lafer. I shall be very glad if you'll stay for supper, -but Dad is away.' - -They had reached the door. Without waiting for an answer she ran up the -steps and vanished. - -Borlase stood staring into the hall, where whitewash and black oak -alternated. Through an open door at the end he heard Elias reading -aloud to Dinah, who meanwhile bustled about between the kitchen and -the dairy, or slipped into her clogs and clattered into the fold-yard -or buildings. He read aloud every night and she never ceased from work -to listen. Borlase had often laughed in thinking of the extraordinary -jumble of curtailed facts with which her mind must be stored. But -to-night he was in no humour for laughter. On the contrary their -simplicity struck him as pathetic. Our own moods colour the actions of -others and he was suddenly feeling depressed and disappointed. Not only -was he baulked in his intention of spending the evening at Old Lafer but -Anna had been far from shy when she asked him to do so. It was useless -to have exerted that delightful bit of authority over her in the matter -of the shoes. She neither resented nor encouraged whatever he might do. -His pulses had been stirred by the touch of her hand, a touch he had -longed to make significant. She had taken it as a matter of course. -Would she never perceive what he wanted of her? - -And now she reappeared. - -'You are not to see baby,' she said from half-way down the stairs. 'But -do come in, won't you?' - -'Not to-night,' he said, going round his horse to tighten the -saddle-girths. He glanced up involuntarily at the windows of Mrs. -Severn's room. But no one was visible. Yet he had an impression that -they were watched. - -'I have got a new song that suits my voice exactly. Clothilde is going -to accompany it,' said Anna. - -'I will wait until then to hear it.' - -'I thought you did not care for her accompaniments.' - -'I don't, as a rule. But it does not signify much, either way.' - -'I've heard you declare that everything, the most trivial, ought to have -a decided significance in one direction,' said Anna, after a little -pause of astonishment. - -'So I have, I believe.' - -'And I know you have a great contempt for inconsistency.' - -'Yes.' - -'You once said it was the brand of our human nature.' - -'I must have been in a grandiloquent or dogmatic mood. Perhaps I often -am. However, it is true. It is also its bane, and I confess I am guilty -of it.' - -'Oh no, I don't think so. I know you really prefer the piano with -singing to either violin or guitar, but you are harassed over something, -a bad case perhaps, and you don't care for music of any kind to-night. -Forgive me for teasing a little.' - -There was a music in her tones for which he cared! She was standing on -the steps with her hands behind her, and having busied himself with the -saddle to a degree which he knew was ridiculous, he turned and glanced -at her. She was critically examining his work; being able to ride -bare-backed at a hand-gallop herself, she understood the points both -of horse and accoutrements. He got his look at her, unperceived. It -sent the blood from his face. 'How marvellously dear she is to me!' he -thought, and was thankful to be able to think it coherently. He still -had power over himself when he could frame his knowledge into words. -He reasoned over it too. She was plain, she was little--not the ideal -woman of his dreams. But his ideal woman had vanished long ago, and in -her place--he knew well when--had come Anna Hugo with her heavy-browed, -square-jawed face, her unruly mass of coarse dark hair, her deep-set -scrutinising eyes, and that play of expression which tantalised him -into wanting to know her every thought, because it showed him so many. -Preparing to mount he glanced at her again. - -This time their eyes met. Hers were eloquent with unembarrassed -kindness. His had a distressed look to which self-control gave a -hardness unaccountable to her except on the one presumption. He was -certainly in trouble. They were friends, she might be able to give a -lighter turn to his thoughts. - -'Let me walk to the gate with you,' she said. 'I want to hear about your -ride.' - -He read her like a book and smiled at the artlessness of her arts. Yet -how cruel she could be because she thought more for others than of -herself! Use had strengthened her original nature by binding its second -nature upon her. She arranged, comforted, disciplined, befriended, the -whole household at Old Lafer; and he, who knew of what contradictious -elements it consisted, knew too that she had lost sight of self in -determined efforts to control them to unity and concord. This had -made her old for her years, and she unconsciously treated as younger -many who were older than herself, a grievance with which he had once -charged her. But she had not understood. The knitting of her brows as -she puzzled over it made him laugh at last. He told her emotion would -have to teach her his meaning, and the question, who would rouse that -emotion, had since disquieted himself. - -Borlase had been to the Mires to see old Hartas Kendrew. It was a name -which clouded Anna's face for a moment, and made him avoid glancing at -her as he uttered it. But the next moment she turned to him with the -brightest of smiles. - -'Did you ever hear of the burying he and his wife once went to?' she -said. 'It was when buryings were buryings and finished off with rum. It -had poured with rain all day and the waters were out. Jinny and Hartas -had to cross a beck. They rode pillion and they were both drowsy, and -it was comfortable to know the horse would find its own way home. They -forgot the beck would be out, and could not hear its roar for the wind. -Suddenly Jinny woke, feeling very cold, and saying "Not a drap more, -thank you kindly, not a drap more." They were in the water, and it was -the flood at their lips, not another glass of rum.' - -'Good Heavens, what a shave! Did they get out?' said Borlase. - -'Oh no! both were washed away and drowned.' - -'But Hartas----?' - -'Yes. He lived to tell the tale.' - -'Then his wife was drowned? Well, he did cleverly to scramble out.' - -'No.' - -Borlase suddenly awoke to find himself puzzled. He looked suspiciously -at Anna, walking unconcernedly beside him with her head averted. - -'Then why did you say they were?' he asked. - -'Why did you ask, when you had seen one of them in the flesh an hour -ago?' said Anna, laughing. - -Borlase was silent. The indictment was too obvious; another point for -the dissection of his inner consciousness. - -'One's imagination always flies to a catastrophe rather than good -fortune,' said Anna. - -'Not always,' said Borlase sharply. 'I never imagined on the moor -to-night that Mr. Severn would be away after market at Wonston and I -could not spend the evening with you.' - -'But why not?' said Anna. 'I asked you and I told you of my new song. I -thought as you declined you were in a hurry home.' - -'If I had been in a hurry home I should have been there now.' - -It was Anna's turn to be silent. Her resources suddenly seemed -exhausted, the argument attenuated. - -They had reached the gate. Borlase fumbled with the hasp, trying to -secure a few moments for thought. He had known Anna many years and for -the greater part of that time he had loved her. But he had resolved not -to ask her to be his wife until he was his own master. At present he -was still in partnership with the leading medical man in Wonston but in -another year the partnership would expire and he would be independent -and able to offer her such a home as he could think worthy of her. When -he came to Old Lafer to-night he had not meant to precipitate matters -but now he felt urged not to miss this opportunity, wholly unexpected -and tempting as it was. He glanced at her with the resentment of -desperation. She was looking across the road into the ferny depths of an -oak planting where twilight gave the vistas a dreamy quietude. How could -she be so calm when he was so overwrought? Would she never perceive his -feeling? What a help a touch of shyness in her manner would be! He -dreaded lest speech should forfeit her friendliness and gain nothing in -its place, but still more lest his own inaction now should paralyse his -resolution and unman him. - -'She shall refuse me; perhaps a second time she would accept me,' he -thought. 'Rather than that I should wrong her and myself any longer by -not facing the truth, I'll be manly and ask her outright; at any rate -it'll make her think of me.' - -He opened the gate and she advanced with a smile to shake hands. He -turned abruptly. There was a look on his face which she had never -seen before. She stood transfixed, involuntarily gazing at him, -scarcely conscious that his searching look was wholly concentrated -on her and expressed an earnestness that the next moment struck her -as overwhelmingly pathetic in a man. In that moment the tension of -her figure relaxed, vivid colour rushed over her face, her eyes fell, -veiling undreamt-of tears. It was her first self-consciousness and it -stirred her unutterably, thrilled to the depths of her heart. She felt -rather than heard that he was coming near to her. She had clutched the -gate with one hand, for so sudden was the rush of this new tide of -feeling that it dizzied her, the world swam before her. His voice, with -a new tone in it whose vibration seemed to strike music into life--the -music of love, of marriage, of lifelong companionship, reached her as in -a dream. He was speaking, still with that look of ardent devotion fixed -upon her. This was no dream. She heard, she saw. - -But that was all to-night. - -Mrs. Severn's voice broke into the midst of his eager speech. Both heard -it and turned, startled. - -'Anna, Anna!' she called. - -She was standing at her open window, beckoning. Anna was alarmed, but -Borlase was suspicious. - -'Don't go,' he said, seizing her hand. - -'I must. She wants me.' - -'Oh Anna, so do I. But 'twill be a new habit for you to want me. Well, -I'll wait.' - -'Until I go and come?' - -'Just so,' he said and laughed joyously. - -But she was already blushing at her own words, and his laugh, setting -free as it seemed to do his own wild emotion and her surrender, made her -shrink into herself. - -'Oh! not to-night. How could I come back to-night? It's getting late, -it's----' she said incoherently, and wrung her hand out of his. - -Not before he had bent close to her. - -'But I _shall_ wait. I have and I will in every way,' he said in a -whisper. She gave him one glance, hurried, misty; a smile set in tears; -passed him and was gone. - -He leant against the gate, watching and waiting, scanning the house. -Mrs. Severn had disappeared. No one was visible. It grew dusk. A bat -flitted round him. The murmur of the beck on the sweet still air was -every moment clearer as it sang its 'quiet tune' to the 'sleeping -woods.' Surely she would come. - -But she did not, and presently he mounted his horse and rode away. - - - - - CHAPTER III - - BORLASE IS ABSENT-MINDED - - -Borlase began by being angry and riding hard. He was certain Mrs. -Severn's interruption had been deliberate. It was not probable she would -be friendly to any one who wished to rob Old Lafer of Anna, who was oil -to the domestic machinery. But he thought he should quickly outwit her -unless she developed an ability for taking trouble. - -Gradually his pace slackened. The remembrance of the sudden shyness in -Anna's manner consoled him. He was sure she had understood all at last. -This fired hope and coloured her non-appearance with an encouraging -construction; she could not have come back, for to do so would be -courting his intention. The more he pondered the more convinced he was -that he had banished the old Anna who went and came without a thought -of self. As such she had been delightful but his pulses beat to think -how much more delightful she would be now. Let him only have her to -himself again and no mortal power should balk him of his opportunity. -Her image seemed to move before him all the way home. The tones of her -voice, her little tricks of speech and gesture were photographed on his -mind. She had worn a bunch of sweet peas at her throat, how sweet they -were! He went over all the alternations of her mood that evening, and -as he remembered how her friendliness had at last merged into shyness, -his heart leapt. He would speak to her soon, and in one short year they -would be married. - -Thus his ride ended slowly with drooping rein, and he was only roused -by the Minster clock striking eleven as he entered Wonston. - -He ought to have called at a cottage in East Lafer, and he did not know -that he had passed through the village--yes, he had though; his horse -had shied at the geese asleep on the green and he remembered having -turned to catch the last glimpse of the lights twinkling at Old Lafer. -Why the deuce had he forgotten the poor fellow in pain who was expecting -him? As for the lanes with grassy margins where he generally took a -gallop, the plantations suggesting pheasant-shooting, the oncoming -turnips where partridges would find covert, he had seen none of them. -The charm of the blurred landscape, the freshness of the night air, with -its whiffs of sweetness from the honeysuckle thrown here and there in -foamy sheets over the maple and holly of the hedges, had for once been -unnoticed. - -He had indeed forgotten everything in thinking of Anna, as he realised -when he got into his own house. A sleepy maid met him in the hall with -the announcement that a boy from the Mires had been waiting an hour -for medicine. He found him in the surgery, sitting on a chair behind -the door with his legs dangling, and his cap held between his knees. -He had forgotten all about old Hartas Kendrew's needs, and that he had -ordered a messenger to come, so could not excuse himself by having -overlooked the knack these dalesboys had of covering three or four miles -in a whipstitch. He whistled softly as he sought out the necessary -drugs and compounded them in a mortar. It was certain a doctor had no -business to be in love. He did not care much for old Kendrew, but had -it not been ten to one that the man at East Lafer would be asleep, he -would have galloped back to see him. Old Kendrew was a miserable sinner -whose death certificate it would give him pleasure to sign any day. He -was not only a drunken scoundrel and cherished a blackguardly hatred -of straight dealing but knew one or two discreditable facts connected -with the family whom for Anna Hugo's sake Borlase wished to hold in -special honour. Borlase knew well that there were elements of disastrous -wrong-doing in Mrs. Severn's character and suspected that Kendrew knew -this too. She had at various times left Old Lafer for some weeks and -stayed at Kendrew's pit cottage at the Mires. There she had degraded -herself by intemperance. This rendered it all but an impossibility that -Kendrew should not have the knowledge and power to spread a scandal -whenever he chose. Knowing the man as he did, it was inexplicable that -he had not already done so. Some time had passed since her last visit -to the Mires; and Borlase knew that at present she was little talked -about except with admiration of her appearance and musical gifts. -Her old freaks, if hinted at, were considered amusing, as one of the -irresponsibilities of genius. The sin involved was, he was convinced, -unsuspected where it was not, as in his case, definitely known. Dinah -Constantine had told him. It had, joined to his professional knowledge -of her physique and character, interested him psychologically. - -'And how was Hartas when you came away, Jimmy?' he asked as he folded up -the bottle. - -'Lord, sir, I came off just after you'd gone yourself, so he couldna -either hev worsened or bettered, but I ken he wer swearing awful. I -heard him the whiles Scilla wer talking to me about t' physic--swearing -awful, he wer!' - -Borlase laughed. - -'Swearing, was he?' he said. 'That's his chief complaint, Jimmy, to tell -you the truth. It comes of _not_ telling the truth. A man fouls his -throat with lies and oaths to back them up until a moral disease seizes -it, and he can't speak anything else, and when he drinks and gets D.T. -too, the moral and physical diseases act upon each other until he's a -mass of corruption, soul and body. Take care you never swear and lie and -poach grouse and fire at keepers as Hartas and his lad did. Kit's in -gaol, you know, having a spell at the Mill, and Hartas is still worse -off, as he lies now in a strait-jacket. Mind you're always honest to the -powers that be, and touch your cap to the Admiral and Miss Marlowe.' - -Jimmy's eyes gleamed with awe. What he did not understand in this speech -was even more impressive than what he did. 'Hartas says he'll be even -with the Admiral for sending Kit to t' Mill, he says he will one of -these days, sir. It's that he raves on at, and he calls Miss Cynthia -too, and Lias Constantine for----' - -'I daresay. For telling the truth?' said Borlase, nodding. - -'Well, he witnessed he both saw them kill t' birds and lay fresh -snares. Then he jumbles in Mrs. Severn and----' - -'Yes, yes,' said Borlase hastily, 'he's a cantankerous old gaffer who's -possessed by a thirst for vengeance against the law and those who uphold -it. We all hate being found out in a sin more than the sin itself, I -fear. Now get off home, and tell Scilla to keep up her heart, he'll pull -through.' - -'She'd a deal liefer he wouldn't,' said Jimmy, opening his jacket and -buttoning up the bottle of medicine in his breast pocket. He adjusted -his cap with various shovings to and fro on his shock of red hair and -clutched a heavy stick that had been propped in the corner. - -'Hartas's talk made me feel that queer in my inside, sir,' he said with -a shrewd, half-humorous glance at him, 'that I wer fair certain there'd -be a skirling o' bogies on the moor and I just brought this along to -thwack t' air with.' - -Borlase would have smiled had not Jimmy kept his eye on him with a -boldness born of the suspicion that he might. And after all what was -there to smile at? Jimmy Chapman was a fine little lad, and it was -his realisation of the powers of darkness in the person of a drunkard -and blasphemer that peopled the moor for him with the supernatural. -When Hartas Kendrew was down in delirium tremens as the result of a -drinking bout, his invoking the devil and his agencies was so real an -element in the life of the pitmen at the Mires that his ravings must -generate belief--however reluctant--in the probability of fiends and -bogies responding. Had the Mires been a respectable hamlet and its -pit population one of healthy morals and God-fearing principles, the -midnight moor would have had no terrors, for good would have had the -predominance over evil. - -The mould which makes us is circumstance. Borlase knew it had made Kit -Kendrew a poacher when his wife fell ill of fever. To the epigram that -'nothing is certain but the unforeseen' he thought there might be added -'or more powerful.' It had been so in Kit's case. Up to the time of his -marriage he had been a wild lad, suspected of more and graver trespasses -than were traced home to him, but also open-handed and kind-hearted. -Those who abhorred Hartas as evil to the core and unredeemable, cast -many a kind thought on Kit; he would get into trouble if only from his -daring spirit, and it would be a thousand pities. When he married, many -prophesied that it would be the saving of him. Priscilla was nurse-maid -at Old Lafer and a good steady girl. But she lost her baby and fell -ill when a hard winter was at its hardest. There was no coal-mining to -be done, for the moors were snow-bound. Kit loved her passionately and -nursed her devotedly. He was aghast to find that tea and porridge would -not bring her round to health. Delicacies were ordered, she must have -strengthening diet. Every circumstance was just at that time against -honesty. - -Borlase, looking round and noting with appreciation the exceptional -cleanliness and tidiness of the cottage, never dreamt that extreme -poverty lurked here. He had still to learn that they are often the -poorest who make the greatest efforts to appear least so, and that there -are women who manage a clean collar round their throats when they have -not a loaf of bread in the cupboard. The Marlowes were away, and there -was no soup-kitchen at the Hall that winter for those labourers on the -estate who cared to take advantage of it and no Miss Cynthia to inquire -after wife, husband, or children, and make notes of necessities in a -little morocco-leather note-book, which many knew well and had cause -to bless. Anna Hugo was also away on one of her visits to Rocozanne. -There was no one to befriend them. It was useless to go to Mrs. Severn; -and his heart was sore at the remembrance of various rebuffs in his -courtship which he had had from Dinah Constantine. Dinah had thought -Priscilla was throwing herself away; she knew her value and begrudged -losing her services. The more desperate he became, the more he shrank -from asking help. - -One day, as he trudged back from Wonston with medicine, his dog caught -a hare in a hedge. He pocketed it and made Scilla some soup. This was -before the days of the Ground Game Acts, when it was a penalty to -touch a rabbit whose burrow was on the land a man rented. Kit snared -a few rabbits first. Almost every man at the Mires did the same and -the Admiral knew it. But they did it in a clumsy fashion that raised -no fears of more ambitious depredations. Kit, however, soon found -that there was an art in the practice and a blood-warming risk in its -pursuit. The grouse season was just out for that winter, but there were -other birds whose close time was not so strictly preserved. By the time -Priscilla was strong again he had acquired a skill that absorbed him and -had bent every resource of his mind to its success as a trade. She knew -nothing, but Hartas knew all. They stored their spoil in a dub in the -ling near the coal-pit, and the following winter this spoil was grouse. - -Then came suspicion and watchfulness on the part of the keepers, -combined one night with a nasty fray in which guns were used and a -man was killed. The offenders got off, however, and could not be -sworn to. Kit knew the police were on the alert, and would not allow -his father to run risks. They both kept quiet for a while, and Kit, -without the excitement that mastered him, was a miserable man. Hartas -had the itching palm but Kit the young blood. Do and dare he must. And -he did, once too often. He succeeded in eluding the keepers and not -a soul at the Mires would have betrayed him; but Elias Constantine, -shepherding on a sheep-gait which Mr. Severn had taken over unknown -to him, happened to look over a wall as he was in the act of taking a -moor-bird out of the snare. To Elias, whose respect for the law and all -time-worn institutions was inbred and unbounded, it seemed that he was -an instrument in the hands of Providence for bringing the offender to -justice. Here were grouse, and the Admiral's grouse, going by dozens -into a poacher's sack! Here also, in all probability, was the man who -had fired the shot that killed the under-keeper. If that had not been -murder, it was manslaughter. He watched the scientific process for some -time, the disentangling of the birds' legs from the cunning wire-loop, -the flutters of the exhausted victims, the final twist of the necks, the -re-setting of the snares. - -Then he gave a sign to his collie. A bound over the wall, a rush through -the ling and the dog was at the man's throat and bearing him to the -ground! - -All was over with Kit and he knew it. He would make a clean breast of -it, too, over that gun-shot, be the consequence what it might. But -he managed to save his father, who was busy at the dub, by a warning -whistle. The dim morning light covered Hartas's escape. But Kit was -given up to the wrath of a scandalised bench of game-preserving -magistrates and thence to trial by judge and jury. They inflicted upon -him the full penalty of the law, on a conviction for manslaughter. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - JOY AND SORROW JOIN HANDS - - -Wonston market-place was on market-days an animated scene. It was -filled with booths and stalls, and crowded with country-people with -their produce and townspeople with their purses. On bright days -parasols vied in brilliancy with the flower and fruit stalls. Butter -and eggs, pottery, meat, and corn were displayed in baskets or on the -cobbles. In one corner an auction was going on, in another a patent -medicine vendor shouted to a crowd of gaping half-hearted customers, -who fumbled their coppers and cudgelled their brains to make sure his -wares would suit their own complaints, or those of Ben or Sally at -home. Through the crowd, with its kaleidoscopic shifting of colour and -action, drags and four with excursionists would pilot their way with -much tooting of horns; or a red or yellow omnibus, laden to once again -its own height with poultry hampers, would slowly wend. In the midst -rose the town-cross, an obelisk on steps, with the civic horn slung at -its top and a Crimean cannon at its base. The sunshine glared over all, -whitening the booth awnings, and giving a dazzling cheerfulness to the -whole scene. - -The sleepy old town awoke on these days. Its normal stagnation on every -topic but its neighbour's affairs disappeared and it went in genially -for dissipation of perambulation, expenditure, and acquaintanceship. -Everybody was glad to see everybody else, as conducing to the general -liveliness; and though everybody did not bow to everybody to whom under -an inconvenient strain of circumstance they might have been introduced, -there was certainly less of the eyelid bow on that day than on any -other. It was the harvest of money and mind. Groaning tills afterwards -disbursed to the banks; replete minds gave their surplus coin to their -morals. All was grist of impression or profit. - -On one such day Borlase was standing before the Town Hall talking to -a friend. It was later in the year, grouse-shooting was now waived in -conversation for partridge prospects, _à propos_ of stubble and turnips. -He had just expressed his opinion when Mr. Severn hailed him from the -corn-market opposite and crossed the road. - -Mr. Severn had not visibly aged much in these years since his second -marriage. He was still upright and little gray showed in his black hair; -but Borlase, with his habits of close observation and his knowledge of -facts, knew also that his cheerfulness was always, to a certain extent, -assumed. His face, when at rest, was sad, and he often roused himself -with an effort from depressing thought. This expression was strikingly -evident as he stood by Borlase, whose face was singularly happy and -sanguine. His height dwarfed Borlase, whose inches were scarcely up to -the average and appeared less so from his breadth of chest and good -muscular development. The two men shook hands with a smile; the keen -eyes of the one and the quietly-perceptive eyes of the other met with -genuine liking. Borlase knew no one to whom he looked up in every sense -with more confidence than to Mr. Severn, who, on his part, found comfort -in the knowledge that he was not ignorant of facts in his home-life of -which the world had only vague suspicions and that they had secured for -him and his the loyal sympathy of a less burdened heart. - -'Well, Borlase,' he said, 'you're a perfect stranger, don't know when -we've seen you. Called once or twice, and every one out? pshaw! that -doesn't count. Now I was just coming to ask you a favour. Will you stand -godfather for this baby we're going to christen next week? She's to be -called Deborah Juliana, after Mrs. Marlowe. It's a name that's nearly -killed my wife, but we couldn't pass over a whim of Mrs. Marlowe's. -She thinks this will be our last, as we must realise now that we can't -overrule Providence to another boy to mitigate the spoiling that's -evidently in store for Jack, and she wants to ratify this confidence by -being its godmother. Very good of her and very quaint--all put into Lord -Chesterfieldisms by Mrs. Hennifer. You must dine with us and Tremenheere -too. He always christens our babies. I'm going on to ask Tremenheere.' - -'I shall be most happy,' said Borlase. - -'My dear fellow, the favour is on your side. Anna's to be the other -godmother. I meant the little thing to be called after her, that I -might have an Anna left when she takes flight, as I suppose she will -some day. I hope it'll be a fine day. Now I must go on to the Canon. -Anna's down shopping. If you come across her you can tell her this -arrangement.' - -Borlase had not gone much farther when he saw Anna at the other side -of the street. She had seen him first, however, and had lowered her -parasol to hide her blush. He crossed over, and she waited on the edge -of the pavement. It seemed to him that all the sunshine pouring into the -street settled for the moment on her sparkling face. But her manner was -as frank as usual. This gave him a slight shock of disappointment, for -he had counted upon a shadow of the remembrance of their last parting. -He was far from guessing that this very remembrance gave a buoyancy to -her tones and air born of the fear that otherwise he might think she -remembered too well, and had dwelt on it with wonder and happy hope. He -turned and walked on with her. - -'I have just had a most unexpected pleasure,' he said. - -'And what is that?' said Anna. - -'I am to be godfather to little Miss Deborah Juliana.' - -'Indeed! Everything combines to overwhelm this baby with good luck at -the beginning of her life.' - -'If she is overwhelmed, it won't be good luck,' said Borlase. His fair -face flushed with pleasure and he laughed light-heartedly. He had been -premature in resenting a frankness which led to such a mood. 'Are you as -pleased as I am, Miss Hugo?' he asked, glancing down at her. - -'At baby's impending discomfiture? Are you always so benevolently -disposed towards the babies, Mr. Borlase?' - -'No indeed. If I have been asked once to be sponsor in this parish I -have been asked a score of times and have always refused.' - -'Then you are a most inconsistent individual. What excuse can you offer -for breaking your rule?' - -'That one must draw the line somewhere.' - -'So you will be open to all offers?' - -'On the contrary this is the only one I shall accept. The rule -immediately comes into practice again. No other baby would have induced -me to break it.' - -'But you won't have the felicity of standing by Mrs. Marlowe. Mrs. -Hennifer is her proxy.' - -'I shall have another felicity, however.' - -'And what is that?' - -'The felicity of standing by you.' - -As he spoke, looking straight at her, he was startled by a change in -her face. Its sparkle of archness suddenly faded, and her eyes dilated -with astonishment. Evidently she had not heard what he said. She was -looking at some object in the crowded street. Involuntarily she put -her hand on his arm, as though she could not stand steadily. He drew -her to one side to lean against a doorway, but with a resentful gesture -she freed herself and began to make her way down the pavement. He -kept close to her, but there was no need to ask what had alarmed her. -Elias Constantine, astride of a cart-horse, was a figure easily to be -discerned above the heads of foot-passengers, and at his first following -of her gaze Borlase too saw him. But he had not seen them yet and was -glancing eagerly from side to side. He was red with heat and looked -scared and angry. The horse had evidently been unloosed from a cart and -mounted at once. Its foamy mouth and streaming flanks spoke of a gallop. - -'Make him see us,' said Anna. - -He was attracting attention, and various voices were shouting the -addresses of the different doctors, one of whom it was taken as a -matter of course that he wanted. Borlase seized Anna's parasol and swung -it above his head. Elias caught the movement. A look of mingled relief -and more urgent anxiety possessed his face as his eyes fell on Anna. He -dug his spurless heels into the horse's flanks, sending it forward with -a plunge that cleared his course, and in another moment pulled up by her. - -'She's off,' he said hoarsely. - -'Who?' said Anna. Her voice was scarcely audible. - -'Clo, t' missis, that limb o' the devil.' - -'Oh, hush!' said Anna. - -She put her hand over her eyes as though to collect her thoughts for -grappling an emergency. But Borlase saw her stricken look. He had seen -it before. He knew what must have happened at Old Lafer--only one -calamity could make Anna Hugo look as she looked now. Yet when she took -her hands from her eyes she managed to smile. It wrung his heart. He -had experience of that smile on a woman's face which hides the deepest -wound and buries its own grief in hopes of assuaging another's. - -'Come this way,' he said, placing her hand on his arm and turning down -a by-street; 'every one will observe us here and some officious fool be -volunteering to find Mr. Severn. As it happens, I know where he is and -that he is safe from hearing of this for the present at least.' - -'Do you really?' she said. Her voice trembled but she looked up at him -with unutterable gratitude. - -'He is gone to the Canon's, to Tremenheere's, about this christening. -Now, Constantine, bring the mare quietly to this corner and tell Miss -Hugo what she must know at once. I have a patient near who will take me -a moment.' - -He seized her hand, wrung it and turned away. She was scarcely -conscious of a force of sympathy that almost unmanned him. Her attention -was fixed on Elias. - -He leant over her, clutching the horse's mane to steady himself. His -face worked with an emotion more of rage than grief. He would not allow -himself to be miserable; he was fired, not numbed. He could have sworn -at Anna for the quenching of her spirit, she, the good, the true, to be -overwhelmed by what such a hussy as Mrs. Severn could do. - -'She slipped off as neat as a weasel through a chink in a wall none -other ud see,' he said. 'Dinah wer scouring t' dairy as she allus does -after the week's butter's off to market, and I wer sledging peats off -t' edge, and Peggy minding t' baärns in the beck-side meadows. Mrs. -Hennifer had been though; she came clashing ower t' flags in Madam's -coach, and it went back empty, and Mrs. Hennifer walked home to t' Hall -by the woods, and so she did. And an hour on there wasn't a soul in t' -house but Clo and her babby, and Dinah clashing in her pattens ower her -pail and clouts. As I came ower t' edge I seed a figure flit off t' door -stanes, but niver gev it a thought. It must ha' been her, and she'd -slipped into t' gill and bided there while I crossed t' watter. Then she -sallied forth frev t' shadow o' the firs, and when I'd reached the flags -and stopped to mop a bit, I happed look across and there was my leddy -tripping it ower t' ling for all the world as if she'd wings to her -heels. I kenned her then, her shape and her dark gown and the way she -took, due west for Kendrew's lal cottage ower at t' Mires. It wer t' old -trick, but I couldn't believe my eyes, it's that long since she tried -it. I shouted for Dinah, and she came and I swore, ay, God Almighty, I -did, and Dinah none chided me. I lay she wished she'd been a man to -swear too! She's gone after her, and I loosed t' mare and came for thee. -And neither on us thought we were leaving t' babby alone. She'd none -thought on it neither, her two months' babby. Shame on her!' - -His voice shook. He raised his hand, held it an instant, and let it fall -heavily on his knee. - -Anna had stood motionless, her face absolutely blank. Now a spasm of -returning emotion crossed it. Tears rushed to her eyes; she turned pale -to the very lips. - -'Woe to her by whom the offence cometh,' said Elias. - -She lifted her head and looked at him in mute reproach. His heart -misgave him. - -'It fair caps me how you can care about her,' he said deprecatingly. -'Ye ken she gangs from bad to worse there, and t' Almighty alone can -say where she'll stop. If she gets to drink again, t' Master must ken, -it'll reach him. Scilla Kendrew's getting scared on her, and Hartas'll -spread it. When Scilla told Dinah afore, she said she'd tell you next -time. Nay, nay, if she can tak off like this, and leave her babby to -spoon meat, she's hopeless; she's worse a deal nor last time, when there -wer no babby to think on. She's possessed by t' devil hissel----' He -paused a moment, forcing down a lump in his throat whose presence he -disdained. - -'Thee and t' Master are alike,' he said. 'It's allus "Till seventy times -seven." But I dinna ken if it would be wi' t' Master, if he kenned all -we do. Now don't fret, my honey. If ought can stir her to come back -afore she gets drink and he gets his heart-break, it'll be yoursel.' - -He spoke to her but he looked at Borlase, who had returned and was -standing by her. Borlase had already laid his plans. She was stunned, -but he knew she would do what he told her. - -'Constantine,' he said, 'walk the mare quietly out on the Mires road, -and Miss Hugo will keep up with you. I shall follow immediately and -drive her to the Mires. Mr. Severn is certain to lunch at the Canon's, -and will hear nothing.' - -Then he turned to Anna. - -'When you are out of the town, find a seat and rest until I come,' he -said. - -He started at once, disappearing down an alley, by which there was a -short cut to his house. The look in Anna's eyes sickened him. He was -astonished too. It was so long, above three years he was certain, since -Mrs. Severn had last gone to the Mires, that he had been convinced the -fancy had left her. Her indulgence there could not now be her excuse, -for she now indulged at home. He had discovered the fact for himself and -had warned Dinah Constantine, whom he considered perfectly faithful. -It was certain that she had told Anna, for he had overheard Elias's -words. His doing so had not, assuredly, occurred to either. If, however, -it were necessary to exert authority, he would own his knowledge to -Anna, for the sake of using it as a leverage with Mrs. Severn. If not, -Anna should not guess his knowledge until he could be certain it would -relieve her to know he knew. As he ran down the alley, haunted by the -hunted shame in her eyes, his feelings were strangely compounded of -burning sympathy with her and professional interest in the case. What -possessed Mrs. Severn to act thus? Was the problem based on the physical -or the moral? Was it his duty to tell her husband? - - - - - CHAPTER V - - OVER THE HILLS - - -Elias, however, did not lead the way. At first Anna declared she would -go alone, but he would not hear of it--he would wait with her. They -agreed that this should be at the bridge over the Woss, to which, for -the sake of raising less remark, they would go by different ways. - -She was there first. A hill with an abrupt turn led down to it. On -either side lay a stray, in pasturage, to which the poor people of the -town had common rights. It was sheltered by steep wooded banks that made -the river's course still a valley. The river was thickly overhung with -trees. Thickets of wild rose and bracken, overrun with bramble, bossed -the hollows of the ground; golden spires of ragwort gleamed in the sun; -the sleek red backs of the cattle were to be discerned in the patches of -sultry shade. The air was breathlessly hot. Anna had walked quickly, and -now, as she leant against the parapet, she felt sick and dizzy. - -She had gone to the centre of the bridge before stopping. It was an -old-fashioned structure, and the keystone of the arch was accented by a -peak in the masonry. Along one side ran a narrow ridge as a footpath. -Originally it had connected a mule-track. When mules in single file went -out of fashion, it was widened for waggons. When the Marlowes vacated -Old Lafer for the new Hall, to which this was the high road, the road -was levelled and macadamised at great cost, but the old bridge underwent -no alteration. It was said the Madam Marlowe of that day liked to keep -her tenants waiting in their carts and shandrydans while her coach swung -over it. At first this was taken as a matter of course, and the tenantry -pulled their forelocks as the unwieldy vehicle, with its four black -horses and buff-liveried out-riders, swayed past them. But gradually -they became indifferent, then defiant, and at last it was known that -some swore when they caught the glimpse of buff and the rattle of the -drag that obliged them to pull up and stand to one side. More than -once the present owner, the genial and popular old Admiral, had been -petitioned by town and county to build a new one. It was represented to -him that had it been a Borough bridge and within the jurisdiction of -the Surveyor of Highways and dependent upon the ratepayers, it would -have been done years before. He knew this, and declared himself glad -that it was not. A generous and open-handed man, he had yet certain -whims which no mortal power could combat; indeed, under the pressure -of mortal power, a whim became a resolution. It did so in this case. He -favoured the petitioners with his reasons for declining: there was not -much traffic except on Wonston market-days; beyond the Hall the road ran -only to the moors and the Mires, an unholy hamlet which he should allow -gradually to fall into ruins; the old bridge was staunch in socket and -rim--when he had been carried over it on his back Cynthia might do as -she liked, but by that time electricity would probably have been adapted -to night-travelling in carriages and her dinner-company would illumine -the road beyond possibility of mishap. - -One day he asked Cynthia what she would do. - -'I shall build a new one, grandpapa,' she said. - -'You will? Why?' - -'That I may not fear an accident some dark night to some poor creature -while I am comfortable here.' - -'The poor creature would be some rascal from the Mires, old Kendrew -probably, getting home drunk, Cynthy.' - -'Perhaps the doctor coming to you or grandmamma.' - -'Or you, my blooming damsel.' - -'Or me. Why not?' - -'Which God forbid!' cried the Admiral. 'But in any case we would send -for him with well-trimmed lamps.' - -'The foolish virgins trimmed their lamps too late,' said Cynthia. - -'Well, see you don't,' said the Admiral, with provoking good-humour. - -'Oh grandpapa, has never a Marlowe got drunk at his own dining-room -table?' - -'Cynthia!' - -'Well, gentlemen do,' she said with shame, but decisively. - -'Never here,' said the Admiral hastily. 'Perhaps at Old Lafer in the -days of the Georges, never here! You go too far, Cynthy; you make me -uncomfortable. What do you know of such things? I must instruct Mrs. -Hennifer not to allow such a license of thought. Good Heavens, you will -be turning Chartist next. There, there, I'm not going to tell you what -that is.' - -She looked wistful, but he laughed, chucked her under the chin and -walked away. - -A few days later she drove over the bridge with Mrs. Marlowe. Just as -the coach took the turn on the Wonston side she looked back and her eye -was caught by an unfamiliar gleam of white among the foliage from which -they had emerged. It was a board on a post. She could not distinguish -the notice inscribed on it but she must know what it was. She pulled the -check-string and with an incoherent explanation to Mrs. Marlowe jumped -out and ran back. - -These were the words she read: - - 'Let all drunkards and blasphemers and otherwise unholy persons - who are the destroyers of peace, plenty, and prosperity in their - homes, beware of this bridge. To such it may prove an instrument, - placed by Almighty God in the hands of the devil, for their - destruction in the blackness of night or the fury of the tempest. - - 'SIMON MARLOWE, - 'Lord of the Manor, 18--.' - -She did not shudder. She realised instantly that such a warning as -this might be efficacious, while a new bridge would encourage vice by -ensuring safety. She was then a girl in her early teens, and now she was -a woman. Each year the clear lettering of the words had been renewed. -But there had been no judgment of God on the drunken men who clung to -their saddles by His providence, or reeled to and fro on foot as they -made their way home on pitch-dark nights, when the ring of a horse's -hoofs could not be heard above the roar of the flood rushing below. - -As Borlase turned the corner to-day his eyes fell upon the board. He was -driving slowly, as it was necessary to do at this point. A moment before -he had caught the sound of voices above the murmur of the scanty summer -stream. He knew they would be those of Constantine and Anna. And now, as -his thoughts centred gravely on the words 'destroyers of peace' as for -them the kernel of the warning at this hour, he came in sight of Anna. - -She was sitting on the footway. Her hat was off, her head thrown back -against the masonry, her hands were clasped round her knees. Over -her there played the flecks of sunshine that filtered betwixt the -foliage above. Her face was turned to Elias, who sat sideways upon the -mare's back, looking down at her. Her attitude was listless, her face -pale and grave. Just as Borlase saw her she raised her hand to impel -silence and inclined her head to listen. Another moment and he became -distinguishable in the shadow of the trees. A flash of relief so intense -as to be almost joy crossed her face and she sprang up. - -Not a word was spoken. All were too intent upon the plan they had to -accomplish; the beating of their hearts swayed between hope and fear, -misgiving and faith. It was too certain that if Mrs. Severn were to be -made to return home before her husband, there was not a moment to be -lost. Borlase helped Anna to the seat beside him, then whipped on his -horse. Elias jogged ahead to open the gate which secured the cattle from -straying, and Anna nodded as they passed him. In another moment they -disappeared round a corner where one of the park lodges stood, and he -retraced his way to the bridge where a lane led up the valley to East -Lafer, and thence by the high road to Old Lafer. It would take an hour -to reach the Mires even with Borlase's good horse. Beyond the park the -road was rough and hilly. At first it was overhung with trees, then the -hedges gave way to unmortared walls. The last tree, a sturdy, stunted -oak, was left behind. They passed through a gate and struck across a -benty pasture where cotton grass shimmered, through another with tufts -of heather here and there, and then had reached the moor. - -The ling was in full blow. It swelled round them for miles, purple -melting into amethystine distances that faded under the heat-haze, into -the sky-line. Here and there were patches of vivid green bilberry, -silvery spagnum, or ash-gray burnt fibre. In the hollows was the dense -olive velvet of the rush. Lichened boulders threw lengthening streaks -of shadow. Deep gills with streams whose waters now gathered into still -pools, then foamed round rocks, cut the hills in every direction. Over -all the cloud-shadows sailed, eclipsing the sunshine that again flashed -softly forth behind them and steeped the still earth in fragrant heat. - -And now there was a fresh soft breeze. It seemed to blow from heights -above Meupher Fell or Great Whernside, to be a very balm from Heaven. -When Borlase mounted the dog-cart after closing the gate Anna took -off her hat and the breeze blew over her face and through her hair, -giving her a delicious feeling of renewed courage and energy. So far -they had scarcely spoken. Now she suddenly felt a lightening of heart, -a quenching of the fever of perplexity and grief. Her face cleared. -Borlase caught the change as he took the reins again. - -'Let us talk,' he said, smiling. - -'I fear it will be on a well-worn subject.' - -'Mrs. Severn? There might be a better as we know, but that "the nexte -thinge" is the one to be faced.' - -She looked straight ahead. It was so perfectly natural that Clothilde -should be discussed with Borlase, not only as an old friend but in his -confidential professional character, that she was scarcely conscious of -the immense relief of being able to talk of her. But her trouble was far -too poignant for her to venture to meet his eyes, though imagining that -he only knew the half. - -'You remember this happening before?' she said. - -He nodded, carefully flicking a fly from his horse's ear. - -'You called at Old Lafer that very day, just after Dad had gone to see -if she would be persuaded to come back at once.' - -'Yes, I did.' - -Would he ever forget that call? - -It was on a bleak day in early spring. No gleam of sunshine lit up the -old house as he rode up the hill. A north-east wind blew off the moors, -whose hollows were still snow-drifted. The roar of the swollen stream -thundering down the gill filled the air; the larches strained away -from the buildings they sheltered, creaking with every fresh blast. He -had knocked at the front door without answer, then gone round to the -back with the same result. Not even the bark of a dog disturbed the -death-like silence. Returning to the flags he scanned the fields. In the -corner of the first pasture was a temporary shed for the ewes. As he -looked, Dinah Constantine emerged from it carrying two lambs. Her keen -eyes noted him instantly. She ran back, put down the lambs, and came up -the field at the top of her speed. On reaching him she grasped his arm -with the grip of a vice, poured into his amazed ears her dreary story, -and finally opened the parlour door and showed him Anna. - -She was sitting at the table with outflung arms, in which her face was -buried. It was her first sorrow. She was exhausted by a grief that had -been passionate and now was sickening. It seemed to her earnest and -matter-of-fact nature that happiness had flown for ever from Old Lafer. -He sat down and reasoned with her after closing the door against Dinah. -He did not go near her, knowing instinctively that to feel any one near -her would be intolerable, circumscribing, as it would seem to do, both -grief and sympathy. Standing near the window in silence for a while, -then sitting down apart, but where she could see him when she looked up, -as he hoped she would do soon, he set himself to win her through the -struggle and show her the light again. - -And as he won her back to patience, he was himself won to love. Her -bitter tears, yet the spasmodic efforts at smiles that pierced her -hopelessness with hope and showed her capable of bracing herself for -trial; her ardent love for Clothilde; her fierce shame and agony of -remorse for Mr. Severn; her refrain at each point gained as to what -had possessed Clothilde to be so 'wicked' as to leave her home, and -her simple perplexity at its having been 'allowed' by God, expressing -themselves on her face and in her gestures more than by word, made a -never-to-be-forgotten impression upon him. This school-girl, whom he -had as a matter of course either overlooked or patronised, and who was -certainly plain to the point of being the ugly duckling of the family, -dwelt thenceforth enthroned in his heart. His thoughts centred round -her. His steps took him to her side at every opportunity. Other women, -though beautiful, palled upon him. There insensibly stole into his -soul a tender reverence that gradually made him hold aloof from the -very intensity of his longing to be near her. He discovered in himself -a new nature, capable of chivalrous self-control and subtly delicate -adoration. Anna Hugo was dearer to him than life itself, except for her -sake. She was a girl whom time would mature into a noble womanhood, and -the stern realities of life at once strengthen and sweeten; the one -woman whom--if he were to have his heart's desire--he must win for his -wife. - -And here she was to-day, at his side but still not won. However, she -knew now that she was wooed. He would know more soon. Mrs. Severn should -not come between them a third time, either directly or indirectly. - -'The first time she ran away I was at school,' Anna said. 'Dad has never -spoken of it, but Dinah has told me how awful it was. He became frantic -when hours passed and there was no news or trace of her. There had been -a heavy storm, and the waters were out, and he was certain she had -been in the gill and slipped in and been drowned. And then old Hartas -Kendrew came over from the Mires and told them she had gone there to see -Scilla. Of course they thought it was a call; and Scilla made tea and -then expected she would go. But the storm came on, and so she waited, -and when it cleared Scilla proposed to set her home. Then she looked at -her and said, "Prissy, I am come to stay with you, my husband won't let -me go to Paris." She always calls Scilla Prissy, though she knows how -she dislikes it. Scilla thought she was joking. Fancy going to the Mires -because she could not go to Paris! But she would stay, and so Hartas -came to tell us.' - -'And Mr. Severn brought her back?' - -'Yes. He was very angry, and insisted, and she was frightened. The -second time he tried to persuade her, and she would not be persuaded, so -he let her stay, and at a month's end she came back. But she never asked -him to forgive her, and it was heart-rending to see him so gentle. He -blamed himself, said he should never have asked her to marry him, that -she was too young and handsome and well-born, and had he not been too -selfish to let her alone she would have married some man who could have -given her all the wealth and pleasure she had a right to expect. Last -time he did not even try to coax her, though he actually went to see -her. He said she must be happy in her own way. He had only his love to -plead, and she had taught him she did not care for that.' - -Her voice had sunk to the lowest of tones. Its inflexion touched the -chord in his heart, of whose vibration in devotion to herself she was -far from thinking in this hour. He caught his breath and abruptly turned -his head away. He could not have borne to glance at her. For a moment he -could not speak. - -'Constantine said Mrs. Hennifer had called,' he said. - -'Yes. She often does, but it is generally to see me now. Somehow she and -Clothilde don't care for each other, though they've known each other for -years. Clothilde was at her sister's school in London, and while she -was there Mrs. Hennifer married and went out to India.' - -'It seemed a strange coincidence that brought them into proximity again -here.' - -'That was years after. Captain Hennifer left her badly off, and she was -glad to get such a delightful sinecure as looking after Cynthia.' - -'Where is Miss Marlowe now?' - -'In Jersey with the Kerrs. They're all going to winter there together.' - -'Perhaps Mrs. Kerr will ask the Canon to join them by and by. I suppose -she is his favourite sister.' - -'Yes, and particularly as she's Cynthia's friend. But she will scarcely -venture to ask him unless Cynthia wishes it. His being with them could -only have one meaning, but I fear Cynthia won't wish it. I wish, every -one does, that she would marry Canon Tremenheere.' - -Above the ridge before them there just then wavered into the air a thin -thread of peat reek. Anna saw it and averted her head. But Borlase had -seen the rush of colour over face and neck. He put his hand on hers. - -'Shall I come down with you?' he said. - -She shook her head, with a swift half-frightened glance at him. He knew -she did not know how she would find Mrs. Severn. - -'Well, remember I am here and will do what you wish.' - -'I'll come and tell you.' - -'You really will?' he said, smiling into her eyes. She suddenly felt -herself inspired with fortitude, and with a confidence so full and free -that she could have told him anything. - -'Yes, I will,' she said. - -What wonder that his hand closed over hers with a sense of possession? -Yet neither wished at the moment that there were time for more,--it is -sweet to anticipate the joy that is very near. They were on the ridge. -In the hollow below lay the Mires. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - CYNTHIA MARLOWE - - -Cynthia Marlowe had come to Lafer Hall when little more than a baby. She -was the only child of the Admiral's only son. His soldier's death in an -Afghan gorge killed his young wife, and then Cynthia was sent to her -grandparents. - -Her life was lonely but very happy. She knew no other children, but the -Admiral was always ready for a romp. There was plenty of room for them -to have it without giving Mrs. Marlowe a headache. When grandmamma shook -her head, and feared Cynthy would grow up a dreadful tomboy, grandpapa -declared she was precluded by all facts of nature and grace from being -otherwise than a lady. How could Lennox, Cholmondeley, and Marlowe -in one produce an anomaly? No, no; if she did not romp, stretch her -muscles, and inflate her lungs she would be puny, and he would rather -she could not mark her own name than be puny. He pished at samplers, -and delighted to interrupt the working-lesson. Cynthia, caught by Mrs. -Marlowe, and made to sit on a little stool at her feet, with flushed -cheeks and impatient fingers that tugged and tugged at the silks until -they were tangled among broken threads, listened with strained senses -for the Admiral's step in the corridor. So did Mrs. Marlowe, and was -much the more nervous of the two. It meant release for the one and -defeat for the other. - -'What! ho, Cynthy,' the Admiral would say, 'snared again, my pretty -bird? Getting a round back and a narrow chest for a fal-lal? Come, -granny, this'll never do; you don't reason, my dear. The child'll always -have a woman for her fineries; why let her risk her eyesight and her -figure?' Then he would pretend it would grieve Cynthia dreadfully to lay -the tangle aside, and that she far preferred the morning-room to the -park. 'I'm very sorry, Cynthy, but out you must go this fine day. Granny -hasn't seen the sunshine, or your tippet would have been on an hour ago. -Where's your work-box? Now gently; put it in tidily; always be tidy. -Don't burst the hinges. That's a good girl!' - -And off she would fly with the always fresh wonder whether grandpapa -really had no idea how delightful it was to go. - -Poor Mrs. Marlowe made an equally useless struggle over books. This was -a subject that had greatly exercised the Admiral too, and indecision -engendered irritation. He was still more peremptory. - -'Now, Juliana, it's no good, no good at all, bringing out all these -old volumes of yours. _Mangnall's Questions_ might comprise all that -was necessary for a girl to learn in your day, but it's obsolete. -So is _Murray_. Why, good Heavens! a chit of a creature told me -the other night at the Deanery that there isn't an article now in -our English grammar, and all the other parts of speech are playing -puss-in-the-corner--for want of it, I should think. Cynthy must learn to -read and write and cipher, of course; she'll have to sign cheques and -witness deeds one of these days. She can read any book in my library; -there isn't one vicious thing there; and as for allusions in Shakespere, -for instance, well, she'll lay the good to heart and won't understand -the bad. She'll pick up information as she goes along, and then, of -course, she must finish off with masters. But as for _Mangnall_, it's -no good at all. Just leave the child alone. I'll teach her to ride, and -jump, and fence, and play bowls, and we shall have her a fine woman, -and that's all a woman need be.' - -But he pulled his moustache ferociously, and his hand trembled so much -in fixing his eye-glass, when he presently took up the _Gentleman's -Magazine_, that Mrs. Marlowe was sure he had misgivings. However, it -was a mercy that she was not expected to lay down the law and take -responsibility. - -But this did not exempt her from unhappiness on Cynthia's account. She -had a clear vision of a _via media_ that should not entail mathematics -and classics, but should comprise more than the three R's. It made her -miserable to see Cynthy's fearlessness on her pony; she would ride to -hounds and break her neck; she would sprain her ankle when jumping -and be crippled for life; and when she had learnt dancing who in the -world was to chaperon her to balls? The Admiral was too headstrong; she -would be a tomboy after all, and set every social rule at defiance and -chaperon herself! The skipping-rope was all very well; she liked to see -her spring up and down the length of the corridors on a wet day, and it -was really pretty to watch the Admiral teach her bowls, but was a girl -ever taught to fence? He would be teaching her the tactics of naval -warfare next. Why was he crazy for her to be a fine-looking woman? _she_ -had never been so. Just so; and she was delicate. Well, perhaps he was -right. But she sighed and was sure he was wrong. - -It was when Cynthia was nine years old that Mrs. Marlowe found a -strong-willed ally. Mrs. Tremenheere, the wife of the Dean of Wonston, -had girls of her own and very clear ideas of the _via media_ in which -health and education go hand in hand. She had the audacity to tilt with -the Admiral on the subject. They were equally self-opinionated, but he -was not only obliged to defer to her as the lady, but she could produce -her own daughters as proofs of her common sense. She also derided the -possibility of health of body being compatible with mental ignorance -in nineteenth-century England, and commiserated the masters who were -to 'finish' unprepared ground. The Admiral, who had long secretly felt -himself in a dilemma, listened and yielded. For her own sake Cynthy must -not be a dunce. Mrs. Tremenheere undertook to find a governess, and she -found Mrs. Hennifer. - -After this every one had an uneasy time at Lafer Hall until Mrs. -Hennifer arrived. The Admiral had yielded, but he was not at all sure -that Mrs. Tremenheere knew what sort of a governess he wanted. - -'She may have got us something Jesuitical, Juliana,' he said. 'I know -Mrs. Tremenheere pretty well, she's a worldly woman and a schemer. -She's done well for her girls so far, and she'll marry 'em well; and -there's Anthony, you know, her only boy, and depend upon it she'll want -a masterpiece for him; and she knows, every one does, that Cynthy's an -heiress. Very nice to land Anthony at Lafer Hall, eh? Now what I say is, -she may be sending us a creature of her own.' - -'Oh Simon, and Cynthy only nine years old!' - -'Well, well, I don't say she is, but she's a schemer, depend upon it she -is, Juliana. She'd twist you round her little finger, and maybe she's -twisted me too, God knows.' - -But Mrs. Hennifer was not a 'creature,' and when the Admiral found that -she had never seen Mrs. Tremenheere until she was introduced to her in -Mrs. Marlowe's drawing-room, his qualms were set at rest. It was soon -evident too that Cynthia's happiness was doubled. Forces in her that -had been running to waste were now directed into wholesome grooves of -work. Her spirit and enterprise devoted themselves to becoming as clever -as Theo and Julia Tremenheere. She still romped with the Admiral, and -then she rushed into the schoolroom, sat down, threw back her golden -hair, planted her elbows on the table, and mastered her difficulties in -grammar and arithmetic. As she could not help laughing when the Admiral -would walk past the window, looking forlorn and signalling to her to be -quick, she remonstrated and said if he still would do it she must change -her seat. To change her seat, she added, would be a great trouble, -for it did help her to look at the sky. Her fervent seriousness quite -abashed him, and he resisted the inclination to laugh at her quaintness. -He did not understand, but Mrs. Hennifer did and gave her a book called -_Look up, or Girls and Flowers_. Mrs. Hennifer had a wonderful knack at -choosing pretty books, and sometimes when they read them aloud together -Cynthia found that they brought tears to those keen eyes. - -'My darling Mrs. Henny,' she said once, 'don't cry. It's only a story, -and a very very little bit of the story too.' - -She did not know, and Mrs. Hennifer prayed she never would, that the -'very very little bit' is often that round which the whole of life -centres, tinging its joys and sorrows, hopes and fears, thenceforth. -Nor would this be sad if it were realisable at the time. But it is -afterwards, by added experience and unexpected sequence, that the -incident becomes the event. - -One day when Cynthia was no longer a child the Admiral happened to join -his wife and Mrs. Hennifer on the terrace. Beyond the broad reach of -gravel and the stone balustrades in whose vases geraniums glowed, the -ground fell abruptly into the finely-wooded undulations of the park. A -group of red deer lay in the shadow of a line of chestnuts which swept -a slope, at whose base the lake gleamed. In the distance, over the dark -shoulders of the woods, Wonston was visible. Its red tiles and yellow -gables lay in a haze of smoke, above which rose the Minster towers. -Admiral Marlowe was Lord of the Manor as far as they could see in every -direction. - -As they strolled up and down, their talk wandered from small details -of social pleasures and duties to more important ones connected with -the estate. No allusion was made to the dead son. Mrs. Marlowe had not -named him since the day she heard of his death. But the Admiral felt -her hand tremble on his arm as he speculated on the amount of Cynthia's -knowledge of her heiress-ship. He looked down at her tenderly. She had -been a beauty in her youth, and sorrow had chiselled her features into -increased delicacy by giving her an air of plaintive melancholy. - -'Let us tell Cynthy the truth and hear what she will say,' he said. - -'Yes, by all means,' said Mrs. Marlowe. - -'My good Mrs. Hennifer, will you bring her here? She's on the -bowling-green, or was. Heaven knows where she may have been spirited off -to by this time, Heaven or the fairies. I think they're her nearest of -kin.' - -Mrs. Hennifer went in search, disappearing behind a group of cedars -whose shadow, thrown at noon on the drawing-room windows, kept it cool -on the hottest day. They heard her calling 'Cynthia!' as she passed in -and out among the trees or crossed the lawns. Presently a man's tones -answered 'Here we are!' Then came a girl's light laugh. A few moments -more and Cynthia appeared alone upon the terrace. - -She was very lovely. It was prophesied that she would be the beauty -of Riding and county. She had been in town this spring for the sake -of masters, and her portrait had been painted by one of the greatest -artists of the day. He generally spiritualised his subjects, but -when he saw Cynthia Marlowe he knew that if he added to nature's -spiritualisation he must add wings. It went from his studio to Lafer. -The Admiral would allow no 'vulgar herd' to criticise it at Burlington -House. His pride in her was the chivalrous pride which guards against -publicity for women, and recognises even beauty's 'noblest station' as -'retreat.' The portrait was hung at one end of the long drawing-room. -In walking towards it, it seemed that Cynthia herself was standing to -greet the comer. She was already tall, and as slight and straight as the -natural gymnasium of judicious liberty, fresh air, and pure influences -could make her. She was dressed in white, and her golden hair hung in -curls to her waist. Her fair skin readily showed a flush. Her brows were -level, her lips firm yet sensitive. There was an exquisite transparency -in her eyes, which were large and of a warm hazel colour. She looked at -every one with a frank and fearless confidence that was unwittingly -fascinating. - -'Cynthy,' said the Admiral, smiling upon her as every one did, 'there's -a question we want to ask you. Have you ever wondered to whom Lafer will -go when we die?' - -'Yes,' she said; 'but I have not liked to know you will die.' - -'We must in the course of nature. Nature sometimes fails to keep her -courses, though, as in our case, where a generation is gone between us -and you for some wise purpose of the Almighty's. The fact gives you -great responsibilities. My dear, Lafer will belong to you.' - -'I have sometimes thought it would,' she said. - -As she spoke she rested one hand on the balustrade and with the other -shaded her eyes and looked at Wonston. He followed her gaze. - -'You will be Lady of the Manor as far as the most southernly house in -Wonston Earth and to Great Whernside on the north. Do you realise it, -you a slim girl in your teens?' - -'I was not trying to realise it. Just at the moment I was sure I saw the -Deanery, Anthony has often assured me he could from beside this vase. -I shall not be a "slim girl in my teens" when I am Lady of the Manor, -grandpapa. Don't let us think of it. It won't be for a very long time, -and we will forget it unless you want to tell me something I must do.' - -'My dear, when the time comes you'll do all that's good, even to -rebuilding the old bridge, eh? But there's one thing you must get, a -good husband. You mustn't be left alone in the world.' - -'He must get her, my dear,' said Mrs. Marlowe. - -'Of course, of course. There, there, Cynthy, no need to colour up. -Plenty of time and no rocks ahead, choice in your own hands, et cetera. -Now kiss us and you can go back to Anthony. He'll stay and dine, and -then you'll sing to us.' - -She did as she was bidden like a child. They watched her out of sight. -Then the Admiral went to the vase near which she had stood and, fixing -his eye-glass with a nervousness so unusual that it resisted many -efforts before it was steady, stared at Wonston. - -'We certainly ought to see the Deanery,' he said in a tone so -dissatisfied that it was certain he did not. - -'Certainly we should.' - -'Well, if we don't the best thing is for him to persuade her that we do.' - -'I think he has.' - -'I have no doubt he is convinced he sees her room from his room.' - -'Don't say so to Cynthy.' - -'Juliana! as though I should be such a fool as to say anything about -it--the very thing to upset our schemes!' - -'Do you remember, Simon, how frightened you once were lest Mrs. -Tremenheere should scheme for us?' - -The Admiral puffed out his cheeks to hide a little embarrassment. But -Mrs. Marlowe looked so inoffensive that this could not be maliciousness. - -'I am yet,' he said. 'It's out of a woman's province to scheme, quite -beyond it, she'll only make a mess. Now, she's a worldly woman, she'd -want Cynthy's money, but we want Anthony because he's a good fellow, -and 'll make her happy. No good could come of her scheme, but ours is -moral to the marrow. A world of difference, my dear Juliana, a world of -difference.' - -When Cynthia came out, it was under Mrs. Tremenheere's chaperonage. -Since she must come out, it was safest for her to do so with Anthony's -mother. She went through two seasons of the conventional routine, -refused many offers of marriage, and each time returned happily to -Lafer and her friendship with the Tremenheeres. Never for a moment did -the Admiral fear for the success of his plan. - -It was on the day of his ordination to deacon's orders that Anthony -asked her to be his wife. She promised that she would. It seemed the one -natural sequence. - -Yet she shrank from accepting his ring. He was going to the Holy Land, -need they be openly engaged until his return? He smiled and insisted, -and she gave way. But the first seed of self-distrust was springing -up in her heart. During his absence she became gradually restless and -dissatisfied. Every one about her noticed the change. The Admiral, -purblind, attributed it to want of Anthony; but Cynthia realised each -day more clearly that it rose from the dread of his return, for upon -it their marriage must quickly follow. She longed for the old time -of friendship, and at last confessed to herself that she had made -a mistake, she did not love him. When he returned it was to a great -sorrow, for she broke off her engagement. - -The succeeding months were unutterably bitter. For the first time in her -life she was brought face to face with unhappiness. For herself she did -not care, but to know that she had wounded and disappointed those she -loved cost her many a tear. And Anthony worshipped her; he would never -marry if not her; he was a noble-hearted man, and she missed him. He -had made her understand it must be all or nothing; if not her husband -he could only be her steadfast friend at a distance. The old familiar -intercourse was all done away. A miserable year passed; he asked her -again but she refused; yet as she loved no one else he still hoped. -She found another chaperon, and went up to town as usual, returning to -entertain the Admiral's shooting-parties and glide into a dull winter. -But it was not quite so bad as the previous one. Mrs. Hennifer, who was -the friend of both, persuaded Anthony to go away. He threw up his curacy -and went out to Delhi on a commission for the translation of the Bible -into some of the Hindoo dialects; he was more scholar than priest, and -the work was congenial. In his absence the Admiral ceased to harass -Cynthia, and by degrees Mrs. Hennifer, more even than the winsome and -disarming patience into which his harshness disciplined Cynthia herself, -managed to narrow the breach and restore to the Hall its old atmosphere -of affection. - -During Anthony's absence of some years the Dean died and he returned -to the inheritance of entailed property. But he did not live on it. If -in England he must be near Cynthia. He took a house near the Minster, -accepted an honorary canonry to please his mother by keeping up a link -with the ecclesiastical prestige of the place, and devoted his time to -study. His library was upstairs, and Cynthia knew he had made interest -with one of the woodmen for the felling of a tree and the lopping of -some branches that hid his view of the Hall. - -One day he showed her it, explaining how cleverly it had been managed. -His manner proved to her as well as words could have done that time had -quenched none of his affection. It had taught him to endure, and still -to be happy and useful. He had not prayed for more. She stood in the -window silently for a long time. He had never touched her so much. There -was such a noble and simple courage about him that the pathos of it all -nearly overcame her. At last she turned and smiled tremblingly. - -'Anthony,' she said, 'I would have given all that will one day be mine -to have been able to be your wife.' - -There was no uncertainty in his smile. It was quick and bright. - -'I know you would, Cynthia. Nothing is your fault, it is our joint -misfortune. You may still find a perfect happiness. As for me I shall be -faithful, as you would have been had you cared. That is my happiness, -and to be able to be so near to you, I can enjoy that now--"so near and -yet so far,"' he added after a moment's pause. - -His tone was more wistful than he knew. Cynthia felt herself on the very -verge of yielding to a sudden strong impulse which she was impelled to -trust. She put out her hand. But he was not looking. He had looked and -been unnerved. He had thought himself stronger. With a hasty movement -he turned to the table and took up a pamphlet, furling its edges with -fingers that might at that moment have closed over Cynthia Marlowe's -in lifelong possession. Her courage failed. She went to the other side -of the table and surveyed the accumulation of books and papers; most -of them were, she knew, in Hindostanee and Sanskrit. The sight did not -abash her. On the contrary it renewed her courage. - - 'Anthony, you know that line-- - - "I do not understand, I love,"' - -she said; 'now, in how many languages can you conjugate those verbs?' - -But he did not look up, and nervousness made her tones too buoyant. He -never saw the light in her eyes which would at last have answered the -question in his. - -'In nine languages and a dozen dialects,' he said lightly. - -She had failed to convey her meaning. Her lips closed. She shut her -eyes, feeling for a moment faint and tired. When she wished him -good-bye, he thought she looked at him strangely. But he did not guess -the truth or know that he had failed to take the tide 'at the flood.' In -a few days she ceased to wonder what was truth. - -Shortly afterwards, Tremenheere's sister, Theodosia Kerr, with whom -she corresponded regularly, perceiving listlessness in her letters and -an exasperating resignation in his, threw herself into the breach by -proposing that she should travel with her and her husband. Kerr was -delicate, and after a yachting cruise in the Mediterranean, was going -to winter in Jersey. The plan took Cynthia's fancy. She had never -travelled, discovered she had a great wish to do so, and was speedily -on her way to join their yacht in Southampton Water. Mrs. Kerr, in her -superior wisdom of married woman, meant to give her what she spoke of to -her husband as 'a good shaking-up,' and then have Tremenheere quietly -out to Jersey in autumn; the result was to be all that everybody could -wish! - -Three months later news reached Lafer Hall which struck consternation -into Mrs. Hennifer's soul, and sent her over to Old Lafer to see Mrs. -Severn at once. The consequence was that a few hours after Mrs. Severn -was again at the Mires. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - AT THE MIRES - - -A more God-forsaken-looking place than the Mires it would be impossible -to imagine. Even on this glorious day in late August it looked dreary -and forbidding. The cluster of stone cottages, half of them roofless, -with the inner white-washed walls showing through the jagged gaps where -windows and doors had been, straggled round a marsh whose pools of water -glistened like scales among tufts of rush and treacherous slimy moss. -The hollow was cup-like. There was no ling on its sides, they were -covered with a harsh dry bent, through which the breeze swished. In -one place this was disfigured by a mound of shaly refuse marking the -site of an old coal-pit. Its seams had been exhausted years ago, and -the miners now trudged a mile to a shaft on the edge of the firwoods -that divided the Hall and Old Lafer. At one end a stream oozed from the -rushes and wandered away with a forlorn look over a stratum of clay. The -chirping of a grasshopper made the silence more intense. The heat was -overpowering. - -When Anna left Borlase he drove back a little way, out of sight of the -cottages. Anna half ran, half slipped through the bent. Hartas Kendrew's -was the cottage from whose chimney the smoke curled. It stood a little -apart from the others, and was in good repair. Scilla had even tried to -make it cheerful by hanging checked curtains in the windows, and nursing -a few pots of geranium and hydrangea on the sills. It seemed to Anna -that they gasped for air, flattened as they were against the closed -panes. She thought of Old Lafer, cool and sweet, the doors and windows -wide open, and the velvety breeze wandering into every corner. Scilla's -life seemed now as much cramped as her flowers. From having been a bonny -blithe girl, singing about her work at Old Lafer, free from care and -responsibility, she was saddened by her husband's absence in prison, and -shackled with his father's drunken humours. - -Anna reached the edge of the marsh on the side opposite to Kendrew's. So -far no one was visible. Now, a figure appeared in the doorway. It was -Mrs. Severn. She came towards her, waving her hand as though bidding -her remain where she was. Anna did so, gazing at her. She saw in a -moment that she walked steadily, and thought she had never looked more -handsome. Her incongruity with her surroundings seemed to vanish in the -harmony of the silvery green background. She walked slowly, the long -black dress she always wore trailing after her, yet half-looped up over -one arm, akimbo on her hip. The cameo-like head was held with regal -dignity; her dark hair was braided in a knot that would have enchanted a -sculptor. The sun seemed to catch and outline every curve of her figure. -She was not so pale as usual, and the tinge of colour gave a deep but -passionless glow to her eyes, which seemed to light up her face to an -extraordinary degree. She fixed them on Anna with the silent mesmerism -that always drew speech from any one whom she expected to speak to her. -They expressed no emotion beyond an expectation that Anna felt to be -sharpened with defiance. Anna, with her fire of indignation kindling -every look and gesture, though held in control, was an absolute contrast. - -When she was only a few paces away, Anna hurried forward and took her -hands. No sooner had she done so than she felt the old love, the old -longing to kiss and forgive. She held her at arm's length in a scrutiny -from which she banished suspicion and reproach. - -'You'll come home with me, Clothilde,' she said. - -Mrs. Severn smiled and disengaged her hands. - -'Have you not brought me some clothes on the chance that I choose to -remain here?' she said. - -'That is the last thing I should have thought of doing, dearest.' - -'Why have you come, then? Dinah one way, you the other, just to make a -useless fuss.' - -'She did not know I could get here.' - -'How did you? Who brought you?' - -'Mr. Borlase. We drove.' - -'Prissy said so. Her sight is ridiculously good. I could only see the -twinkling of wheels in the sun. Is he gone? Will you go back with -Dinah?' - -'Oh Clothilde, don't talk so coldly. With you and Dinah?' - -Her voice was low, little more than a whisper, but she managed to make -it clear and confident. She always trusted to her instincts in dealing -with Mrs. Severn. Simple straightforward decision in the course resolved -on was of little use if allowed to be felt as decisive. Mrs. Severn's -opinion was generally reversed by the acquiescence of others, and her -egotism was so baffling that it was impossible to feel certain of -anything making the desired impression, unless advanced for the sake of -being contradicted. - -She did not answer now, but turned and looked across the marsh to the -cottage. The sun beat fiercely on her head. She raised one hand and -pressed it flat above her brow. But the shelter was insufficient. - -'You might lend me your parasol, Anna,' she said. - -'Of course, how stupid of me when I have my large hat. But I was not -thinking of parasols.' - -'Because you have one. It certainly is very hot here,' she said, resting -the parasol on her shoulder and twirling it to and fro. - -'Stifling.' - -'And on the ridge, where there's a breeze, the colour of the ling makes -my eyes ache. I've been sitting there reading. There was a book of yours -on the parlour table, one of Bret Harte's. I took it up and carried it -all the way. I did not know I was carrying it. Strange!' - -'I think you knew as little what else you were doing.' - -There was another pause. Anna suspected indecision, but neither Mrs. -Severn's face nor the poise of her figure betrayed any. She stood -restfully. Still she was certainly pondering deeply. - -'Not one of the windows opens,' she said suddenly. - -Anna could not help smiling. - -'Has Hartas sealed them up since you were here last?' - -'It was never weather like this. And Prissy will not let the fire go -out; she likes the kettle to be always boiling.' - -'I don't wonder when this is the only water to be got.' - -'That is not her reason, of course.' - -Another figure now emerged from the cottage. They both recognised Dinah. -She stood a moment, shading her eyes with her hand, looking at them. -Then she went on quickly, and struck off up the slope in the direction -in which Old Lafer lay. - -Mrs. Severn glanced keenly at Anna. - -'She is going home,' she said. 'Now you would drive again with Mr. -Borlase. I suppose he would take you round by the park, and the old -bridge, and East Lafer.' - -Anna flushed, but it was with anger. - -'That is not the question,' she said. 'But I shall not walk home unless -you go with me, Clothilde. If you go we will walk over the moor to the -wood. It will take less time, and if we can't get home before Dad does, -then we must feign to have had a walk for pleasure. The drive would rest -me, though. I am tired. You have alarmed me. And besides, I dare not -leave you here.' - -Mrs. Severn laughed, an angry flush rising into her face. - -'You are a goose--_dare_ not!' she said. 'And why not? You must let -me do as I like. You know I may please myself now about coming here, -but because it is so long since I came that you thought I never should -again, you are aggrieved because I have. I should not have come but that -Mrs. Hennifer called; I cannot endure her. She shall learn to keep away -from Old Lafer--no, she must come as usual, oftener if she likes--and -she talked about Miss Marlowe. Really Miss Marlowe's affairs don't -concern me--and there's a mistake, I'm certain. But if not, what----' - -Her voice had been growing hurried and faltering. She now broke off -abruptly, and at the same moment, swiftly transferring the parasol from -one shoulder to the other, interposed it between Anna and herself. It -struck Anna for the first time that she was not her usual self. Could it -be possible that she had been mistaken, that she had been drinking? The -dreadful fear died at birth, however. She felt convinced that she had -not. Something was wrong, though. Whatever else she was, she was never -incoherent in speech. What had Mrs. Hennifer and Miss Marlowe to do with -her except in the ordinary course of a call and small-talk?--but she was -speaking again. - -'Really, I don't think I can endure Prissy's flock mattress in this -heat, and I am certain this bog smells,' she said, again turning and -looking at Anna. - -'I am certain it does. Bogs always do under quick evaporation.' - -'You are very scientific, as dry as it will be if the heat lasts. Any -one coming into this malarious sort of air might soon have a fever.' - -Anna's face was momentarily settling into sternness. - -'You must sit in the house, Clothilde. Hartas will keep fever out by -smoking bad tobacco, drinking gin, and eating onions.' - -'I sit upstairs, Anna, and it has always been very cosy. But since I was -here they have taken off the thatch and actually slated the roof, and -slates attract the sun to a frightful degree.' - -'In fact Old Lafer is so much more comfortable that you will return to -it,' said Anna in a stifled voice. - -Mrs. Severn was not looking at her or she would have been warned of what -was impending. As it was she smiled indulgently. - -'Don't let us quarrel, Anna. You know I have only very limited means -at my disposal for doing as I like. I always think you should all be -thankful I come here instead of going to Wonston, which would cause so -much more scandal.' - -She put her hand on her arm as she spoke, half confidingly, half as a -help in walking, for she now turned to the cottage. - -But Anna shook it off as though she were stung, and started back, fixing -on her a look of repugnant mistrust. - -'Clothilde,' she exclaimed, 'I will never leave you here again. You are -mad to speak so lightly. I will tell you the truth. I know everything. -Scilla told Dinah that you drank when last you were here. If I left you -here to-day she would warn me. But I will not. You might do it again. -If every one here knew the truth it would reach Dad. If I can prevent -his knowing, I will. You may have felt that I should not leave you, and -have invented all these stupid excuses to make it appear that you are -pleasing yourself by going home with me. Clothilde, you shall come home -with me or every one shall know the truth. Even a shameful truth is -better known sometimes; it is salvation instead of damnation. Clothilde, -I did not know how I should find you to-day. If I had found you as it -would have been shameful to find you, I should have told Mr. Borlase -the whole truth, and he would have helped me--anything to save you from -yourself! But I will not leave you here. Now you know that I know all, -that----' - -'_All?_' said Mrs. Severn. She had listened, stunned, half-terrified. -Anna had never spoken to her with absolute just anger before. But she -had expected more--a further condemnation. Now her face cleared with a -relief that was unaccountable to Anna, and made her pause abruptly. - -'_All?_' she said again. - -'Yes,' said Anna passionately. 'How can you act in such a way, -Clothilde? Go and get your bonnet, and we'll start instantly. Go, -Clothilde.' - -Mrs. Severn shrugged her shoulders, but did as she was bidden. - -Anna rushed up the hill. Her passionate words were but a poor vent for -her surging resentment. She was choked. She longed to throw herself down -in the bent and cry out her grief and disdain. She had not imagined -anything so weak, so baffling. She could not wonder at Elias's scorn. -It struck her as possible that if Mr. Severn knew all he might some day -spurn her; revulsion of feeling might impel him to it. - -At the top of the hill she paused. The dog-cart was a dozen paces -farther on. Borlase had not heard her, and was looking the other way. -He sat with drooping rein, and one arm thrown over the back of the seat. -His face was in profile, but she could see its expression of deep, calm -thought. It impressed her with the possibility of controlling this white -heat of angry disgust. Only pride had enabled her to steady her voice -before Clothilde. Tears had forced themselves into her eyes, but Mrs. -Severn, being a cursory observer, had attributed the scintillation to -passion. This reaction was more full of shame than the disclosure in -Wonston streets had been. The new impression of Clothilde became the -mastering one; to a less earnest and honest nature it might have been -fleeting as a phantom. Could she hope ever to lose its bitterness? - -But as she looked at Borlase her temper cooled. - -His unconsciousness of her presence, though he was waiting for her, -added force to his curb on her own impetuosity of which she had been -conscious before now. - -But there was an interest beyond that of character in the abstraction of -his air. Of what was he thinking, of whom? The wonder of whom another -is thinking is the germ of the wish and the hope that the thought may -be of one's self. A twinge of jealous fear follows it. At this moment -she grasped the realisation of a kindness that had been at pains to show -solicitude, to be individual. His words and looks and hand pressure -poured in warm remembrance into her heart. He had helped her, he would -have helped her more. She knew of what joy they were on the verge. - -Yet she hesitated. She felt unnerved. Must she go on in spite of her -tear-washed eyes, which he would instantly perceive, or return unseen -and send Scilla with a message? True, she had promised to go herself. -She wanted to speak to him too, to thank him, to explain. But it seemed -all at once as though it would be much easier to send Scilla. Her very -shyness was surrender, but this she did not know. - -And while she hesitated, he suddenly turned and their eyes met. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - 'SIN THE TRAVELLER' - - -It was a flash of the most intensely delighted surprise that illumined -Borlase's face. Its reflection stole over hers and she smiled at him. -Full knowledge of the hidden truth of both hearts pierced each at once. - -Her smile decided him. He knew her well. He knew she had been taken -unawares, and might resent her involuntary self-betrayal to herself when -she realised it, as in another moment she might do. - -She had not moved. It seemed to him that she expected him to go to her. -His heart leapt as he perceived that here at last was what he wanted, -she was no longer unconscious. He saw a change even in the poise of her -figure, she was shy and uncertain. Yet there was a gleam in her eyes, -clear and steady, that defied her strange confusion. Seizing reins and -whip he was instantly alongside of her. He jumped down and took her -hands. - -'Anna,' he said, 'you know now what I have been waiting for, what I -am longing to ask for, what I want to make me a happy man. You know, -because at last you can give it me, cannot you, my darling?' - -He drew her nearer. - -'Give me the right to comfort you in every trouble,' he said. 'Let us -share all joys and sorrows. I have loved you so long. Will you be my -wife, Anna?' - -For a moment she turned away, feeling that she could scarcely bear him -to see her face. She was half ashamed of her happiness. She could not -speak. She felt as though there were a world of happiness in her eyes. -Then the thought came that it would make him happy to see it there. And -so she raised her eyes to his and he did see it. - -'And are you going back with me?' he said after a while. - -She shook her head in a way expressive to him of a delightful amount of -regret. - -'No. Clothilde is going, and we are going to walk by the moor and the -wood. We shall get home sooner.' - -'Then you have persuaded her. Who would you not persuade to be good and -do right? But may I not drive you both?' - -'Oh no, Clothilde never would, and what could we say to Dad in -explanation if he were home first? And I have not persuaded her, there -was no need for persuasion. You must not think too much of me, idealise -me or anything of that kind----' - -'And what is my name, Commandant?' Borlase broke in, laughing. - -'Your name? Geoffry, isn't it? Yes.' - -'Well, then, call me Geoff or your commands shall be null.' - -'That can wait till next time,' said Anna piquantly. - -'Very well, it shall. The anticipation will bring me all the sooner to -Old Lafer to see Mr. Severn. And I shall write to Mr. Piton. I shall be -delighted to assert my ownership at Rocozanne. I've always been jealous -of Ambrose.' - -She laughed, and murmured that she must be going. - -'Yes, I suppose you must,' he said. 'But tell me, are you going away -happier than you came? Yes? And not only because Mrs. Severn has been -amenable to reason? Have I at last a niche in your life, will it be -more than a niche soon? It is so, is it not? Anna, remember you are to -learn to be all mine. I shall be jealous of every one at Old Lafer, Mr. -Severn, your sister, the whole batch of children.' - -Her face showed him what music his eager tones were to her. - -She could not herself have been more impetuous. His frankness charmed -her. Well it might! It was the surest guerdon of lifelong happiness. -He knew she was of the same nature. To such there is no fear of one of -those tragedies of life which turns upon a misunderstanding. - -Anna quickly re-descended into the hollow. She hoped Mrs. Severn would -come out and not oblige her to go up to the cottage. She was anxious to -get away while the Mires was still depopulated by the cottagers being -out at their peat-stacks and bracken cutting. Besides which Hartas might -be at home. She dreaded his familiar garrulousness, and the violence of -his menacing hatred for the Admiral which he never lost an opportunity -of impressing upon every one. - -Mrs. Severn, however, did not come out, but Scilla did. She hurried -towards her looking more troubled and anxious than usual, Anna thought. -She was very bonny, and had a fresh colour and a quantity of fair hair -which her constant flittings into the open air without hat or hood kept -in a rough condition that suited her and showed off its colour. Sunbeams -seemed to be caught among it. Years ago sunbeams had been in her limpid -blue eyes too. But now they were sad, a haunting sorrow and a furtive -fear brooded there. Not only was Kit in prison and her baby beneath a -little mound in the churchyard, but there were times when she scarcely -dared stay in the house with Hartas. Anna had often urged her to leave -him and come back to Old Lafer. But she would not. She had promised Kit -that she would not. If she broke a promise to him she would lose her -hope of keeping him to better ways when his term was up and he was home -again. - -'Well, Scilla,' said Anna, 'when are you coming to see the children -again?' - -'Bless them,' said Scilla, her eyes filling; 'and another baby too. But -oh, Miss Anna, I want a word with you. Come along, though. Don't let us -stand or she'll maybe guess what I'm telling you. Father told me I never -had to tell you, no, not if she did it again and again. He hates every -one since poor Kit's punishment, and he'd help ruin any one that had -aught to do with the Admiral. But I made up my own mind I'd tell if Mrs. -Severn ever came here again and asked for---- She's going away with you -but that doesn't matter, she's been and she may come again. Miss Anna, -the last time she was here she got to a bottle of father's----' - -Her voice sank. Her eyes fixed themselves on Anna's, mutely imploring -her to understand and yet not to be overwhelmed. Yes, she did -understand. There was an anguished shame in her whole face. - -They were walking slowly on. Just before reaching the cottage Anna said -in a low voice-- - -'I did not know Hartas knew, Scilla. Dinah told me, she thought it right -to do so, and it was right. Have you ever told any one?' - -'Never, Miss Anna; not even Kit. Dearest Miss Anna, she's asked for -some to-day. I made pretence we'd none by us. She'd soon have sent for -some. And that's what's been my fear, that she should get hold of Jimmy -Chapman or one of the little ones and send them. Then all t' Mires would -have known and a deal o' folk beside.' - -'Do you think Hartas has told any one?' - -'I don't think so,' she said; adding reluctantly, 'I sometimes fancy if -he hasn't, he's biding his time, he's none one to let bad things drop.' - -To Anna's relief and yet almost to her terror she found that Hartas was -out. Hartas Kendrew, primed with this knowledge, had already become a -power, a factor in her life; she would constantly be wondering and -fearing what, involuntarily in his drunken fits or of malice prepense, -he might disclose. - -Scilla's little kitchen was empty of life, but for a kitten curled up -on the langsettle, fast asleep. The flagged floor was bordered with a -design in pipeclay, which Scilla renewed once a week. Some samplers hung -in frames upon the walls between groups of memorial cards of various -sizes. On the high mantel was a row of five copper kettles, all polished -into a glint of gold, and above them two guns on crockets. A line of -freshly-ironed clothes hung across the ceiling; some worsted stockings -were drying off over the oven-door; the ironing blanket lay still -unfolded on the table but had one corner turned over to make room for -some cups and saucers and a rhubarb pasty. Scilla had made tea but no -one would have any. - -When Mrs. Severn heard their voices she came downstairs in her bonnet, -a flimsy elegant affair of black lace which Anna had wondered at -her having taken off. She said good-bye to Scilla with her ordinary -indifference. But Anna lingered behind and kissed her with a passionate -hand-grasp that assured her of her gratitude and confidence. Scilla -looked at her searchingly. She had long cherished a hope for Anna. She -was longing that it should be fulfilled. And had not Mr. Borlase brought -her here to-day, and could he possibly have seen her in this old trouble -and not wished to be her comforter? Surely she would never repulse him. -He was good, of that Scilla was certain. She had thought as she walked -along the edge of the marsh and met her that she had an air of quiet -and happy preoccupation. She wanted to satisfy herself that it was so. -Surely her love and respect warranted her. - -'Why do you look at me, Scilla?' said Anna, as they were parting. - -Scilla's pent-up solicitude rushed forth. - -'Oh Miss Anna, I love you so,' she said in a hurried whisper, 'I -want you to be happy. Are you? It's a queer question after what I've -just told you, but there are others in the world besides her,' with -a nod towards the door, 'while one brings trouble, another brings -lightsomeness. And you are so good, always the same; you don't put a -body in your pocket one day and turn a cold shoulder the next. You were -always so helpful to me at Old Lafer. If you'd been there that dree -winter I was ill, I know Kit would never have taken to bad ways, for -you'd have tided us over, and he'd none have been tempted. Trust me a -bit further, Miss Anna dear.' - -She had never taken her eyes off her face, and seeing the colour that -spread from neck to brow as she looked, she ventured to the verge and -now stood breathless. - -'How have you guessed?' said Anna. - -'Then it's true?' cried Scilla rapturously, tightening her hold of her -hands. 'I've prayed for it. I thought he'd never be so daft as to pass -you by, a jewel that you are! And you're light at heart, eh? So was I -when Kit came about Old Lafer, but you'll none have the finish I've had. -God bless you.' - -'This isn't the finish for you, Scilla,' said Anna. 'You'll have a happy -time yet.' - -Scilla smiled an April smile. Then suddenly she laughed. 'Miss Anna,' -she said, 'what'll Mrs. Severn say to it? She'll none want to lose you -from Old Lafer. She was in a fine taking on an hour ago, when I told -her 'twere you and Mr. Borlase. But never mind what she says. Insulting -words may come nigh you, but don't you make a trouble of them; they'll -only speak badly for her as uses them. Every one knows what _you_ are in -your inwardest nature.' - -Mrs. Severn had walked on and was now standing on the ridge, silhouetted -against the sky. Anna soon overtook her, and they went on quickly, -shortening the way by striking into the ling. Her anger had melted. The -old tenderness was in her heart; for some bitter moments it had seemed -indeed that the new shame must quench it. Nor was it her new-found -happiness that inspired it. Her anger must have humiliated Clothilde, -and she could not bear to think she was humiliated. - -During the heavy walking through the ling she did all she could to be -kind. The beautiful face, growing weary and haggard with a rare anxiety -which she attributed to the wish to be home before her husband, touched -her deeply. She helped her on, holding up her dress, throwing the shade -of the parasol wholly over her, and hoping each moment that she might -strike some chord that would unseal her heart and give some clue to its -enigmatical life. - -But Mrs. Severn remained silent, walking with her eyes down, but -carefully picking her way among the tufts of ling. Anna in her white -dress and sun hat got along easily, but Mrs. Severn's progress was -laboured. She looked extraordinary, a figure more fit for a stage than -the moor, her black draperies at once handsome and negligent, her arms -bare from the elbows, the lace strings of her bonnet arranged about her -throat with a mantilla-like effect, which set off the fine contour of -her face. Always conscious of herself, she was now. - -'I wonder, if any one met us, what we should be taken for?' she said, as -they stood resting a moment by leaning against the wall of the coal-pit -shanty. 'I think I might be taken for an actress gone astray.' - -Anna thought this so much nearer the truth than was intended that she -said nothing. - -'And you for my maid.' - -'Probably,' said Anna, and walked on again. She felt too worn by the -varying strong emotions she had gone through to dissent from any -suggestion. It seemed hopeless to think of reaching Clothilde's inner -self, but she could not help speculating over it. Life's opening out -for herself during the last few hours had quickened her perceptions. A -new experience of the influence each can exert on the lives round it, -bringing a rush of undreamt-of possibilities that invested the vista -of the future with a halo of definite and sacred responsibilities, had -stirred her to a wider grasp of the issues involved in action, as well -as to a keener questioning of their mainspring. She had known for years -that Clothilde did not love her husband; but considered that she had no -capacity either for love or hate, treating her emotions as diffused and -colourless, and herself none the more unhappy for her indifference. - -But now she wondered why she did not love him. She had been surprised by -the vehemence of the tone in which she had said, 'I cannot bear Mrs. -Hennifer.' It was not merely the irrational petulance of a childish -mind resenting disapproval. Why did she not like her? Had she never -cared for her husband? If so, if she had force of character to strongly -dislike the one and shrink so sensitively from the other, that his home -sometimes became unbearable, and all her married and social obligations -were sacrificed to the one dominating desire to get away from them, -there must be a reverse to the picture, comparison must play its natural -part in her mind, dislike of one be accented by appreciation of another, -and shrinking from one by attraction to another. Had she ever loved -any one as a woman can and does love? A few short minutes of vivid -personal experience had proved to her how one life bears upon another, -weaving a web of influence and circumstance which is completed or left -incomplete by the frailty of a single thread. Was there a broken thread -in Clothilde's life? Might this discord have been a harmony? - -The silence was not again broken before they reached home. The sun was -setting as they emerged from the larch woods on to the wooden bridge -that crossed the beck below the meadows. Old Lafer was above them on -the hillside, its drifts of smoke wreathing against the sky. As they -climbed the fields, the moors gradually came into sight, the last rays -from the sun striking in a golden haze athwart the dense blue shadows -that moulded them. The old house looked dark and gray. Anna scanned -every window as she balanced herself on the stile. That of the parlour -was wide open. She saw that Mr. Severn was neither in his arm-chair nor -in the one before the secretaire at which he wrote the correspondence -that he did not get through at the office. The tea-table, too, was too -orderly for any one to have already had tea there. She went on into the -house. His hat was not on its peg on the stand. Dinah heard her step as -she worked with the kitchen door open in readiness, and, sallying forth, -shook her head. - -'He's none come. Hev you brought her?' she said in a loud but cautious -whisper; and peering beyond her as she spoke, she caught sight of Mrs. -Severn just crossing the flags. - -'T' Almighty be thanked!' she ejaculated. 'And eh, Miss Anna, I've -put out some honey for tea. That'll keep t' baärns so busy, what wi' -smashing it, and smearing their bread, and messing theirsels, that -they'll hev no time for much talk. Now go your ways upstairs and get a -souse to freshen yoursel for tea. My word, _she_ looks like death! And -there are some girdle-cakes, my dearie. Them's what you favour, and -Master too for t' matter of that, only he mayn't be in time.' - -Half an hour later they were sitting round the tea-table. Mr. Severn -had not come yet, and the children's chatter was varied, as usual, by -pauses in which they all steadied themselves to listen for his horse's -hoofs, or the clash of the gate, or his voice calling Elias. - -But they missed the sounds of his arrival to-day. He surprised them by -quietly opening the door and standing just within while taking off his -gloves. His eyes travelled from one to another, and rested longest on -his wife. She was leaning back playing with the spoon in her saucer and -scarcely glanced at him. Nevertheless he came round and kissed her. - -'I've news,' he said, passing on to his seat. 'Here's a bit of -excitement for you at last, Clothilde. We're to have a wedding. Now, -who's the bride-elect?' - -'Miss Marlowe, Cynthia,' said Anna. - -'Miss Marlowe it is, but Tremenheere's none the man. Mrs. Kerr's been a -bad manager, not known how to marshal her forces, taken too much time -about it.' - -'Not Canon Tremenheere after all! And you've lunched there; did he know? -Who is it? Who told you?' - -'The Admiral told me. I wish it had been the Canon, I do. I always -thought she'd come round. And she went off so simply, was the only one -who didn't suspect Mrs. Kerr's plan. I was sure she'd fall in with it -quite naturally. But it's a failure. She's engaged herself without any -leave-asking to a man she's met on their travels; Danby they call him, -Lucius Danby. He's an Anglo-Indian.' - -He was stirring his tea, Anna was replenishing the teapot. No one -noticed that Mrs. Severn's head had fallen back, and that she was -slipping off her chair. - -For the first time in her life she had fainted. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - LETTERS - - -Cynthia was now on her way home. Her plans for remaining in Jersey until -Christmas fell through. In one letter she mentioned that she had got a -nice room in Bree's Hotel, and felt quite settled for three months. In -the next, a few days later, she announced her engagement to a man whom -she had not before named, and of whom the Admiral and Mrs. Marlowe had -never heard. She and her maid were returning at once to Lafer Hall, and -Mr. Danby would travel to town with them, and see them off from thence -by the North Express. - -This was indeed carrying matters with a high hand. The Admiral was -dumbfounded. He stormed down to Canon Tremenheere, forgetful, in his -anxiety to know if he had had details from Mrs. Kerr, of the trouble -he might be in. He vowed Cynthy was a 'matter-of-fact puss.' If he had -ever thought she would take him literally, he would not have assured her -choice was in her own hands. So there was no letter from Theodosia Kerr? -Was she not responsible for Cynthy? Whatever were they all thinking of? -Truly it was a mad world, time for him to be in his grave, he couldn't -stand such whirligigs, Cynthy might be a teetotum and expect to set them -all spinning with her. - -'Look here, Anthony,' he said, buzzing round Tremenheere's library like -a fly, while Anthony sat with his hands clasped behind his head, and an -air of endurance, 'I always thought you'd be the man. I always thought -she'd come round. She knows your worth, and you're such a fine fellow -compared, for instance, to a little naval tub like myself. But I'll tell -you what it is. The very devil gets into these women, good souls though -they are, bless 'em, and they either don't know what they want, or won't -take the trouble of making up their minds. And to think that after all -these years her fancy should be caught like this, all in a jiffy. She's -held herself too cheap; it's Cynthy all over, just what she does, thinks -nothing of herself. If a beggar smiles upon her she gets a spasm of -happiness, and thinks all the world's full of happiness.' - -'But how do we know it's been a hasty thing?' said Tremenheere. - -'Has Theodosia ever named the fellow?' - -'Never. But she doesn't write voluminously.' - -'Then of course it has. Just write to Theodosia now, will you? It was -her bounden duty to have sent her off home the moment she suspected his -pretensions. I'll confess it's a good name is Danby, but bless me! one -sees Campbell over a shop door, and Spencer on a costermonger's cart! -And an Anglo-Indian too! Don't know anything about them and care less. -And then to think she might have had you, letting alone Ushire's son, -who'd have made her a countess some day. Really, Anthony, it's fit to -turn one's blood; it'll upset my liver, I know. He may be a scamp, a -fortune-hunter, a merry-andrew, a married man,' said the Admiral, his -imagination running rampant, and his voice taking a higher key as each -new possibility occurred to him. He was woe-begone and desperate. 'I -can't digest it, Anthony,' he said, settling in one of the windows, and -looking limp and hopelessly perplexed; 'I can't digest it. It's not like -Cynthy. It's a loss of dignity. And she, with all her charm and her -choice, and _you_ at her beck. It's inconceivable; I can't believe it.' - -'She will be home before I can hear from Theo,' said Tremenheere. He was -too conscious of his own lack of spirit to marvel at the Admiral's. 'I -can't understand her not having written, though. There must have been -some mistake over the mails. She ought to have written to you, or rather -perhaps Kerr should. But he's such an easy-going fellow, is St. John. -However, if I were you, Admiral, I would not distress myself. I don't -think Cynthia's judgment will have failed her. We must hope for the -best.' - -'Hope for the best! That often means getting the worst. The best won't -come for our sitting with folded hands, thinking about it. No, no, -Anthony, and I'll have none of your confounded aphorisms--"Whatever -is, is best," and all that fraternity of philosophy. They're a mental -creeping paralysis, that's what they are. I mean to act, to act, -Anthony!' - -He stamped his foot as he spoke, and screwing his eye-glass into his -eye, glared at Tremenheere as though wishing for contradiction for the -sake of defying it. - -'I would,' said Tremenheere, 'certainly I would, if I were you, Admiral. -There will be many considerations in the case of your granddaughter. -But wait until she gets home and then be calm, do be calm. Don't alarm -her. I don't think it's occurred to her how you will have taken it, how -you'll feel it. Letters would only complicate matters by crossing or -miscarrying or not reaching. She will soon be home.' - -The Admiral was walking up and down the room again. He was listening, -but with no intention of heeding until the tone in which these last -words were uttered struck on his ears. It was a tone utterly unlike the -petulance of his own, that of a man baulked in his dearest desire who -foresees nothing but pangs in a proximity where hope had long hovered, -but whence it had for ever taken flight. - -'Anthony,' said the Admiral, reaching him rapidly and putting his hand -on his arm, 'I'm a confounded selfish old brute. Here am I screwing into -your nerves to save my own. I'm going. Come down with me. The air in -your garden'll do you good. But just write to Theodosia, will you?' - -Tremenheere nodded as he got up. - -He did not want to thwart the Admiral, but it was not for him to probe -the matter. He scarcely knew whether he wished Theo had written or -was thankful she had not. He was stunned by the news. The Admiral had -discharged it at him like a ball from a cannon's mouth; and the more he -thought of it, the more intolerable became the burning tension at his -heart. He wanted to be alone. He felt unmanned. He had had hard work to -reconcile himself to the idea of Cynthia travelling, even though he had -faith in Theo's good offices and a vague impression that she meant to -accomplish something in his favour. But when she was at Lafer he knew -he had her near and safe, that she belonged to no one else and was out -of range of new admirers. In his own mind he attributed Theodosia's -flagrant carelessness to the loss their sister Julia had sustained. -Julia Tremenheere, married at seventeen, became a widow fifteen months -later, and two years subsequently she married again. Her second husband -was also now dead. News of this loss would reach the Kerrs at Athens. -He could imagine that Julia's sorrow would deeply affect Theodosia, and -that she then overlooked what was happening in her own travelling party. -But in the Admiral's present mood he had been careful to keep this in -the background; to endure such rough-shod treatment of his sister's -grief as well as his own was more than he could do. - -Throughout the cruise Theodosia had written to him constantly, keeping -him up in all their movements, and inferring her care of his interests. -These letters he had answered regularly. Sometimes he enclosed a note -for Cynthia. He had done this only the previous day. A verandah ran -the length of his house, and was festooned with virginia-creeper whose -crimson tints were now resplendent in the glowing autumn sunshine. It -was a favourite plant of hers. The last time she called before going -away he asked if she would be back in time to see its splendour. -Unconscious of Mrs. Kerr's plans, she had said yes, and when he heard -she was not coming until Christmas he wrote to upbraid her, hoping that -his words might draw from her consent to his soon going out to Jersey, -since Mrs. Kerr would now soon propose it. - -'My dear Cynthia,' he wrote, 'my garden is in its glory. The verandah is -in gala attire. I am convinced that the tendril that touched your cheek -as the wind swayed it--do you remember--heard your promise, and thinks -long of you as I do too, for the whole plant is early crimsoned this -year. You know what an exquisite foreground it then forms for the fine -mass of the Minster behind it. Are you not coming to be our last rose -of summer? Better that, dear Cynthia, than a Christmas rose; that's too -cold and pale for my fancy. Don't be our Christmas rose, if I am not to -see you before that time--or I shall be chilled by presentiments. Come -home and leave Kerr and Theo to coddle each other. Everybody wants you -here, as you know.--Faithfully yours, Anthony Tremenheere.' - -After the Admiral mounted his horse and rode off he sauntered round to -the verandah. He knew the tendril that touched her cheek in spring. He -stood and thought of her, picturing her as she then stood by his side. -Would she ever visit him again as Cynthia Marlowe, and find occasion -for one of their quiet talks? - -He thought of his note, she would have started before it reached Theo; -surely she would not forward it to her. He felt now with tingling -blood that it was lover-like, and they were severed when he wrote -it. For one fierce moment he rebelled against the cruelty of that -ignorance enfolding our human actions at which it is easy to think that -devils must laugh. Bitterness welled in his heart; what is emotion -but a pitfall? Then he pulled himself together again. This thing, -inconceivable but true, had hung over him for years. Now, the blow -had fallen. What he had thought was hope was after all only suspense. -Apparently he would not even have to readjust his life. He had prayed -for her welfare. If she had chosen well, that prayer would be answered. -Friendship should not be sacrificed; her husband, her children, should -add to his interests. His life-work was on his library table, but it -should not conform him into a Dryasdust. He made up his mind to love her -still by casting out self. - -The next day he heard from Mrs. Kerr. An examination of the post-marks -told him that it had been intended he should hear at the same time as -the Admiral. - -'My dearest Tony,' she wrote, 'I have bad news for you, and I wish -with all my heart I had never undertaken Cynthia. I knew she would be -attractive, but I didn't think it would be to any purpose on her own -score. I had a preconceived idea that our trip would prove to her there -was no one like you in the world. And now, my dear old fellow, she has -electrified us by announcing her engagement to a man whom we had not -recognised as a suitor. We met him first at Ajaccio, then he turned up -in Zante, and finally we found him at St. Helier's. Still I suspected -nothing. St. John, who was with her when he ran up against them here, -did. You know how the colour flies, positively _flies_ into her cheeks; -well, that's how it did, St. John says, when she saw him. He told me, -but I pooh-poohed it. She's been so long proof, and there was you. -However, everything and everybody but Mr. Danby are forgotten now; -St. John says it's a downright case of evangelisation--all her idols -are cast to the moles and bats. He teases her dreadfully; she's been -wearing her hair with fillets and he says he knows now why, because Mr. -Danby was so fond of fillets of kid at Ajaccio. This of course is all -nonsense. But what will the Admiral say? I have expostulated with her; -I told her she never ought to have been engaged here but have let him -come to Lafer. You know what a laugh she has when she's happy; well, she -just laughed--"Theo," she said, "your worldly wisdom guards the gardens -of the Hesperides." "Gardens of the fiddle-sticks!" said I. But all is -useless. She is packing now, and will be home almost before you get -this. St. John says I ought to write to Mrs. Marlowe, but that means -the Admiral, and I don't know what I can say, except that it really is -no more my fault than that I asked her to come with us. Oh, Tony, my -dearest boy, I wish I could see you! But don't make a trouble of it, and -do let me know what you think of Mr. Danby.--Yours ever, Theodosia Kerr.' - -Tremenheere sat for a long time with this before him. He knew Theo's -style of writing, but had excused her when there really was nothing to -say--he had not expected the letters of a Disraeli except for egotism. -But when there was something to say he had expected she would be able to -say it. And here was tragedy made into comedy, a drama slurred out of -all proportion. He had wanted to know what she thought of Danby, what -Kerr thought of him. And here was judgment thrown on to his shoulders. - -'Good God!' he thought, 'how am I to get to know him? That is just what -I cannot do until she has married him.' - -He tormented himself over that demand for his opinion. What did it mean? -Were they dissatisfied? Was Kerr mistrustful? had even Theo misgivings? -If they had liked him with genuine hearty British liking, would they not -have said so? Was this vagueness intentional--'We don't like him, do -you?' He knew that flying of the colour into Cynthia's cheeks; he could -hear that joyous laugh of hers. He sat on now, thinking of them. She -must be happy. Would she be if she had a doubt of this man? She could -not be wholly blinded, he must be sterling if she were so happy. - -Then he was seized by a great longing to see her at once, as soon as -she arrived, that he might judge for himself. His restlessness was -intolerable. He must walk it off. He would go up to Lafer and hear if -they had had a telegram. Had she reached London? When were they coming -on? By what train were they to arrive? - -He saw Mrs. Hennifer. The Admiral was out with one of the woodmen; Mrs. -Marlowe was not down; she had been so unnerved by the news that she had -not been beyond her dressing-room since. They had heard that Cynthia was -to arrive that night. He walked to the window and stood a long while -silent. Mrs. Hennifer remained in the middle of the room, also standing. -An air of unusual indecision was on her face. She did not know how much -she dared say of all that was in her mind. - -Tremenheere turned at last and looked at her. - -'I very much wish to see Cynthia,' he said. - -'You must come up to-morrow, or we will drive down.' - -'No, neither. I want to see her to-night. Tell the Admiral I'll meet -her and put her into the carriage.' - -'That will do very well. Mrs. Marlowe can't spare me, and the Admiral is -too peremptory in the matter to talk coherently in the carriage.' - -'Naturally. I hope he will be gentle with her--you will be at hand, -won't you? Some one must meet her too, it would otherwise be so -cheerless. Thanks.' - -He took up his hat and stick, his eyes meanwhile slowly travelling round -the room. It was the morning-room, and opening from the drawing-rooms -had often been used in their place as being more cosy after dinner in -winter. A little bamboo table with a low chair beside it was hers. How -often they had played chess together there, or talked, Cynthia with -bright silken work in her hands. It was pain to Mrs. Hennifer to see the -sadness of his face. He came up and put his hand out. She took it within -both her own and looked at him earnestly, her thin angular figure -relaxing sufficiently to lean slightly towards him. - -'Canon, it may never be a marriage,' she said. - -'Never a marriage!' he repeated. 'Dear Mrs. Hennifer, that would, I -fear, be a grief to her.' - -'She must have been a little hasty.' - -'But haste does not always entail mistake.' - -'She may discover that she has not known sufficient about him. He is -some years older than she. She may eventually see herself that it is not -desirable.' - -'True. It is possible.' - -'But improbable, you think. It would entail unpleasantness. Still, the -breaking off might be a mutual arrangement; it might.' - -He was silent again, struggling with the desperate hope that sprang -up anew at the suggestion. It took him unawares. He had determined -that Cynthia's manner that night should decide the future irrevocably -for him. He would fight free of suspense, and suffer no paralysis of -indecision. At last he smiled slightly, that smile of a radiance so -rarely, softly bright that it fell like a benediction wherever it was -bestowed. - -'You want to soften things for me,' he said. 'In your goodness of heart, -and because you knew her and me as children, and the love that I have -had for her since, you do not wish that I should have to bear what is -hard. I do find it hard, but I would rather it were a thousand times -harder than that sorrow stepped into her path. I love her yet, and shall -eternally, but it is and will be with "self-reverence, self-knowledge, -self-control." Let us pray God that there is no mistake, and if she -marry Danby it may be a happy marriage.' - -Mrs. Hennifer could say no more. It was not expedient that any one but -Mrs. Severn and herself should know that Lucius Danby was known to them -until Cynthia herself knew. It was not likely that this knowledge was -already hers. Mrs. Hennifer felt that if Mrs. Severn were trustworthy it -was possible that this good wish of Tremenheere's would be fulfilled. -She could scarcely yet reconcile herself to the idea of the match, since -her conception of Cynthia's dignity was fastidious. She was convinced, -too, that if the Admiral knew that his granddaughter's engagement was -to a man who had been engaged to his agent's wife and jilted by her, -Danby's proposal would be met with unceremonious and outraged denial. - - - - - CHAPTER X - - OPINIONS AT LAFER HALL - - -Tremenheere was early at the station that night. The evenings were -now short and the lamps were lit. He walked up and down the platform -waiting, his gaze passing from the line whose distant curve was lost -in the gloom, to the starlit sky that roofed it. He was a tall thin -man, with a slight stoop from the shoulders. Out of doors he wore an -Inverness cloak. His complexion was swarthy, his fine cut features were -full of sensitive feeling. His head was scholarly, and he wore his -slightly curly black hair rather long; his eyes were piercing, the rare -smile was an illumination to his whole face. Every one on the platform -knew him and his errand; and Wonston already knew also that Miss Marlowe -was not going to marry him. The footman from the Hall, lounging in the -booking-office, the coachman on his box, each had his knot of gossipers, -eager to gather every morsel of the great news that had stirred Wonston -to its depths. - -And now the train was signalled. He heard the click of the semaphore as -it dropped. A few moments more and a cloud of rosy smoke trailed above -a dark speck on the line. The bell rang, there was a sudden bustle and -wheeling about of trollies, and the train glided in. As it passed him, -he saw Cynthia. The light in the carriage shone full upon her face and -she was smiling. But she did not see him. He walked alongside of her -and opened the door. In spite of endeavour and resolution, his face was -aglow with feeling. - -'Well, Cynthia!' he said. - -Her glance lit upon him with surprise but without embarrassment. She -looked delighted to see an old friend, nothing more. His heart sank. He -knew then that in spite of himself he had still hoped. He believed all -now. Her flying colour, her happy laugh, were not for him. - -'You here, Anthony; how kind of you. All quite well at home, I hope?' - -He gave her his hand and she jumped down. He hurried her outside. It -seemed to him suddenly that he must be looking strange, unlike himself; -at any rate every one was pressing forward to look at her. He put her -into the carriage. She begged him to come too, they would go round by -the Minster. But he preferred to walk. He stood silently with his arm -on the door, listening to her account of the Kerrs, until the maid and -luggage appeared. Then he leant forward and grasped her hand. He did not -speak, he only looked at her--'No word, no gesture of reproach!' And -Cynthia, throwing herself back in the corner of the carriage, suddenly -trembled into tears. They flowed for 'the days that were no more,' for -the faithfulness that had not won love, for Anthony left alone. Many a -path of joy is dewy with such tears; they make it exhale incense. - -A little later the Admiral was standing on the hearth-rug in the -drawing-room at Lafer, fidgeting alternately with his watch and his -white stock. He had dressed more quickly than usual, and instead of -lingering in Mrs. Marlowe's room until the gong sounded, had come down -in hopes of Cynthia being late after her journey. He wanted a few words -with Mrs. Hennifer, who had preserved her calmness during the meeting, -while he had been excited and Mrs. Marlowe emotional. Indeed Mrs. -Marlowe was going to dine upstairs, but she had charged the Admiral to -have private speech with Mrs. Hennifer, and hear what she thought of -Cynthy. - -The moment she came in he turned to her eagerly. He had fixed his -eye-glass, and his face was puckered into the petulant expression -consequent upon all its lines converging towards the vacant one. His own -scrutiny thus always baffled that of others. - -But in this instance Mrs. Hennifer knew scrutiny was superfluous. She -had come to a clear conclusion, and felt the Admiral would have to bend -to the same. The time they had spent together over the tea-table before -Cynthia went to dress had convinced her that the new influence in her -life was an absorbing one. Surely it could not be a bad one. She would -not believe that disaster was before gay and guileless Cynthia Marlowe. -Therefore it was certain that unless any inconceivably serious obstacle -stood in the way, they must all bend to her wishes. She was determined -to be sanguine that all was well. - -She smiled as she crossed the room and sat down opposite the Admiral. -The uprightness of her spare figure, on whose shoulders the fringed -Oriental silk shawl she always wore seemed to sit with odd easiness, -exercised its usual controlling effect upon his fidgetiness. He dropped -his eye-glass and allowed a twinkle to eclipse anxiety. - -'And now for the benefit of your opinion, my good Mrs. Hennifer.' - -'She looks very well and very happy, Admiral.' - -'She does, uncommonly, preposterously so.' - -'She is scarcely our Cynthia now, I fear. She is what she was at -seventeen, with a look in her eyes, a general indefinable air, that -proves there is more of her elsewhere. I may say as much to you.' - -'Good,' said the Admiral. 'My own impression precisely. Still we -must not be carried away by the sentiment of the thing. We must be -practical. He may be a pirate, you know. We must have his credentials, -know who and what he is. And I shall not allow him to write me yet. -We'll try whether Cynthy will cool down; nothing like tactics--sh! here -she is!' - -They both turned. Cynthia had just opened the door. - -She looked radiantly lovely. The vestiges of the years intervening -between childhood and womanhood that had chiefly been seamed by -struggles to attain emotions such as came readily to other girls, and -which she felt should, by duty, if not inclination, come to her, had -vanished. Mrs. Hennifer, who alone knew what those struggles had been, -and had marvelled at the simple and innocent earnestness with which she -had striven to be like other girls, and to accept love and marriage -as a matter of course, was alone able to realise the change in her. -Before Cynthia went abroad it had become her opinion that she would -not marry. She was convinced that she was more under the influence of -Anthony Tremenheere than she knew, and also that he had now no hopes of -winning her. She had looked jaded and perplexed sometimes, as though -she understood neither others nor herself, but her general expression -had been one of calm, amounting almost to exaltation. Without assuming -any habits of unusual goodness, her air, manner, and actions had -expressed a spirituality which was subtly diffusive, and seemed to -rarify the moral atmosphere round her. Had she been a Roman Catholic, -Mrs. Hennifer thought she would have found her vocation in a convent; -but for her love of home and passionate attachment to old associations -and familiar faces, and her strong sense of hereditary obligations as -heiress and landowner, she might have become the brightest and blithest -member of a Sisterhood. The groove of routine, the method of loving -ministry uncharged by the responsibility of personal fervour, these -seemed best adapted to her. Mrs. Hennifer ceased to imagine that any -enthusiasm of feeling was in store for her. She would bless Lafer with -her presence all her life, succeeding to the estates and dispensing -hospitality and bounty to rich and poor; she would be happy in her -loneliness, and in a certain dreaminess that would underlie all her -practical energy and clear judgment; she would never feel the need of -guidance and reliance on a stronger personality than her own; she would -never long for a child, though loving all those with whom she came in -contact; she would pass into ripe age and die. Much the same as this -would be Anthony Tremenheere's lot; the two lives that might have been -one, running apart, in parallel lines, held so by the forces of decorum -and conventionality which Cynthia had forged, and then had vaguely and -distrustfully chafed against as part of the perplexity of a life which -was surely meant to be lucent to its depths. - -And here she was a new creature, illumined by the stir of ardent -emotions, yet shy in her sense of self-surrender and her hope of perfect -joys. - -She was wearing a dress of glistening tussore silk, and had delicate -safrano roses at her throat and in her waist-band. Her golden hair, -rolled back from her brow, was gathered in a loose knot low in her neck. -Her face sparkled with animation, her large hazel eyes had lost none -of their transparent sincerity. She had a habit of allowing her glance -to travel round a room before it fell on the persons occupying it; -thus recognition was with her illumination. As she came forward with a -buoyant step the old-fashioned harmony of the room enhanced her charm. -The white velvet carpet, the faded delicacy of century-old brocade, the -soft wax-lights reflected on ormolu and crystal, at once softened and -heightened her loveliness. - -And now she looked from the Admiral to Mrs. Hennifer with a smile of -artlessly perfect confidence. When she reached them she clasped her -hands over his arm as he leant against the mantelpiece and kissed him. - -'If I did not know conspirators were not necessarily traitors, I should -be afraid of this _tête-à-tête_,' she said. - -He took hold of her hands and held her from him at arm's length, gazing -at her long and tenderly. - -'And so, Cynthy, you mean to have him in spite of us all?' - -'Why in spite of you all? You are not going to be prejudiced against -some one you do not know. Wait till you know him, grandpapa.' - -'But how am I to know him?' - -'You will ask him here, of course--at least surely you will?' she said, -a look of alarm dawning in her eyes. - -'But how can I ask him, as what?' - -She blushed rosily. - -'He will be writing to you. You want to know him, don't you--you and -grandmamma, and you too?' she added, turning to Mrs. Hennifer. - -'Cynthy, you are an innocent, a simpleton,' said the Admiral. 'Don't -you see what a hocus-pocus you have made? I will ask no man here on -the understanding that he may make love to you; no, by George! You -haven't thought sufficient of yourself, you never did, and you never -will. You have let this Danby make up to you as though you were an -ordinary nobody, you've waived all ceremony. I may be old-fashioned in -my notions, but he should have asked me before you, and to do that he'd -have had to come to Lafer without an invitation, and that's what he'll -have to do now. I'll make no promises until he acts like a man, and -then I'll take time to consider if he's a gentleman; yes, by George!' - -As he spoke she flushed scarlet, half in shame, half fear; but now her -face cleared in an instant, and she laughed, clasping her hands, then -flinging them apart, as she had a habit of doing when excited. - -'Darling grandpapa,' she said, 'don't you know the north wind always -gives me the shivers, it blusters so?' - -He pulled one of her little ears. - -'Minx, disarming puss, syren!' he said. - -The gong had sounded. He gave Mrs. Hennifer his arm, and Cynthia went -before them, glancing back over her shoulder as she talked, and giving -them glimpses of the eyes whose brightness was again shadowed by that -indefinable haze of happy abstraction which had startled them all the -moment they saw her. It was so new, so significant, that it told more -than she was likely to do by words. - -Mrs. Hennifer, on her own part, hoped for enlightening confidences. -Cynthia, however, said nothing. The Admiral had a long talk with her, -and found her proudly resolute on the main point, but reticent as to -details. To her the matter was simple, possessing only such rudimentary -elements as a child might invest its joys with. She believed, she -trusted, she loved. Somehow, as the Admiral listened, his memory -recurred to the old Lindley Murray parsing days at Mrs. Marlowe's knee. -Of course he was all they could wish--well, what was he? Had he family, -or fortune, or irreproachable moral character? She did not know. But -she was sure he had not known she was an heiress. The Kerrs had told -him nothing--in fact Theo had told her he had asked nothing; she was -dressing in the most simple fashion; she had had no idea he had been -attracted until he proposed; he was very quiet--and here she broke off, -turning her head aside to hide her blush, and murmuring something about -'contrasts, and she was such a chatterbox herself.' - -The Admiral said little but that he did not wish to hear from Danby at -once. He asked her not to receive letters or to write until he gave -permission. She was amenable, but it rose from the docility of absolute -confidence in another and knowledge of herself. - -Then she returned to her old routine--driving with Mrs. Marlowe, riding -with the Admiral, walking with her stag-hound. She had all her friends -to see. Every one was curious to see her. She was so gay and bright that -they scarcely believed her heart was not with them and their interests -wholly, as of old. But she wore a ring, a cameo of a Greek head, which, -though not significant of more than remembrance, was not a Marlowe -heirloom. The Admiral noticed it, but did not venture to ask where she -had bought it. And sometimes she would suddenly become silent, and her -eyes dilated and became luminous with thought that hovered on the verge -of happy dreams. - -Once during a walk in Zante, when Danby joined them, she had been in so -blithe a mood that at last she began to excuse herself. But he would not -hear her. - -'It is natural for a guileless heart to be gay; let love subdue it,' he -said. - -The words had delighted her in her ignorance; how much more now? - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - NEW LIGHTS ON OLD SUBJECTS - - -Danby returned to Jersey immediately after seeing Cynthia to London. She -would not allow him to go to Lafer until she had smoothed the way with -the Admiral; and being so far as yet unable to realise his happiness, -that the moment she vanished he thought she must be a vision, he went -back to the Kerrs as tangible proofs to the contrary. - -He also wished to hear more about her. She had said nothing of her -surroundings, and when he referred to Kerr on the one momentous point -as her guardian _pro tem._, he had been struck by something odd in his -look; while Mrs. Kerr declared, with what sounded a hysterical sob, that -she would never chaperon a young lady again. He was too much accustomed -to the unaccountable in the moods of all sorts and conditions of men to -attach much importance to an indirect impression. Still it was expedient -to be practical and to prepare himself for unlooked-for conditions. -Until he met her he was far indeed from any intention of marrying, and -his means were such that the last thing that occurred to him was to -speculate about hers. It had delighted her to find her heiress-ship was -unsuspected. - -In his inmost nature Danby had developed diplomacy. He knew it, and -often told himself he had missed his vocation; he should have been -either a Jesuit or an ambassador. It was the one moral slur which the -keen old grief had branded on his soul. He mistrusted, and would never -trust again except after the tests of a tactician who knew his ends -so surely that he could afford to conceal them. Here his favourite -author--Bacon--had fostered knowledge. He knew how 'to lay asleep -opposition and to surprise,' how to 'reserve to himself a fair retreat,' -and how to 'discover the mind of another.' On these principles he had -for many years studied all men. In this spirit he had digested the -Kerrs. Only with Cynthia they had failed him. He had thought that if he -ever married it would be in this spirit; subtle analysis and synthesis -should determine his choice. If judgment threatened desertion he would -refortify himself by apparent withdrawal. Experience had not tended to -make him fear defeat; he might have married before this had he met with -more discouragement. But should such a paradox as discouragement invade -his path he would use his arts, his subtleties, his perceptions, and, -without flatteries, succeed. Flatteries he loathed. He loathed the -women who would have them. His chief delight in the woman of the future -was that she too would loathe them, indeed would probably not understand -them. - -But when he saw Cynthia his tactics failed him. She was simple, she was -single-minded and transparent--such a woman as he had not conceived; -in fact the paradox. He fell in love, but she did not perceive it. Do -what he would to show her his feeling, she never did perceive it until -he asked her to do so. Afterwards he reproached her a little for a -blindness that might have eternally daunted him, but that had he not got -speech with her he would have written. - -'Oh, Lucius!' she said, 'I know whom I like; I don't think I could like -any one who was not good, so I let myself like. But as for more, I never -could until I were asked. Then I should know in a moment if I could. - -He knew her so well now that he knew too this was true; she could not -seek or even think herself sought. - -In returning to Jersey he had, however, another object besides proximity -to the Kerrs. He wanted to see the Pitons. - -When he left India the previous year he intended to go there at once. -Since receiving the note from Clothilde Hugo in which she broke off her -engagement to him by the news that she had that day married another man, -he had not named her or communicated with any one who could give him -information about her. But to return to England and choose some place to -settle in without knowing whether she were living and where she lived, -was a thing he would not do. He could not analyse his own feelings -on the matter, he did not consider it worth while to do so; it was -resolution rather than reason that fixed in his mind the idea of seeing -the Pitons. He chose to make it a point of principle to avoid all risk -of seeing her again. - -At first when he found the Kerrs were going there, it seemed that -everything was arranging itself naturally for his convenience. He could -call at Rocozanne in the incidental manner of an old acquaintance -who found himself accidentally in the neighbourhood, and follow up -his inquiries by naming his engagement. But his ignorance of the -conventionalities surrounding a lady's position baffled him. He followed -the Kerrs to Jersey, and finding himself in the same hotel, met Cynthia -again at once and at once proposed. He was greatly surprised when -she told him the next day that she was going home. He thought he had -displeased her. But Mrs. Kerr approved so warmly, in fact was evidently -so relieved, that he realised his mistake. He could only acquiesce and -do as she wished. He was so absorbed in her that a previous possibility -of Clothilde being settled in St. Helier's where he might at any moment -meet her, which had occurred to him while travelling after the Kerrs, -never occurred to him again. - -Ambrose Piton was sitting on the sea-wall at Rocozanne with his hat -tilted over his eyes and his hands stuffed into his pockets when Douce, -their old maid-servant, brought him Danby's visiting card. He glanced at -it and whistled, then looked at Douce. He saw that she had recognised -the visitor. - -'Much changed, eh?' he asked. - -'No, much the same, white and black, but his eyes very still.' - -'By Jove, I wish he hadn't come. Well, show him out here.' - -'No need for him to freeze me,' he thought, 'since he can't fly out -under this odd turn of affairs. But the question is, does he know or -does he want to know? If he wants to know, he'll soon know more than he -wants. It's a beastly shame. I hate these scurvy tricks of Fate.' - -He got up as Douce reappeared. Yes, he would have known Danby again -anywhere. His was the physique which time affects little. Ambrose, -though the younger man, was suddenly conscious of a tendency to -corpulency and a rolling gait. He surveyed this trim cut-and-dry -Anglo-Indian with apparent indifference, while Danby fixed his gaze in -return and yet seemed to watch the glitter of the ripples in the sun in -the bay beyond. Ambrose was nervous, but preferred to feel amused rather -than impressed. - -'We'll have chairs if you don't care for the wall,' he said. 'I prefer -the wall. One can swing one's legs, an immense luxury of energy to an -idle man.' - -He did not think Danby would take to the wall, but he did. His surprise -was, however, modified by his not throwing his legs over, but sitting -sideways, balanced by one foot pressing the turf. Ambrose returned to -his old position, reflecting upon him as much clipped in manner as -quenched in expression. He said a few nothings, while Danby looked from -the house to the churchyard and thought how the fuchsias had grown and -how many more graves there were. - -Ambrose watched him from the shadow of his hat-brim. He detested -palaver, and Danby could only be there to say something personal. He -was not the man to make himself ridiculous by coming out from St. -Helier's, after so many years, to talk of cows and cabbages, the pear -crop, or even the last mail-boat disaster. But how in Heaven's name was -he to lead up to Clothilde? He suspected that his knowledge of future -complications was the greater, and it seemed hardly fair that Danby -should have to finesse. Naturally he would resent his own tactics when -unexpected disclosures should prove Ambrose's perception of them. - -'I may be a clumsy fellow,' thought Ambrose, 'but here goes for honesty! -I needn't look at him--in fact this glitter dazzles my eyes to that -extent that shut them I must now and then unless I mean to go blind.' - -He stretched out his hand to a pile of books, newspapers, and reviews on -the wall beside him and drew a letter from the pages of the _Quarterly_. -Danby's attention was attracted, and he followed his movements as he -opened it and smoothed it on his knee. - -'This is from my cousin Anna,' he said, clearing his voice and -controlling his fever of nervousness. 'She often writes to us, having a -warm partiality for old friends. It's rarely though that she has much -more than home news to give from Lafer'--he felt rather than saw Danby's -surprise as this name fell on his ears--'it's an out-of-the-world sort -of place, and she only has her sister's children to talk about. But this -morning--yes, I've just received it, she tells me of Miss Marlowe's -engagement to you. She does not say "to you," and apparently hasn't -the slightest recollection of the name, but she calls you by name and -mentions you as being in Jersey, in fact----' - -'But how--where is the connection? I don't understand this. Do you know -Miss Marlowe?' said Danby, unable any longer to remain silent. - -'I do,' said Ambrose. 'She was here the other day. She came to call upon -us the day after she arrived in the Islands with her friends. She had -told Anna she would, and my father was greatly pleased. She spoke then -of wintering here. But it seems she is going home unexpectedly.' - -'She is gone. I saw her to London and returned yesterday. But I hope to -follow her soon and to see the Admiral. Still, Piton, I don't understand -how you are all connected. Miss Hugo now, how does she know her -intimately?' - -'Oh, very intimately,' said Ambrose, feeling that he was on the sharp -edge of a precipice. 'She seems to have made a friend of her. She -barely named Mrs. Severn though; she----' - -'And who is Mrs. Severn?' said Danby in a remarkably slow and dry voice -as he faced him straight. - -Ambrose knew that he knew who Mrs. Severn was, but that he was also -determined to have the clear-cut truth uttered. - -'She's my half-cousin, Clothilde, you know. She married to Lafer, Old -Lafer. Her husband is the Admiral's agent,' he said. Under his breath he -added a strong expletive. - -He did not glance at Danby, but was fully conscious of the intense -penetration with which his eyes were riveted on him. - -They sat in silence, and Danby continued to look at him. But now it was -unconsciously. He was for the time morally paralysed. He simply could -not turn his head for the tension on his brain. Every word had struck -home with sledge-hammer force; but to realise at once all they involved -was impossible. - -Ambrose again was apparently absorbed in the bay. He swung his legs and -scanned the horizon for passing ships. A spy-glass lay beside him. He -took it up and examined a schooner that was rounding Noirmont with all -sails set and silver in the sunshine. Then he put it down, and thrusting -his hands deep into his pockets, broke into a low whistle. - -'Upon my soul, if I were a woman I'd be weeping,' he thought. He longed -to turn sharply, clap Danby on the back and say, 'Cheer up, old man! -It's a flabbergasting coincidence, would make a cynic swear; but by Jove -you've been reserved for good luck in the end.' - -However, he dare not. He knew intuitively that Danby looked an 'old -man' at that moment, that his face was drawn and gray. Moreover, he -never had been one with whom it was easy to jest. His actions had too -clearly borne the stamp of earnestness; there had been an energy of life -about him, expressed in few words but impressed on every circumstance -in which Ambrose had seen him, that involuntarily expelled banter -as profane. No! he had done his part. It was best to ignore his own -perception of the dramatic. - -He sat on, blinking at the dazzle of the twinkling ripples. - -And at last Danby turned and looked at them too. - -The afternoon was slipping by. Danby took out his watch, he had been an -hour at Rocozanne, had lost the chance of catching one train, and unless -he caught the next would miss _table d'hôte_ at Bree's. But he wished to -miss _table d'hôte_. It would suffice to be back in time for a few words -with Kerr over their last cigars. - -'Spend the evening with us,' said Ambrose, feeling inspired. - -'Thanks,' said Danby. - -They sat on until tea was announced. Mr. Piton, a cheery, gnome-like -little old man, though acquainted with the whole complication of -Danby's affairs, ignored every interest that did not bear on Indian -statistics. Over these he developed an insatiable curiosity. Ambrose, -listening in amused laziness, realised for once that impersonality -only is needed to divert tropical heat from the emotional to the -matter-of-fact. He now felt himself cool though broiling in the Indian -sun with Danby in a linen suit and puggaree. Danby was equal to the -occasion. He could dismiss personal feeling. He had had all his life a -passion for accuracy, which circumstances had fostered by sending him -out to our great Oriental Empire, where different races and religions -swarm. He had set himself to master its antagonistic facts. Work -there gradually gave him wealth, position, and after a few years a -tone of level self-satisfaction, not, strictly speaking, to be called -happiness, yet not far from that. He was grateful, and left with a mind -encyclopediacally stored with details of its internal fibre. Nothing -thus could have soothed him better than this talk with Mr. Piton. It -carried him back to old absorbing interests, and eased the tension on -a capacity for emotion whose slumber he had, until this afternoon, -mistaken for death. - -It was late when he got back to St. Helier's, but as he crossed the -street to Bree's he recognised Kerr standing in the portico. He reached -him just as he threw away his cigar-end. Kerr was looking down, but when -he uttered his name he glanced up quickly. Afterwards he told his wife -that there was a _living_ tone in his voice that had convinced him he -was not, after all, a mummy. - -'I want a word with you,' Danby said with a strange new eagerness that -became in him almost inarticulation. 'It's a preposterous question to -ask, but I really am in the dark--who is Miss Marlowe?' - -Kerr stared at him, not understanding. His loathing for what he thought -the jugglery of the question expressed itself in his face. Danby -saw it. For a moment a dangerous gleam of anger scintillated in his -eyes--but after all was it not the way of the world to judge by the -evil construction rather than the good? There was also an element of -absurdity in the question as sincere. He had been so keenly conscious of -this as to guard his ignorance from Ambrose Piton. - -'I do not take Miss Marlowe for an impostor,' he said, smiling. 'I know -she is herself, but who are her people? I have concluded she was one of -a family, had probably sisters, elder sisters. As it happens, we have -not entered upon questions of relations yet beyond her grandfather. -Excuse me, but I am obliged to inquire--are they above the average -in any way--socially, I mean? Is there anything particular in her -circumstances?' - -'She is an heiress,' said Kerr. 'The Marlowes are county people with -fine estates in Yorkshire and Dumfries. Her father was an only child, -she is the same, and there is no entail.' - -He reflected a moment upon the electrified expression in Danby's face, -and seeing it ebb to an involuntary shade of distaste he threw reserve -to the winds. - -'Come out,' he said. 'It's easier to talk walking, and it's necessary -that we should prove ourselves two sensible beings.' - -He put his arm through Danby's, and they went down the steps again on to -the pavement. They walked the length of the street in silence. Then as -they turned and slackened their pace, he loosened his hold and laughed. - -'I'd a strong wish to run for Theo,' he said; 'but I also wished to -resist it. That's why I took forcible possession. She might have thought -you a humbug; I don't. But look here, my good fellow, you've not -got to look like that. You must remember you chose to keep yourself -in the dark. I would have answered any question at any moment, but -as you asked none, I concluded you knew what you were about through -other sources--herself, perhaps. Besides which neither Theo nor I knew -anything about it. We were completely taken by surprise. Theo, you see, -I'm not sure you know, found letters at Athens with the sad news of her -only sister's widowhood, and I fear she did not think sufficiently about -Cynthia for some time after. Cynthia was in our care. If I'd known what -you were about, I'd have made matters square by advising you to address -Admiral Marlowe; but until the other day when we ran up against you -here, Cynthia and I, you remember, as we were starting for Elizabeth -Castle, I had not the faintest suspicion of your intentions. Cynthia, of -course, said nothing; and, considering your attachment, you obtruded -yourself very little. Cynthia has had many offers of marriage. I believe -she has had a horror of being married for her money; the fact of your -ignorance will delight her--has done in fact, for she named it to Theo. -But it's been a blow to my wife, Danby; and, human-like, she's not ready -just now to think the best of you. Her brother has been attached to -Cynthia for many years, and so long as she was attached to no one else -he would not have ceased to hope to win her. You must know that there's -that in Cynthia which inspires a very deep, and more, a very pure -passion.' - -Danby nodded, and stopping, lit a cigarette with fingers that slightly -trembled. The flicker of the match threw an instant's light on his -face and showed it as deathly pale. Kerr's good opinion of him was -momentarily rising. - -'There's a fund of womanly self-respect in her which is not in these -days _the_ distinguishing characteristic of the sex,' said Kerr, as -they went slowly on again. 'She has wished to marry and be married for -love; the latter rather a difficulty in her case. You have done it, -Danby. There's nothing for it now but to pocket your pride. You'll have -to pocket the Marlowe rent-roll, perhaps to become Danby-Marlowe, if -the Admiral cuts up rough and dictatorial. He's been accustomed to a -man-of-war and uncompromising discipline, you know. But if any one can -keep things smooth, Cynthia can. Be patient and subservient, it'll be a -wise discretion. And one thing is certain----' he stopped abruptly. - -'What is that?' said Danby, and was astonished to find that his voice -was scarcely audible. - -Kerr laughed. - -'I've no business to dissect her feelings,' he said. 'But she's a woman -one must think about somehow, not merely bow to and pass. I daresay -you felt it from the first. It's the same with every one. We went out -the other day to St. Brelade's; don't know whether you know it, pretty -place! She wanted to see some people, relatives of their agent's, I -believe; one of them was a very canny old man. He just felt the same -about her and expressed it to Theo; one watches her.' - -'Yes?' - -'Well, I've watched her. I saw how it was. I told Theo, but she wouldn't -see it. The fact is, Danby, you are her choice; she has deliberately -chosen you. Don't you see it all?' he laughed again, awkwardly. - -Danby felt himself to be dense. He could not be sure that he did. Kerr -grasped his arm again. - -'Upon my word I feel quite sentimental,' he said. 'But one wants her -to be happy. She's the sort of creature to whom one would say "All -happiness attend you!" yes, by divine right too. The fact is she cares -for you tremendously. It would break her heart if things went wrong. -Just you fall in with the Admiral's exactions for her sake. Don't be a -fool.' - -They had reached the portico of Bree's again. Both threw away their -cigarette-ends, avoiding looking at each other. They went within, -Kerr in advance. Others were in the hall. Peter, the head waiter, was -flourishing a serviette, and imparting voluble information regarding the -regulations of the hotel to a lady who always travelled with 'darling -creatures' in the shape of two dachshund dogs, who always had the air -of not knowing what was expected of them. Danby walked past them all, -abstractedly. Then suddenly he turned, and going back to where Kerr was -hanging up his hat, took his hand. 'I swear I will,' he said. - -Kerr went off to bed, pondering deeply. He told Theo all, and was vexed -by her unresponsiveness to his new-born enthusiasm. She still chose to -consider Danby self-interested. Kerr swore he was not. He asked himself -why and how--with that force of emotion that he had seen in his eyes, -lurking under the ice of his manner; that absence of self-seeking, where -measured tones had seemed to narrow his opinions within the circle of -his own being--Danby had waited so long to love? That he did love now he -had no longer a doubt. - -'He worships her just as Tony does,' he thought. 'He's not veneered, -it's high-mindedness. By Jove, what a look he had, deathly white. He's -wrapped up in her. Well, well, it's another case of the old old story at -its best.' - -And he had feared that Cynthia was making a mistake! Faith had failed -him with both. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - COUNTER-OPINIONS AT OLD LAFER - - -On the day Danby's letter to the Admiral arrived, Cynthia too had one. -It was the more important-looking of the two; had the Admiral seen it he -would have fired into anger, suspecting its contents. But she received -it in her own room before breakfast. She knew what it held the moment -her eye lit on the envelope. Nothing less than a photograph could be -there. She had asked for one. - -When, a little later, she emerged in the gallery, Mrs. Hennifer was -just disappearing down the stairs. She ran after her and brought her -back, putting the photograph into her hands, and looking at it over her -shoulder. - -It was a remarkable face, and Mrs. Hennifer knew instantly that she -had seen it before, and that Cynthia was going to marry the man to -whom Mrs. Severn had once been engaged. It was not, however, then -sealed by the sardonic keenness that marked it now. Danby's life had -been passed in India, but the skin was still, as it had been in youth, -extraordinarily white, except on the jaw and upper lip, where close -shaving tinged it with indigo. The features were of the moulded rather -than the chiselled type. The eyes had a straight gaze of penetrating -hardness that, remaining fixed, yet seemed to go beyond the object -looked at, and thus could not be deemed offensive. They concentrated -the interest of the face. The pupils had the opaqueness of marble, but -Mrs. Hennifer knew that the radiating violet of the iris possessed -the faculty of a sea-anemone in contracting and expanding. Had she not -known Danby she would have detested those eyes as holding what a bad man -might reciprocate and a good woman resent; discovering to the one too -much knowledge, to the other the nearness of evil. But she knew him as -a young man, and she remembered the mortal agony of wasted tenderness -they had once shown her. Why was her darling Cynthia to be the atonement -for that agony? Surely it was unnatural that her young and ardent life -should have chosen the subdued emotions of a man whose drama of emotion -she had herself witnessed years ago, when she and her husband and he -were at the same Indian station. Ought she, must she tell Cynthia all -this? Or had Danby himself? Did he know that Clothilde was at Old Lafer? - -'Do you like it?' said Cynthia at last. - -Mrs. Hennifer sighed involuntarily. - -'It is the antipodes to yours, dearest.' - -'So dark? But so was Anthony's.' - -'And the expression----' - -'Yes. Theo disliked it when first we all met. I did not think about him -then. But every one cannot be like Anthony--have that awfully sweet -look, you know.' - -'That look would have become very dear to you in pain or trouble.' - -Cynthia flushed, then shook her head. - -'This is very dear to me now,' she said. 'And I feel as though Lucius -wants happiness and brightness, and I can give them. Sometimes Anthony -nearly made me cry, and it vexed me always that I could not give what he -wanted, at least----' she faltered and turned away. - -'Never, my darling?' said Mrs. Hennifer wistfully. - -'Once. There was one little moment when I could have. But it was only a -moment,' she added gaily. 'And now the leaf is turned down for ever, and -I shall learn every day and hour what Lucius wants, and how to make him -happy.' - -'Although he is so much older than you? You may be his nurse before many -years are over, Cynthy.' - -'Nonsense, he's not so old as that,' said she with bright impatience. -'I know his age, he's in the prime of life. But supposing he were -invalided, I'd rather be his nurse than frolicking about with any other.' - -'It seems so strange he should not already be married----' - -'Yes, it does, I confess,' she said, lapsing into gravity. 'I have -thought that too, and I said so to him. Of course I could not expect he -had never had an attachment before he met me. It is partly that he has -lived in India I think, and partly, chiefly, because he had once an--but -why should I tell you?' she added, breaking off with a shake of her head -and a laugh. 'He has told me. That is sufficient. There was some one -before, I don't even know her name--it was natural; you understand? But -it is me now? my turn wholly. He loves me well. Oh, I know I shall make -him happy, and that's all I want.' - -There was no combating this mood. Mrs. Hennifer had not forces to -control the enemy, she could only determine to throw up earthworks to -fortify her position. - -She was going to the christening at Old Lafer to-day. Mrs. Severn had -not been well, and it had been deferred. She had a shrewd suspicion -as to the cause of her invalidism this time, and acknowledged -there was reason in it. The situation was such that a better and -more self-controlled woman might have been daunted, knowing the -uncompromisingly honest stuff of which her husband was made. A whisper -had reached the Hall that she had been to the Mires again. Indeed, when -Anna's engagement was known, and Mrs. Hennifer had hastened to Old Lafer -with congratulations, Anna herself had inadvertently admitted as much, -and she discovered it was on the same day as her call to name Cynthia's -engagement. There was no doubt in her own mind that the name of Lucius -Danby had then sent her from her home. There was no doubt also that she -would have to face out the situation by obtruding herself upon attention -as little as possible, and certainly not by indulging in her old freak -of flight to the Mires. - -The coach came round at eleven o'clock, clattering over the flags of the -courtyard. Mrs. Marlowe was going with her to the chapel-of-ease at East -Lafer but would not get out. It was a hot September day, but the coach -was stuffed with as many cushions and rugs as though the season were -Arctic. A fat pug was lifted by a footman into one corner, where it lay -gasping in useless expostulation against the delusion that it was taking -the air. Mrs. Marlowe, in a cinnamon silk and velvet mantle, and a -bonnet whose sprigged lace veil hung to her waist, descended the steps -feebly. The Admiral was always in attendance on her. His portly little -figure was set off by a buff waistcoat and a bunch of seals dangling -at the fob. Mrs. Hennifer was crisply Quakerish in black satin and the -usual fringed Oriental shawl. There wafted from the group the scent of -Tonquin beans. Cynthia was not going. Her riding-horse was being led up -and down, and she appeared in the hall in her habit as the coach rolled -off. She and the Admiral were going to have one of their favourite -morning rides round some of the inland farms where repairs were in -operation, and both knew that to-day their talk would be serious. She -intended Danby to have permission to come to Lafer at once. - -An hour or two later the christening party had returned to Old Lafer. -The ling had blown late this year and the moors were still in their -glory, rolling up beyond the bent in a haze of purple. Borlase, -loitering in the garden after dinner until Anna's housewifely duties -allowed her to join him, shaded his eyes to face them. How gloriously -beautiful, yet how calmly unconscious they were! Stubble fields gleamed -among the soft misty greens of the far-stretching plain. The trees in -the gill below the house were motionless. There was no breeze. The -murmur of the beck was in the air; now and then a bee buzzed over the -larkspurs and lilies under the wall. - -When Anna appeared she was carrying a little table, and the children -with her had dishes of fruit. Dessert was arranged on the grass-plot -in the centre of Madam's garden--peaches and greengages, sponge-cakes -that Anna had whisked, and syllabub, all on white trellis-china. The -gay flower-borders glowed beyond; there was a murmur of bees in the -trees overhead; in the distance the opalescent plain lay in alternate -shade and shine under the sailing cloud-shadows. Antoinette, Emmeline, -Joan, and Jack, in their holland smocks and Roman scarves, frolicked -from meadow to gill. Mr. Severn and Tremenheere sauntered out of the -house--Mr. Severn with a decanter of claret which he intended the Canon -to finish; Tremenheere himself more conscious of the charm of the place -than of its conventional accessories, and bent on a walk over the moor -when the shadows were lengthening and the evening breeze should silence -the chirp of the grasshoppers and rustle through the ling. - -The ladies were left in the parlour. Mrs. Severn had floated away from -the dinner-table in her sweeping black draperies with a face so white -that Borlase was still obliged to consider her an orthodox patient. Mrs. -Hennifer insisted on ensconcing her on the settee with her feet up. The -parlour, with its faded rose-wreathed chintzes flouncing the chairs, its -gently-swaying net curtains and oak-panelled walls, was cool and quiet. -Mrs. Hennifer took a chair near the window. She felt like napping. It -was pleasantly suggestive to think that a nap would certainly refresh -Mrs. Severn. She looked through a manuscript book of songs for a guitar -accompaniment, and noticed that Clothilde soon closed her eyes and -allowed her head to fall back upon the cushions. She then at once closed -hers too, with a pleasant relaxing of her angular figure into something -approaching negligent comfort. She had scarcely done so before Mrs. -Severn spoke. - -'Mary!' - -'Yes.' - -Mrs. Hennifer was upright again in a moment, more angry than -embarrassed. She was convinced that Mrs. Severn had waited to betray her -into a wish for a doze, for the sake of thwarting it immediately. - -'Did you really think I meant to go to sleep, Mary?' - -'Certainly. You are tired and it is so quiet here. You don't seem to -have got up your strength well. You look no better than when I saw you -last--in July, was it not?' - -'No, later than that. The day you came over to tell me about Miss -Marlowe, you know. I confess I don't think I have ever been well since. -You must have something more to tell me now, have you not?' - -'What about?' said Mrs. Hennifer, fixing her eyes sharply upon her. Mrs. -Severn avoided them; her gaze idly followed the play of her own fingers -through the fringe of the coverlet thrown over her. - -'Well, you know--about Miss Marlowe.' - -Mrs. Hennifer scrutinised her face in silence for some time, but its -absence of colour was equalled by that of expression. - -'Clothilde,' she said, 'we will not deal in innuendo. It is detestable. -Why don't you say like an honest woman, "Have you seen Lucius Danby yet? -Is he the man I was once engaged to marry?" It is perfectly natural, -in fact necessary, that you should still be interested in him to that -extent. For you'll have to keep out of his way. But this dallying with -a love-affair that was wholly dishonouring to yourself is disgusting. -You chose to obliterate yourself from his life years ago, and you -did not choose to confess your dishonour to your husband; and though -circumstances are so cruel that you are compelled to recall all now, it -can only be for the sake of impressing upon yourself the necessity of -dignified self-effacement. If you are ever compelled to meet him it will -be as a married woman and the mother of children, the wife of the man -who will, practically speaking, be his upper servant.' - -'Then it really is the same Lucius?' - -'It is the same Mr. Danby.' - -'And he is at Lafer?' - -'Not at all, as you know, for Severn would have named it had he been. -There are a good many preliminaries to be gone through in the case of a -Miss Marlowe. Cynthia was aware of that. She came home to smooth the -way. The Admiral was very much ruffled.' - -'I should think he intended it to fall through so soon as they had -separated by her coming home.' - -'He did not cause the separation. She knew what was due to him and to -herself----' - -'Why, she surely has not thought more of her own dignity than of -Lucius?' said Mrs. Severn, with one of her low laughs. - -'Her own dignity!' repeated Mrs. Hennifer. 'She has done what was right, -Clothilde, whether by instinct or deliberation I don't know. She has -acted wisely. The Admiral sees her quiet determination and respects it. -He is becoming reconciled, and Cynthia will soon have her way.' - -'Very deep of her,' said Mrs. Severn; 'I should think you will have been -struck by the new phase of her character. You would not have thought she -had such management, would you? So he has not come over and contrived -to see her?' - -Mrs. Hennifer's boiling indignation admitted only of ejaculatory -refrains. - -'Contrived to see her?' - -'Well, I mean is he risking nothing? It all seems to me a preposterously -cool transaction. Of course he knew she was an heiress?' - -'_Heiress! Transaction!_ My word, Clothilde, I could shake you! Cynthia -is not a girl to be met in a lane,' cried Mrs. Hennifer breathlessly. -'The next thing you will assert is that he is going to marry her for -the purpose of being near you. Preposterous! You don't understand. -He did not know she was an heiress when he proposed to her. You will -have to make up your mind not to call him Lucius and also to stay at -home. So you went to the Mires again after I had been here that day? -Highly creditable! And how long did you mean to stay there this time? -You never will be satisfied until you have created a scandal. I don't -suppose Mr. Danby knows where you are or anything about you, and cares -less, I should think. I wonder you haven't thought of writing to inform -him of the interesting and agreeable facts. Ah! but I suppose you don't -know his address? Well, he'll be at Lafer soon.' - -'I should not think of writing to him there.' - -'I should think not indeed. I don't advise you even to ask him for mercy -by not acknowledging you to Severn's face. Leave it to him. He'll soon -respect Severn sufficiently to wish not to humiliate him. But you surely -have not seriously thought of writing to him at all?' - -Mrs. Severn smiled, and a faint colour flickered into her face for a -moment. - -'I did,' she said; 'I confess to the folly. You know I went to the Mires -again--you have heard? I began a letter to him that day to tell him -where I was. It seemed best that he should know. I wrote it on the moor, -and I was startled by--some one coming for me. I slipped it into a book -I had taken to read, and in the hurry I dropped it and never thought of -it again for weeks.' - -'Letter and all? I should think you have wondered if they have ever been -found.' - -'I have indeed. But I daren't say a word about them.' - -'And what has possessed you to be telling me the truth, eh? You're not -in the habit of telling the truth, Clothilde.' - -'You are very hard upon me,' she murmured. - -'God knows I don't wish to be,' Mrs. Hennifer burst out, with a voice -that suddenly trembled. 'Be hard upon yourself. It seems to me, -inconceivable though it be, that you are trifling with memories on -which it is sheer wickedness to dwell. You trifled with him once; for -Heaven's sake don't trifle with yourself.' - -Mrs. Severn moved uneasily. There was a palm-leaf fan near, and she took -it up and held it against her brows. Mrs. Hennifer, with every faculty -upon the alert, and energy of observation as much as of suspicion, was -convinced that her lip trembled. Her eyes were downcast. Her face, -however, remained pale and calm. It was impossible to judge of her -phase of feeling. And at that moment, as though to baffle any effort -on Mrs. Hennifer's part to do so, she slid her feet to the ground and -rose, then rearranged herself at the darker end of the settee. Mrs. -Hennifer, noting each movement with a jealousy for Cynthia that was -almost fierce, reluctantly admired while she mistrusted. The profile of -her face and throat against the wainscot was like a bas-relief in ivory; -every gesture had a slow and self-abandoned grace. She prayed while she -watched her. - -'It has struck me that he might go to see the Pitons,' said Mrs. Severn; -'I suppose he returned to Jersey after Miss Marlowe left. If he went -there Ambrose would probably tell him all. I know Anna told him of the -engagement when she wrote when Miss Marlowe was going there.' - -'A most excellent opportunity, and I hope Ambrose would make the best -use of it. In that case he is _au fait_ with everything, and we need not -distress ourselves,' said Mrs. Hennifer decisively. - -After this they sat for some time in silence. - -'Clothilde, are you very fond of your children?' said Mrs. Hennifer -at last, half unconscious of the question evolved from such a rush -of rambling thought, that whatever had been uttered must have seemed -inconsequent. - -'I suppose so. They are handsome. I am always thankful they are not -plain.' - -'You'll miss Anna, or rather, perhaps, they will.' - -'Anna cannot be spared yet. I think Mr. Borlase a very selfish and -inconsiderate man, but I was really too vexed to tell him so. I told -Anna, however.' - -'Does Mr. Severn say she cannot be spared?' - -'John? You know what John is--crazy for people to be happy, as he calls -it. He said he should have her when he wanted her. It is I who have -the common sense. I told him I could not spare her until Antoinette -was old enough to take her place; and I told Anna Mr. Borlase might -die and leave her a widow without a farthing. I do think, when John -has given her a home all these years, she ought to make us the first -consideration. But every one seems very hard to convince.' - -She got up as she spoke and moved to the piano. While turning over some -music she said in a low voice of bell-like clearness, 'Miss Marlowe -was here the other day telling us about her visit to the Pitons at -Rocozanne. I thought from her manner you had not told her then about me. -Have you since?' - -Mrs. Hennifer started to her feet, throwing the book she held on to the -table with a vigour that startled even Mrs. Severn. It made her look -round hastily. - -'Clothilde,' she said, 'how can you torture me? This is torture. Don't -you know I love Cynthia Marlowe with my whole heart--a thousand times -more than ever I loved you with a foolish creature's adoration of your -mere superficial beauty? It pierces me to the quick to think she should -ever have a moment's pain of mind. Don't you think that if the Admiral -knew her future husband had been jilted by you, he might not tolerate -the match? And her heart might break with the misery of it all; the -Admiral may live twenty years! And how am I to tell her--and yet how -am I to let it go untold?' Her voice sank, and she added this more to -herself than aloud. - -'Oh! she must know,' said Mrs. Severn in a matter-of-fact tone. - -Mrs. Hennifer looked at her quickly. - -'You either won't see it from another's point of view, or you want to -break it all off,' she said. - -'No, no! Only we shall meet, and he will betray something.' - -'You rarely leave Old Lafer, Clothilde.' - -'Still I do go into Wonston occasionally, and I dine at the Hall, -and the Marlowes call upon me. You know, Mary, every one knows I am -something different to John. And Lucius may already know I am here.' - -Mrs. Hennifer considered a moment. - -'One thing is certain,' she said drily, 'you must cure yourself of your -old habit of calling him Lucius, and in order that you shall clearly -understand their confidence in each other _he_ shall tell her who you -are.' - -For an instant their eyes met. Mrs. Severn's bore a darting glance of -defiant appeal, and her whole figure seemed to tremble. - -But whatever her fear she conquered it, and putting her arm through Mrs. -Hennifer's proposed that they should go into the garden. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - SCILLA REASONS WITH HARTAS - - -'Then you won't do a half-day's job?' - -'No, I won't that. I wonder you've fashed yoursel to come and ask me. -You ken I never will, least of all of a Friday. It's against common -sense to think t'Almighty means you to tail off a week when He's sent -sike a downpour the first four days. I'll none trouble t' pits this side -o' Sabbath.' - -'You might be the religiousest man in t' land, Hartas.' - -'It's none religion. It's common sense. Sabbath's a landmark; it'll -hev its due on either side from me. I'm none going to split a week or -two days. We left half a dozen loads o' stuff at t' shaft mouth last -week-end, and not a cart 'll hev crossed t' moor this tempest. They may -come thick to-day, and if you like to go and wait for custom, you can.' - -Dick Chapman laughed angrily. - -'If 'twer a matter o' trapping a few rabbits none ud be keener nor -yoursel,' he said. 'I can't drop into t' pit alone, and so, as Reuben's -off, I'm left in t' lurch. And next week's Martinmas.' - -'I ken so.' - -'And 'll no split that either, I reckon.' - -'Martinmas's out o' count.' - -'Ah! ah! there's no spree where there's no brass, eh?' - -'Brass! Brass indeed! It's folk without fire and with friends that I -think on. Now, Dick, make off. I'll promise four days in t' fore-end. -How art thee going, on Nobbin?' - -'I lay I'll keep drier on my own shanks, and there 'll be nought for -Nobbin to do, though that deuced hind leg o' hers 'll be getting stiff -enough for t' farrier if she stands much longer.' - -'I'll look after Nobbin.' - -'Just a walk along t' track 'll do nought.' - -'I think I ken t' needs o' that limb by now.' - -'Well, I'll gang and see what's doing.' - -Chapman sauntered off, turning up his collar and jamming his hat down -on his brows. The pits lay between the Mires and Old Lafer on the moor -above the Hall, and here the three able-bodied men of the Mires worked -in all seasons except hay-time. At hay-time they hired out to the -low-country farmers as monthly labourers. A small stock of coal sufficed -in summer to eke out the dwindling turfs in the peat shanties, and keep -the fire smouldering while the household laboured in the meadows. - -But there were days all the year round when the wild west wind, -sweeping off Great Whernside, brought tempests of rain, and made it -'that rough on the tops' that no man could stand against it and even -the sheep went uncounted. Then the doors at the Mires were fast shut, -except when a woman in clogs pattered round for a skep of peats, or a -man slouched down to the marsh to count the foaming streams pouring into -it. This when it 'abated like.' Then would come another rush of wind and -wet, blotting out the whole world to within a yard or two of the cottage -windows. - -If there were one kind of weather that Scilla detested more than another -it was fog. A snow-storm or deluge of rain kept Hartas at home, but -betwixt the liftings of fog he would make his way to the Inn at East -Lafer, and when he came back at night there was a wath over the beck -to cross, the moor-track to strike, and the pit-shaft to miss. It was -nothing when he finished off by rolling down the slape sides of the -hollow. - -It was foggy to-day. Hartas was restless, and she was sure he would slip -off after dinner. She had run into Chapman's and suggested the pits. -But her hope had failed and she foresaw a vigil. She had not dared say -a word while the men were talking, lest evident anxiety should make -Hartas contradictious. But despite her forbearance he had been so. There -was no managing him! She was frying bacon, and sighed over the pan, as -into her simple mind there rushed the certainty of his headlong course -to perdition, a perdition symbolised to her by the flames curling and -hissing at every turn of the fork that sent sprints of fat on to the -embers. This was really her idea of hell. She had an equally vivid one -of heaven. Three miles away, straight as an arrow to the north, lay -Wherndale. She had walked many a time to the edge of the moors to see -it. Skirting a deep natural moat round an old copperas mine, she had -slid down the refuse slide, and plunged through bracken, rush, and -spagnum to a great rock overhanging the valley. From hence the view was -glorious on a fine summer evening. The western valley lay bathed in -sun-rays falling through the vapoury heat-mists shrouding the mountains; -the eastern flooded with sunshine; the Meupher range clear against -the sky. Below, the moor fell abruptly into meadow-land; rocks were -scattered in Titanic confusion among the ling; the meadows dimpled with -hollows; the lowering sun streamed through the foliage, and cast long -shadows from every tree and hay-pike; mists of blue smoke hung above -the farmsteads; here and there was a lake-like gleam of river. Scilla, -with the velvet breeze blowing against her, felt that here was heaven. -Did she not touch it, when the very tufts of grass over which she walked -glistened like frosted silver, and the bent-flower gleamed like cloth -of gold? - -'I wish the fog would lift,' she said, as she placed dinner on the -table, and they drew up their chairs. 'If it would, I'd mount Nobbin and -give her a good stretch, better than you'll have patience for, maybe. We -mustn't have her leg worsen.' - -'It only worsens with standing in t' stable. We hevn't plenty o' work -for her, winding up t' coil at t' pits; she'd thrive better on twice as -much, and that's truth. I've an extra job for her to-day, and spite o' -t' fog I'll carry it through.' - -'Why, father, she'll be that stiff after these few days!' - -'It works off t' farther she goes, and what with t' weather-shakken look -o' t' skies when there is a rift, and Martinmas holiday at hand, she'll -be heving so much stable that her leg 'll be her doom i' now.' - -Scilla listened with a sensation of breathlessness. It was rarely he -talked so much, or informed her of any of his intentions. She wondered -what the 'extra job' was, but was so certain that she was to know that -she easily hid her curiosity. - -Hartas ate on phlegmatically, pushing his meat on to the knife with the -fork, and thence conveying it with a pump-handle-like motion to his -mouth. When he had finished he placed them cross-wise on the plate, drew -the back of his hand across his lips, and tilted his chair, sticking his -thumbs into the armholes of his coat. - -'There's t' sale ower at Northside Edge to-day,' he said. - -'Yes. Poor Mrs. Carling, how she'll feel it!' - -'I met Luke Brockell when I wer i' Wonston some days back, and he wer -talking o' taking his trolly up. He has his trolly, but he's lost his -nag, dropped in a fit.' - -'Then how could he take it up, and what would be the use of it? Does he -want to put it in the sale?' - -Hartas chuckled, leering at her with a scowling grin. - -'Thee never wer a bright un, Scilla. All t' glint o' thy wits has run to -waste in your hair. I kenned that when Kit gave you hare soup, and you -never guessed what it was nor where it came from. There, there, no call -to flare up! What, there's a glint in your temper too, is there?' - -Scilla had turned deathly white, and pushed her chair back hastily, -making a harsh sound on the roughly-paved floor that somehow suggested -to Hartas the sound her voice would have had had she spoken. She looked -at him with a threatening disdain as she stood a moment balancing her -slight figure against the table, and apparently expecting him to speak. -He did not, however, and she went to the door. Opening it, she leant -against the lintel. There was something piteously like the fog that -shrouded the world in the wanness that had overclouded her face. The -sweet clearness of the blue eyes was gone. More than a suspicion of -tears weighted their lids and lurked in the trembling of her mouth. -But she was determined not to cry. It was not to fall a prey to the -ready scoff that she had won her way through tribulation to a calm -that--whatever the shocks of the future--should be abiding. - -And at that moment the sky cleared, and a growing light which, in the -absorption of Hartas's confidences, she had not noticed, burst into a -ray of sunshine. - -It fell upon her. She turned, and going in again sat down on the settle. -A smile had flitted over her face. - -'I know now what you meant, father. It was very stupid of me not to -understand. Of course you offered Nobbin for Luke's trolly, and now you -are going with her.' - -She spoke in her usual bright voice, but not with any expectation -of disarming him. She knew well by this stage of her dearly-bought -experience that such men are not to be disarmed. Always surly, his -surliness only varied in degree. - -'Them that's fools this side o' t' grave are less like for it t' other,' -he said. 'It's true I'm taking Nobbin ower to Northside Edge, but -there's no need for all t' Mires to ken. It may or it mayn't come to -Dick Chapman's knowledge, but mind you, you're dumb. I offered her to -Dick to ride to t' pits.' - -While he spoke, avoiding looking at her, a foreboding of some wholly -formless but very decided evil darted into her mind. For an instant she -hesitated to utter the suggestion of principle that rose simultaneously -to her lips. But to have done so would have been to shirk what he was -shirking. - -'Of course Nobbin is half his,' she said. - -Hartas did not answer but got up slowly. - -'And what she earns must be his, half of it, I mean,' she said with -more inward tremor, but more outward steadiness. 'Besides,' she added, -getting up too and going close to him, 'do you think she's fit for this -piece of work, father? It's all very well her hobbling a bit when it's -only to the pits, and often no work when she gets there. No one could -call us cruel to her, she's----' - -Hartas raised his hand suddenly and struck out. But it was only into the -air, and Scilla did not wince as he had hoped she would. He would not -glance at her. Not for worlds would he have owned what the influence of -that glance into her earnest unwavering eyes might have been. - -'Cruel to her!' he exclaimed in his thick voice, 'she's as fat as -butter, and if we're stinted she has her meat. Come, Scilla, what are -you driving at? Let's leave riddles.' - -'The law,' said Scilla, with an urgency which felt to her own keen -emotions desperate. Was not the law her phantom, the dread avenger that -dogged her steps and filled her thoughts? She loved her husband with -all her heart, but in her utmost loyalty she still always considered -him as a transgressor, not as a victim. To Hartas he was a victim, the -victim of adverse circumstance, of an embodiment of spite in the shape -of Elias Constantine. Hartas Kendrew's predominant article of faith was -that in which Admiral Marlowe, Mr. Severn, and Elias Constantine were -inextricably mingled. But his trinity in unity possessed, according -to his distorted reasoning, a viciousness which could only nurture -revengefulness. - -'The law,' said Scilla again, nerving herself to appeal; 'don't let us -put ourselves near it. It seems a dishonest thing to say,' she added, -faltering a moment, while a look of perplexity filled her eyes, 'as -though we were all the time doing wrong, but you know lots of folk 'll -see Nobbin at Northside Edge, and if she goes lame----' - -'There's not a sore on her, and what's a hobble? There's not a sprain -about her. She's sound, I tell you. D---- the law!' - -His violence convinced her of his misgivings. It was not then so much -what Nobbin might earn that day, a sum that would probably be balanced -on Chapman's side at the pits, but the risk he ran in taking her so -far from home that made him anxious to do it quietly. But why run the -risk? Where was the advantage of it? It could only be as a matter of -convenience to Luke Brockell. She knew Luke and did not like him. -Not that she had ever heard any evil of him. But there was something -cautious and furtive about him that she instinctively resented. The -straightforwardness which Hartas chose to construe as slowness of -comprehension made her shrink from imputing interested or dishonest -motives to others. But she was often compelled to do so. And now she -searched her mind for a clue to this compact of friendliness on -Hartas's part with a man who, on his side, would do well to keep out of -his companionship. - -She had moved aside and stood leaning against the settle-back with a -droop in her figure expressive of her dismayed despondency. What more -could she say or urge? To a man of Hartas Kendrew's temperament, risk -added zest. To run into it quickened his sluggish blood to a degree -which he cherished with delight; failure nurtured his lowest nature, -success was only more enthralling as feeding a triumph whose chief charm -lay in its maliciousness. - -'You must have weighed it all, father,' Scilla said at last, timidly, -again raising her eyes to his, and searching his face for confirmation -of her worst fears. 'You know that if anything goes wrong when you take -her off in this way, Dick 'll come down on us for all her value. And -though she mayn't be worth much to others, she is to us.' - -'You talk quite book-like,' said Hartas, with a sneer. It pleased him to -think she had grasped the whole situation, and was made proportionately -miserable. But after all, were not her qualms wholly womanly? His were -those of manhood. He would dare the devil to do his worst at him. Had he -not other plans for circumventing the devil's own? Luke Brockell was a -more cautious chap than Kit, he would beat him out and out as a partner -over the snare, the sack, and the dub; folks never pried into the stuff -on his trolly; already grouse were again on their way from Admiral -Marlowe's moors to distant markets, with which Luke dealt in the delf -line. Luke had fast and influential friends, and he meant to leave no -stone unturned whereby Luke might also be his. - - END OF VOL. I - - _Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, _Edinburgh_ - - G. C. & Co. - - - - -Transcriber's Note: Although most printer's errors have been retained, -some have been silently corrected. Some spelling and punctuation, -capitalization, accents and formatting markup have been normalized and -include the following: - - Line 1544 peek is now peak - Line 3575 the word as was written twice, [reflecting upon him as as] - Line 4026 the double quotation mark has been replaced by a single - quote to match the opening quote. [I saw you last--in July, was it - not?"] - -Most chapters of this book have a decorative image at the beginning and -end of chapters. The image indicators have been removed in the text -version. The images are included in the html version. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mrs. Severn, Vol. 1 (of 3), by -Mary Elizabeth Carter - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. 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Carter. @@ -94,46 +94,7 @@ table { </style> </head> <body> - - -<pre> - -Project Gutenberg's Mrs. Severn, Vol. 1 (of 3), by Mary Elizabeth Carter - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Mrs. Severn, Vol. 1 (of 3) - A Novel - -Author: Mary Elizabeth Carter - -Release Date: August 12, 2013 [EBook #43449] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. SEVERN, VOL. 1 (OF 3) *** - - - - -Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Sue Fleming and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - -</pre> - +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43449 ***</div> <div class="figcenter" style="width: 399px;"> <img src="images/coverpage.jpg" id="coverpage" width="399" height="600" alt="" /></div> @@ -4871,384 +4832,6 @@ stone unturned whereby Luke might also be his.</p> quote to match the opening quote. [I saw you last—in July, was it not?"]</div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mrs. Severn, Vol. 1 (of 3), by -Mary Elizabeth Carter - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Mrs. Severn, Vol. 1 (of 3) - A Novel - -Author: Mary Elizabeth Carter - -Release Date: August 12, 2013 [EBook #43449] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. SEVERN, VOL. 1 (OF 3) *** - - - - -Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Sue Fleming and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - MRS. SEVERN - - - - - MRS. SEVERN. A NOVEL - BY MARY E. CARTER, - AUTHOR OF 'JULIET' - - - 'SIN COMES TO US FIRST AS A _TRAVELLER_; IF - ADMITTED, IT WILL SOON BECOME A _GUEST_; IMPORTUNATE - TO RESIDE, AND IF ALLOWED SO FAR, WILL - SOON AND FINALLY BECOME _MASTER_ OF THE HOUSE' - - - _IN THREE VOLUMES_ - _VOL. I_ - - - [Illustration] - - - LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, NEW BURLINGTON - STREET, PUBLISHERS IN ORDINARY TO HER MAJESTY - THE QUEEN - - MDCCCLXXXIX - - - - - _Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, _Edinburgh_ - - - - - CONTENTS - - - PART I - - PROLOGUE - PAGE - AT ROCOZANNE, JERSEY 1 - - CHAPTER I - - OLD LAFER 19 - - CHAPTER II - - A MIDSUMMER EVENING 39 - - CHAPTER III - - BORLASE IS ABSENT-MINDED 55 - - CHAPTER IV - - JOY AND SORROW JOIN HANDS 70 - - CHAPTER V - - OVER THE HILLS 87 - - CHAPTER VI - - CYNTHIA MARLOWE 108 - - CHAPTER VII - - AT THE MIRES 133 - - CHAPTER VIII - - 'SIN THE TRAVELLER' 150 - - CHAPTER IX - - LETTERS 170 - - CHAPTER X - - OPINIONS AT LAFER HALL 190 - - CHAPTER XI - - NEW LIGHTS ON OLD SUBJECTS 206 - - CHAPTER XII - - COUNTER-OPINIONS AT OLD LAFER 230 - - CHAPTER XIII - - SCILLA REASONS WITH HARTAS 253 - - - - - MRS. SEVERN - - PART I - - - - - PROLOGUE - - AT ROCOZANNE, JERSEY - - -'It's very good of you to have met me, Ambrose.' - -'But very unnecessary?' - -Mr. Severn laughed consciously, but re-covered himself by spreading -his broad palm below his nostrils, and smoothing, with a slow downward -movement, the close-cut moustache and beard that concealed his lips and -chin. It was a new habit, but the growth also was new, and Ambrose was -surprised to find that it took ten years from his age. - -'Well, you know I told you not to meet me.' - -'You did, and you don't say for civility's sake what you don't mean. -There are some folk who believe in a system of formal introductions in -Heaven itself. If you'd wished for company to St. Brelade's you would -have left the point to my notions of propriety. However, I'll reassure -you. I am going into town with the returning train.' - -'I'll wait and see you off.' - -'And do as you please about driving. If you prefer to walk, the dog-cart -will wait for me.' - -'Thanks, I should prefer to walk,' said Mr. Severn. - -They had reached the end of the platform and now turned back towards the -bay. Its waves were tossing with spray-crested edges into which gulls -with the sun on their wings were dipping. In the distance a vista of -sun-rays streamed over St. Helier's, lying low along the shore with its -fortified heights in shadow against the blackness of a storm sweeping -up from the West. It was high tide, and Elizabeth Castle was surrounded -by a rolling sea. A curve of yellow sand, with here and there a martello -tower, marked the coast-line. The air was full of the rush of the waves -and the sough of a rising wind. - -'If ever I marry, I don't think I shall act on your experience of the -previous forty hours,' said Ambrose Piton, as they strolled back to the -train with a few more leisurely people. 'A drive of five miles from -your Yorkshire moors at Old Lafer to the nearest station, Wonston, I -suppose--a rush down England to Southampton, ten hours' pitching in -a dirty sea, by our caterpillar of a train to St. Aubin's here, and -finally a three miles' walk. By Jove, you must be feeling rather done -up.' - -'Oh no, I'm accustomed to such journeys. I did precisely the same with -the exception of this final walk when I came out to Jersey five months -ago and had the good fortune to fall in with Miss Hugo. You'll probably -not be a man of fifty, overwhelmed with other people's business, when -you marry, Ambrose. It's this walk to Rocozanne that amuses you,' he -added, with a genial smile. 'You think it inconsistent with a lover's -ardour that I should not go as fast as your good mare would take me. The -truth is, I want an hour's leisure. When one marries a second time and -is my age, and it is a young girl who is good enough to take one, the -responsibilities are much greater than when two young people marry; one -has more misgiving, you know, about one's wife being happy. Since I won -Clothilde I have scarcely had time to realise my good fortune. Through -this journey I've struggled with correspondence that would be arrears -of work if left over next week. And now a walk will freshen me up and -adjust my thoughts to a proper balance, since to-morrow, please God, I -shall be married. My age must be the excuse for what yours takes for -lukewarmness.' - -'I don't think you lukewarm,' said Piton bluntly. 'But I'll tell you -what, sir, you at fifty are more simple-minded than I at twenty-five.' - -'Simple-minded? How? I don't understand.' - -'You call a spade a spade and you think it is one,' said Piton lamely, -yet with a desperate resolution that showed a serious undercurrent of -thought. - -'Of course, being straightforward. You would yourself.' - -'Oh, certainly,' said Piton with trepidation. 'Here comes the engine,' -he added with awkward haste as he jumped on to the train. - -'One moment--how is she?' - -'Clothilde? Very well.' - -'And Anna? It's very good of you and Mr. Piton to let us carry little -Anna off.' - -'Yes it is,' said Piton. 'But they've never been separated though -they're only half-sisters. And though Anna's my father's niece and -Clothilde is not, and we should like to have her at Rocozanne, we -know she'll be better with a woman; and as we've only servants about, -it seems right that she should go with Clothilde. But my father has -explained all this,' he added, smiling. 'It's a bit of a sore point, we -begrudge her to you.' - -'She must come often to Rocozanne.' - -'Of course. Now we're off. Don't miss your road.' - -'I know the short cuts,' said Mr. Severn, as he turned away. Piton -laughed and waved his hand. Then as he leant forward and watched him -walk up the platform, his face became serious. He was a good-looking -young fellow. Judging from his usual expression of easy good-nature, the -lines of his life had fallen in pleasant places. But now he wore a look -that passed from pain to disgust and resentment. - -'If ever there were a good fellow in this world, it's Severn,' he -thought; 'and that's just what makes him fool enough to think himself -unworthy of any woman who seems lovable. I wonder when he'll begin to -see into Clothilde's genuine moral structure. Thank Heaven, he'll not -be marred though he may be maimed; he's made of sterner stuff than -he'll know of till the occasion comes, and he's very fond of Anna, and -nothing'll spoil Anna, not even Clothilde. If I thought she would, -we'd keep her at Rocozanne after all. I longed to blurt out the truth -and tell him of Clothilde's engagement to that poor fellow in India. -She doesn't care a straw for Severn. What heart she has is in the -Punjaub; but because it's given to a poor man she plays it false. And -she wrote him a letter only yesterday, in the old style! I wish Severn -had heard her tell me so--such confounded coolness! A bird in the -hand, et cetera. She'll keep in with Danby until the register's signed -with Severn; if there were a slip at the last moment the compromising -intelligence would never reach the far East, and if she didn't take up -with some one else, she might wait after all. But where would be the use -of telling Severn? It would only make him confoundedly miserable and -scandalise my father, who thinks she's had an amicable disagreement with -the Punjaub, and leave her to cajole some one else. Her beauty would do -it. By Jove, she _is_ beautiful, but she'll never look for Severn what -she looked for Danby! Heaven knows what might become of her if my father -refused to have her here again. She won't work as a music-teacher, not -she! She's dilettante, not enthusiast. Those moors Severn talks of will -be a safe place for her; her wings'll be clipped and she'll be out of -the way of mischief-making. I only hope he'll soon show the master-hand -and guide her by sheer force of example into honesty.' - -When Mr. Severn left the station he struck up the ravine behind St. -Aubin's where the road inland ran. As he passed the tumble-down, -crooked old stone houses, whose gloomy dampness made them scarcely fit -for cattle, various old crones and children came out to stare at him. -There was not so tall a man on the island. They knew nothing of Anakims -as personified in Yorkshire dalesmen. His height, his massive limbs -and breadth of shoulder, his jet-black hair, fresh colour and gleaming -teeth, were a revelation to them. A group of market-people waiting at -the station for Corbiere pressed up to the railings and made audible -remarks. They were in French, however, and he did not understand. Seeing -them look interested, he nodded, then raised his hat. He was less -interested in them than he had been a little earlier by a water-wheel -against the road which imprisoned a silvery stream that shot over the -edge of a brambly bank above. A little farther on was a quarry, over -whose stone he stood some moments speculating. It struck into the heart -of the hill, an ochreous blotch against the dense velvetiness of the -furze. A man in a blue blouse was chipping at its base. These touched -at once his love of colour, and his instincts as steward for a large -estate where earths and rocks were in constant consideration. There was -a short cut below the quarry to St. Brelade's, but he did not take it. -He and Clothilde Hugo had not taken the short cuts when together, and -he remembered a point on the road which she had showed him from whence -there was a glimpse of the white houses of St. Helier's gleaming against -the amethystine sea in a land-locked setting. He went round by the road -and loitered a little, thinking of her. - -How good it was of her to take him! What faith she showed in him! He -fully realised the isolation of the home to which marriage with him -would condemn her. He was not only much older than she but was impressed -by the sense of their different social positions. He had risen from -small tenant-farmer to the stewardship of Admiral Marlowe's estates, -and she was of a good old family that ranked high among the aristocracy -of proud Guernsey. He could give her comfort but not luxury. She was -beautiful, she was clever. Would she feel herself buried at Old Lafer, -or would his affection atone for the loss of social congenialities and -throw a glamour over the eeriness of winter storms and the loneliness of -summer sunshine? The innate poetry of his nature had enthroned her as a -flower among flowers at Rocozanne. He should never forget the wealth of -bloom in the garden when he entered it on his first visit, the glow of -colour from plants that were tropical compared to the homely herbs and -posies of Old Lafer. It had dazzled him. The white house, the blaze of -geranium, the scent of heliotrope, the lap of the sea that quivered in -the sun like the million facets of diamonds, the heat mists that bathed -the cliffs, the mellow mushroom tints of the old church beyond the -evergreen oaks whose glossy denseness of foliage threw the whole picture -into high relief, had impressed him with the perception of brilliancy -and ease and luxury. Clothilde, rising slowly and gracefully from a low -chair in the shade of the trees and coming towards him with outstretched -hands, gave the touch of human nature which at once subordinated all -to itself. Her eyes shone with welcome. Little Anna, running from the -gate into the churchyard betwixt whose bars she had been playing with -the grave-digger's dog, slid her fingers into his palm and stared at -him with an elfish gaze from beneath her breeze-blown hair. Clothilde -stooped, smoothed the hair and kissed the child's forehead. The action -sealed Mr. Severn's fate. - -The November twilight was deepening when he reached the highest point -of his walk to-day. A few more steps took him to the edge of the cliffs -above St. Brelade's bay. The sun had set, leaving lurid gleams piercing -a fringe of cloud that seemed to have been torn from the thicker clouds -above, and would soon hide the sky-line in a driving mist of rain. -The wind was increasing. Sheets of foam dashed against Noirmont, the -bay was a waste of tumbled water driving on to the beach. His gaze -travelled across it to the church nestling at the foot of a gorge full -of chestnuts and evergreen oaks. He could distinguish the bulk of its -tower against the hill. The sea-wall that buttressed the grave-yard -was continued along the terrace garden of Rocozanne. But he could not -distinguish Rocozanne until suddenly a light flared out from a window, -and after a fitful gleam or two, settled there. - -His heart leapt at the sight of that light. He pleased himself by -imagining that Clothilde had placed it on the sill perhaps to guide -him to her side. His thoughts flew to the many nights when she would -watch for him at Old Lafer. No more lonely evenings there for him, no -more comfortless home-comings to dull and empty rooms. Good God! to -think this beloved and beautiful presence was to be his guiding star. -But he must hurry now. It was certain Clothilde would be expecting -him, pressing her face to the glass and watching the road. Had it been -daylight she could have seen him silhouetted on the cliff edge. She -might expect he was driving and be growing anxious at the delay. He -walked on rapidly, the beat of his heart keeping time with his steps, -his thoughts full of vows and resolutions to compass her lifelong -happiness so far as was in his power. He remembered that once, on a -previous visit he had found her thus looking out when Ambrose and he -had walked late one night. The slight anxiety had then given her a -pinched whiteness which changed to a blush the moment her eyes lit on -them coming up the steps from the beach into the garden. She was at the -door before they were. The tide was not yet too high to admit of his -going up the steps to-day. Perhaps she would again open the door for him. - -He was in the village now, and soon traversing it, went down the -sand-bank to the beach, of which a strip was still bare of more sea than -the yeasty flakes flying on the wind. Another moment and he had mounted -the steps. They were overhung by a mass of chrysanthemums in full bloom. -He stepped between two clumps of pampas grass into the garden and faced -the low white front of Rocozanne. All was quiet and at the moment dark. -He stood motionless, listening. Then he perceived that the front door -was wide open. The next moment a glimmer of light fell high upon the -walls within and gradually diffused itself as a figure came slowly down -the stairs. It was Clothilde Hugo. She was carrying a lamp, and as she -reached the lowest step, it illumined her strongly. She was tall and -slender. Her face was pale, with exquisitely cut features, and was set -above a throat of matchless curves. A loose mass of dark wavy hair was -parted above a low white brow. Her sombre eyes gained lustrous depths by -the intensity of her unconscious gaze into the outside gloom. She wore -a black dress, long, flowing, and plain as the fashion then was. It was -cut low, and a ribbon of vividest scarlet velvet was round her throat. -Sleeves hanging from the elbow showed beautifully modelled arms, and a -scarlet band clasped her waist. - -She put the lamp upon the table and stood, half-turned to the door, -listening. Oh! if only he could have known the vital fear gnawing at her -heart-strings--he was late; had he not come, had he heard anything, -_was he not coming_? Would she have to wait for Lucius Danby after all? -Well, she had not dismissed Lucius yet, that letter would only go after -she was another man's wife; he need never know---- - -'Clothilde!' - -It was Mr. Severn's voice. He was close to her, so close indeed that -his eager eyes, dimmed with happiness, had no time to see a swift -convulsive shadow that swept over her face, seeming to recall her from -some pleasant dream to a reality that was repugnant to every sense. For -a moment she stood motionless as though paralysed. He seized her hands. -They were icy-cold. - -'Clothilde,' he said again, 'my darling, my----' - -She turned. Another instant and she was in his arms and had thrown her -arms round his neck. No! no! she had not longed for Lucius! _This_ was -what she had wanted. The haunting fear lest it should fail her was -gone--a fear she would never have known had she not failed another. - -But he did not know this. He thought she truly loved him and him only. - - - - - CHAPTER I - - OLD LAFER - - -'Now children, come in; bed-time!' - -'Oh Anna!' came in a muffled reproachful chorus as four lap-cocks in -the meadow into which Anna Hugo was looking over the garden wall at -Old Lafer, sat up and revealed four children. Three were girls, by -name Antoinette, Emmeline, and Joan. All were handsome--with creamy -skins, dark eyes, and curly brown hair hanging to their waists over -holland smocks. These smocks were cut low at the neck and short-sleeved, -allowing rebellious shoulders to push themselves with shrugs and twists -from their confinement and showing dimpled, nut-brown elbows. - -Anna smiled as the children pushed back their hair and turned their -flushed faces to her. She wondered whose voice would be the first to -protest against her hard-heartedness. - -'We're playing at graves,' said Emmeline timidly, winks and nods having -failed to make Antoinette take the lead. - -'For the very last time this year,' said Antoinette. - -'Because this is the very last hay left out at Old Lafer; Elias says -so,' said Jack. - -'Well, of course it is,' said Antoinette; 'haven't we played graves in -all the other fields in turn, silly boy?' - -'Elias won't be long now, Anna,' said Emmeline. 'He's clearing the last -sledge-load by the beck, and the game is he should guess which lap-cock -is which of us.' - -'And when he guesses right we give him a kiss,' said Joan. - -'I don't,' said Jack. - -'Because you're only a boy,' said Antoinette, whose vocation it seemed -to snub Jack and thus temper any yielding to him as the only boy, to -which others might be tempted. - -'You may wait,' said Anna hastily, and as they re-covered themselves -with hay with much subdued tittering and exhortations to caution, and -calling out to Anna to be sure and say if a nose or foot were left -visible, she climbed to the top of the wall and sat down. - -The sun was low--a few moments more and it would sink below the moor -behind the house. The shadows lay long on the grass. The garden was -to the right of the front door, whose flight of uneven steps led down -upon flags bright with golden bosses of stone-crop. Old Lafer had a -long frontage and a steep thatched roof with deep eaves where swallows -loved to build. The two rows of windows were latticed with leaded panes; -monthly roses reached to the sills of the lower ones. A thick growth -of ivy round the door was climbing to the eaves at the end of the house -farthest from the garden, heightening the rough effect of the lichened -stone. Below it a little stream, clear and cold as crystal, issued from -beneath the dairy and slipped down the flags in a runnel, murmuring -softly as though eager to hide in the fern-fringed trough on the other -side of the wall. The walls were all full of rue, and polypody, and -crane's-bill--a growth of years--which no one was allowed to touch. -There was nothing Mr. Severn valued more about the place than its bits -of untutored nature. He had a horror of the pruning-knife, which Elias -would have applied ruthlessly to lilacs and thorns, clipping them back -to look tidy. These, edging the fir clump that sheltered Old Lafer from -the north, were allowed to overhang the garden, their wild sprays of -bloom following in fragrance close upon the wall-flowers that grew in a -thick border under the windows of the best parlour. The garden had been -made for the best parlour years ago when Old Lafer was the Hall and the -Marlowes lived there. It was full of old-fashioned flowers and herbs, a -garden for bees to go mad in. Mr. Severn had a row of hives under the -sunniest wall, and before the ling was in blow the bees boomed to and -fro all day on wings that should have been tipsy if they were not. When -the ling was ablow the garden knew them no more. - -It was the end of July, and there was a flush on the moors which -rolled abruptly to the sky-line behind the house. In front the meadows -dipped into the valley of the Woss, then rose again to the village -of East Lafer. After this, foliage and cultivation increased. The -plain stretching away to the wolds was varied with fallow and stubble -and pasture. Its tints were opalescent. Anna loved better the deep -blue shadows that lurked in every hollow of the hills, showing their -mouldings and intensifying their sunshine. - -When Elias Constantine came up the slope from the beck, he was ahead -of the sledge. His rake was over his shoulder and he leant on a holly -stick. He did not wait for the pony, straining every muscle to land its -load, but casually remarking, 'Hi, come up, Jane my bonny one!' made -for the lap-cocks. He looked up to the business, and winked at Anna as -much as to say so. He lumbered round, prodding one after the other and -contriving to gather some hint for his guesses. He was never random and -hated to be wrong. His keen old eyes did not deceive him now. When Jane -reached them they were all ready to go up the field together, the girls -shaking hay-seeds out of their hair, Jack pushing fodder under Jane's -nose each time Elias 'breathed' her. - -'I'm so sorry all our hay's in,' said Antoinette, looking across the -beck to fields still in swathe and pike. - -'You wouldn't be if you'd the getting of it,' said Elias. 'It's a -rarely exercising time for watching the weather and the wankly ways o' -Providence wi' shower and shine.' - -'Lias, why won't Jane eat this hay?' asked Jack, whose wisps were -snuffed at and disdained. - -'Because she's full.' - -'Oh! you ought to say she's had plenty; Anna says so,' said Joan. - -'Danged if I ought to say otherwise than I do, missie.' - -'Oh! what a jolly word, banged!' said Jack. - -'I reckon I was wrong there,' said Elias sheepishly. - -'It wasn't banged, there's nothing to bang,' said Antoinette. - -'I know there are no doors out here, Netta----' - -'Now you mean Dinah when she's cross. For shame, Jack.' - -'I lay that's when some one's crossed her,' said Elias, who as Dinah's -husband not only knew how doors could bang but was loyal in his excuses. - -They had reached the stile now and Elias sent them over it. In his -opinion Miss Anna had waited quite long enough for the 'baaerns.' Not -a bit of quiet had she had that day and she must be longing for it. -She was as the apple of his eye. Mrs. Severn might be a handsome lady -but she did not 'act handsome.' He begrudged calling 'Missis' one who -was only such as 'Master's' wife, and in spite of Dinah's exhortations -to conventional respect he very rarely did call her 'Missis'; she was -generally 'Clo' in his vocabulary. What was there of the mistress in -a woman whose time was spent in a hammock under the trees in summer, -and on the sofa in winter, twiddling on a guitar or fiddle or playing -with her children, while her husband ordered the dinners, made up -the tradesmen's books, and at nights had his rest broken by acting as -head-nurse? There had been no comfort about the place until Miss Anna -had left school. Yet Mr. Severn adored his wife! It 'maddled' him how -a man of sense could be so daft! His opinion of him would have sunk -several degrees had he not adored Miss Anna too and thus redeemed his -character from the charge of being taken by good looks. Even Elias knew -she was not handsome by the side of Mrs. Severn and her children, but -she had a smile and a sparkle in her eyes such as Mrs. Severn never had. - -Anna jumped from the wall, and crossing the garden met the children on -the flags. They all trailed through the hall and up the shallow oak -stairs, talking in whispers lest mother or baby were asleep. At the -top various strips of old-fashioned corded drugget led to the several -bedroom doors. Mrs. Severn's door was ajar and Jack and Anna peeped in -together, he peering round her skirts and shaking his curly head for the -benefit of the others. There was no sound or movement. The room was low, -heavily-furnished with mahogany and looked dark. A settee covered with -red dimity was drawn across one window. Its cushions were piled high at -one end, and on them rested a dark head and the ivory-like profile of a -face on which fell the last soft gleams of sunshine. - -'Clothilde,' said Anna gently. - -There was no answer but she advanced, and leaning over the back of the -settee she found that Mrs. Severn's eyes were wide open. - -'Come in, children, mother's awake,' she said. - -The door was flung wide and they all trooped in and up to the cot where -the baby lay. - -'Ah! Clothilde,' said Anna, 'there's none so deaf as those who won't -hear, is there now? I was certain you were awake but you feel lazy, and -the longer you lie here the lazier you will feel! The heat, added to -that constitutional tendency, is stupefying, isn't it?' - -She spoke satirically and smiled, but at the same moment tried to -arrange the cushions more comfortably. Mrs. Severn, however, pushed her -away and sat up. - -'You always think me lazy when I'm tired; you are a tiresome -contradictious creature,' she said. - -'No, I don't, not always. But you would never be so tired if you were -not so lazy, which thing is a paradox! And you look so strong and well -to-night----' - -'Strong! I never look strong, Anna; you might as well say robust at -once. And you know I never look vulgar.' - -'Dearest, who said a word about vulgarity? I only meant as much as I -said. If to look strong means to be vulgar, then I am so and thank God -for it. But you do look well to-night, and if Mr. Borlase saw you I'm -certain he would say you were well. When are you going to delight our -eyes by being in the parlour again, you beautiful woman? What an ugly -duckling I am among you all, only Elias to comfort me with his "divine -plain face of a woman." Perhaps mine may develop into that phase.' - -She had taken up a brush from the dressing-table and loosened Mrs. -Severn's hair. Brushed back from her forehead it swept the cushions in -a dark cloudy mass. Her face was as pale as marble, for now there was -no sunshine to tinge it. Its expression was one of statuesque repose. -The perfect features admitted of no play of thought or feeling; they -were not only blank as an empty page but suggested the inner blank of -utter self-absorption. She looked dreamy and apathetic. Her eyes seemed -larger but were no longer bright; their lustre was quenched as though -an impalpable mist were drawn over them. One felt that whether in joy -or sorrow her face would remain the same. But its beauty and refinement -of chiselled repose was heightened into absolute fascination by that -preoccupied indifference. It roused speculation. What had it been as a -child's face? Had no emotion in girlhood overwhelmed the abstraction, -or had some overwhelming emotion fixed it there? Would she grow old -and still wear it? Death could not enhance its calm. Borlase, her -doctor, giving her skilled attention in her hours of agony, felt with -a strange shiver that even in her agony she was, in some strange way, -impersonal--her epitaph, what could be more appropriate than this, 'She -died as she had lived, coldly?' - -And now Anna's deft fingers had gathered up the rich hair and were -plaiting it into plaits to coil high on her head with a tiara-like -effect. Mrs. Severn had raised herself to admit of this manipulation -and watched it in a glass which Anna had put into her hands. When it -was complete Anna stood back and surveyed her, her own face lit up with -proud and enthusiastic delight. But this delight did not affect Mrs. -Severn, who had been pondering over her last words. - -'I don't believe in the divine getting inextricably mixed with the -human,' she said. - -'That's sheer perversity. You not only rob me of my crumb of comfort but -make yourself out to be heterodox. I don't believe, moreover, that you -ever have thought about it.' - -'That is true.' - -'Yes, you might say with Hodge, "I mostly thinks o' nowt." Hodge, -digging, is excusable, for there's no inspiration in the mould where the -only variety is in the size of the stones and the worms that he turns -up. But you are so different. I'm sure you would be happier if you were -busier--"Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do."' - -Mrs. Severn listlessly submitted to the vehement kiss with which Anna -finished her lecture. - -'When you quote Satan I am at home, but I know nothing of Hodge,' she -said in her slow mellifluous voice. - -Anna laughed. It was like demonstrating logic to a jelly-fish to argue -with Clothilde. - -'I really believe that's a fact,' she said, 'though Hodge lives at your -doors, and we'll hope Satan has no foothold in the neighbourhood. But -how profane we are! How shocked Canon Tremenheere would be if he heard -us! By the bye, do you know his sister Julia's husband is dead--died -after a few weeks' illness?' - -'What could she expect when she married again?' - -'He was a strong man and she has been so ailing. What sorrows she has -had!' - -'Sorrows? And if she has, she has had great joys too.' - -'Oh Clothilde! Well, let us hope that will console her now. Do you think -it would console you?' - -'Me? How can I say, Anna? I know neither, I have had neither. The -superlative does not enter into my experience of life.' - -'It's your own fault then, dearest,' said Anna wistfully. 'Life is what -we make it. Joy won't come unbidden; we must help to prepare the ground -or there'll only be a weedy plant that will wither in the sun. The joys -of one are the cares of another. I suppose Dad and the children are -cares to you.' - -Mrs. Severn was silent. Anna turned, and leaning against the window -looked down into the garden. Its midsummer brilliancy had faded with the -sunshine, and the tangle of flowers, missing the caresses of breeze and -sun and bees, looked subdued and shame-faced. At least so she fancied. -A dewy sweetness hung above, floating up to her in incense-like whiffs. -The landscape was becoming neutral. Above the valley there spread, as -she looked, a haze of blue smoke from a cottage by the beck at the -corner where it tumbled into the Woss. - -'Mr. Borlase rode past about six,' said Mrs. Severn suddenly. She -scrutinised Anna as she spoke. - -'He would be going into Wherndale. Perhaps he'll come in for supper on -his way home. Dad will be back soon.' - -'You might let him see baby, she's been restless. But John is not coming -home to-night. I've had a note from the office; he's gone to Scotland -on business, something important occurred, and nothing would satisfy -the Admiral but that he should start at once. And there's a letter from -Rocozanne, from Ambrose, somewhere,' she added vaguely, searching in -the folds of her dressing-gown. As that was useless she got up, and, -while shaking her draperies, discovered it on the floor. Anna picked -it up. It was addressed to her. She turned it over, half expecting to -find the seal broken. Mrs. Severn had had a habit of opening all the -Rocozanne letters until lately, when Anna had firmly expostulated. This, -however, was intact. - -'Why didn't you send it down?' said Anna. 'How long have you had it? You -could have thrown it out when you heard me in the garden. You must have -heard me there.' - -'It was enclosed and I forgot it. John's news upset me. Really, the -Admiral might have a little consideration for me. Now read the letter, -Anna. Is there any news from Rocozanne? I suppose the Kerrs' yacht won't -have got to Jersey yet; they can't have seen Miss Marlowe?' - -'Oh dear no! They were only leaving Zante on the 15th. But I haven't -time to read it now,' said Anna. Reproach had kindled an unexpected -brilliancy over her whole face, and she looked at Mrs. Severn with eyes -that suddenly glowed with finely controlled anger. 'Every one is busy -because of the hay, and I'm going to see the children to bed. Come, -children, kiss mother. What, Joan, pick-a-pack?' - -She knelt for Joan to clasp her neck, then tucking her little fat legs -under her arms, rose and careered on to the landing. Joan was not too -tired to gurgle with laughter at the jogging. The others ran after them, -having dabbed random kisses on Mrs. Severn's face and throat. They left -the door wide open in spite of her charge to them to shut it. - -'Netta, Jack, Jack,' she called. But they were heedless. - -She watched them dart across the landing, and listened to the dying -away down a passage of steps and voices. Then a door banged, raising -reverberating echoes in the rambling old house, and when they died away, -all was still. She got up and closed the door herself. As she re-crossed -the room she did not pause at her baby's cot, but went up to the mirror -and stood before it for some moments, thinking how admirably these loose -white draperies set off her dark hair and sombre eyes. She had a strong -impression that she ought to have been a prophetess, or a tragic singer. -Nature had overlooked her own opportunities. There is a difference -between being created and being a creation. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - A MIDSUMMER EVENING - - -An hour later Anna crossed the flags, reading Ambrose Piton's letter. It -was long and she stood some time engrossed in it, but at last she folded -it and slipped it into her pocket with a sigh of decided relief. Then, -mounting the stile, she jumped down into the meadow. - -At that moment she caught the sound of a horse cantering along the road. -It stopped and a gate clicked, then fell to with a clash that roused the -dogs. She knew it must be Mr. Borlase. Standing on tiptoe she looked -through the hedge, expecting he would turn off to the stable. - -But he did not. He scanned the garden and the fields, and seeing the -glimmer of her white dress between the bars of the stile, rode up and -stood in his stirrups, looking over. Her eyes met his with a laughing -glance of defiance. - -'Don't speak. Let me anticipate your remark. I know it,' she said. - -'You may anticipate anything agreeable.' - -'"The grass is dewy, your feet will be wet, Miss Hugo."' - -He laughed, glancing down at his horse's head and flicking a fly from -its ear, then back at her with a swift sidelong look of admiration. It -was lost upon her for she was standing on the stile surveying her shoes. - -'They are wet,' she said. - -'Of course they are. You must take them off instantly.' - -'If you had not come, I should have had a walk by the beck.' - -'Well, you are not going to walk now and must take them off.' - -'Yes, I will, directly;' then patting his horse she added, 'My sister -wants you to see baby, at least she did an hour ago. She saw you ride -past, into the Dale, I suppose.' - -'Now, Miss Hugo, there should not be all this difference between -_instantly_ and _directly_,' said Borlase. He swung off his horse, drew -her hand from its neck, and interposed himself between them. 'Must I put -up while you speak to Mrs. Severn?' - -'And change my shoes? Then you need not dream of a new and unruly -patient at Old Lafer. I shall be very glad if you'll stay for supper, -but Dad is away.' - -They had reached the door. Without waiting for an answer she ran up the -steps and vanished. - -Borlase stood staring into the hall, where whitewash and black oak -alternated. Through an open door at the end he heard Elias reading -aloud to Dinah, who meanwhile bustled about between the kitchen and -the dairy, or slipped into her clogs and clattered into the fold-yard -or buildings. He read aloud every night and she never ceased from work -to listen. Borlase had often laughed in thinking of the extraordinary -jumble of curtailed facts with which her mind must be stored. But -to-night he was in no humour for laughter. On the contrary their -simplicity struck him as pathetic. Our own moods colour the actions of -others and he was suddenly feeling depressed and disappointed. Not only -was he baulked in his intention of spending the evening at Old Lafer but -Anna had been far from shy when she asked him to do so. It was useless -to have exerted that delightful bit of authority over her in the matter -of the shoes. She neither resented nor encouraged whatever he might do. -His pulses had been stirred by the touch of her hand, a touch he had -longed to make significant. She had taken it as a matter of course. -Would she never perceive what he wanted of her? - -And now she reappeared. - -'You are not to see baby,' she said from half-way down the stairs. 'But -do come in, won't you?' - -'Not to-night,' he said, going round his horse to tighten the -saddle-girths. He glanced up involuntarily at the windows of Mrs. -Severn's room. But no one was visible. Yet he had an impression that -they were watched. - -'I have got a new song that suits my voice exactly. Clothilde is going -to accompany it,' said Anna. - -'I will wait until then to hear it.' - -'I thought you did not care for her accompaniments.' - -'I don't, as a rule. But it does not signify much, either way.' - -'I've heard you declare that everything, the most trivial, ought to have -a decided significance in one direction,' said Anna, after a little -pause of astonishment. - -'So I have, I believe.' - -'And I know you have a great contempt for inconsistency.' - -'Yes.' - -'You once said it was the brand of our human nature.' - -'I must have been in a grandiloquent or dogmatic mood. Perhaps I often -am. However, it is true. It is also its bane, and I confess I am guilty -of it.' - -'Oh no, I don't think so. I know you really prefer the piano with -singing to either violin or guitar, but you are harassed over something, -a bad case perhaps, and you don't care for music of any kind to-night. -Forgive me for teasing a little.' - -There was a music in her tones for which he cared! She was standing on -the steps with her hands behind her, and having busied himself with the -saddle to a degree which he knew was ridiculous, he turned and glanced -at her. She was critically examining his work; being able to ride -bare-backed at a hand-gallop herself, she understood the points both -of horse and accoutrements. He got his look at her, unperceived. It -sent the blood from his face. 'How marvellously dear she is to me!' he -thought, and was thankful to be able to think it coherently. He still -had power over himself when he could frame his knowledge into words. -He reasoned over it too. She was plain, she was little--not the ideal -woman of his dreams. But his ideal woman had vanished long ago, and in -her place--he knew well when--had come Anna Hugo with her heavy-browed, -square-jawed face, her unruly mass of coarse dark hair, her deep-set -scrutinising eyes, and that play of expression which tantalised him -into wanting to know her every thought, because it showed him so many. -Preparing to mount he glanced at her again. - -This time their eyes met. Hers were eloquent with unembarrassed -kindness. His had a distressed look to which self-control gave a -hardness unaccountable to her except on the one presumption. He was -certainly in trouble. They were friends, she might be able to give a -lighter turn to his thoughts. - -'Let me walk to the gate with you,' she said. 'I want to hear about your -ride.' - -He read her like a book and smiled at the artlessness of her arts. Yet -how cruel she could be because she thought more for others than of -herself! Use had strengthened her original nature by binding its second -nature upon her. She arranged, comforted, disciplined, befriended, the -whole household at Old Lafer; and he, who knew of what contradictious -elements it consisted, knew too that she had lost sight of self in -determined efforts to control them to unity and concord. This had -made her old for her years, and she unconsciously treated as younger -many who were older than herself, a grievance with which he had once -charged her. But she had not understood. The knitting of her brows as -she puzzled over it made him laugh at last. He told her emotion would -have to teach her his meaning, and the question, who would rouse that -emotion, had since disquieted himself. - -Borlase had been to the Mires to see old Hartas Kendrew. It was a name -which clouded Anna's face for a moment, and made him avoid glancing at -her as he uttered it. But the next moment she turned to him with the -brightest of smiles. - -'Did you ever hear of the burying he and his wife once went to?' she -said. 'It was when buryings were buryings and finished off with rum. It -had poured with rain all day and the waters were out. Jinny and Hartas -had to cross a beck. They rode pillion and they were both drowsy, and -it was comfortable to know the horse would find its own way home. They -forgot the beck would be out, and could not hear its roar for the wind. -Suddenly Jinny woke, feeling very cold, and saying "Not a drap more, -thank you kindly, not a drap more." They were in the water, and it was -the flood at their lips, not another glass of rum.' - -'Good Heavens, what a shave! Did they get out?' said Borlase. - -'Oh no! both were washed away and drowned.' - -'But Hartas----?' - -'Yes. He lived to tell the tale.' - -'Then his wife was drowned? Well, he did cleverly to scramble out.' - -'No.' - -Borlase suddenly awoke to find himself puzzled. He looked suspiciously -at Anna, walking unconcernedly beside him with her head averted. - -'Then why did you say they were?' he asked. - -'Why did you ask, when you had seen one of them in the flesh an hour -ago?' said Anna, laughing. - -Borlase was silent. The indictment was too obvious; another point for -the dissection of his inner consciousness. - -'One's imagination always flies to a catastrophe rather than good -fortune,' said Anna. - -'Not always,' said Borlase sharply. 'I never imagined on the moor -to-night that Mr. Severn would be away after market at Wonston and I -could not spend the evening with you.' - -'But why not?' said Anna. 'I asked you and I told you of my new song. I -thought as you declined you were in a hurry home.' - -'If I had been in a hurry home I should have been there now.' - -It was Anna's turn to be silent. Her resources suddenly seemed -exhausted, the argument attenuated. - -They had reached the gate. Borlase fumbled with the hasp, trying to -secure a few moments for thought. He had known Anna many years and for -the greater part of that time he had loved her. But he had resolved not -to ask her to be his wife until he was his own master. At present he -was still in partnership with the leading medical man in Wonston but in -another year the partnership would expire and he would be independent -and able to offer her such a home as he could think worthy of her. When -he came to Old Lafer to-night he had not meant to precipitate matters -but now he felt urged not to miss this opportunity, wholly unexpected -and tempting as it was. He glanced at her with the resentment of -desperation. She was looking across the road into the ferny depths of an -oak planting where twilight gave the vistas a dreamy quietude. How could -she be so calm when he was so overwrought? Would she never perceive his -feeling? What a help a touch of shyness in her manner would be! He -dreaded lest speech should forfeit her friendliness and gain nothing in -its place, but still more lest his own inaction now should paralyse his -resolution and unman him. - -'She shall refuse me; perhaps a second time she would accept me,' he -thought. 'Rather than that I should wrong her and myself any longer by -not facing the truth, I'll be manly and ask her outright; at any rate -it'll make her think of me.' - -He opened the gate and she advanced with a smile to shake hands. He -turned abruptly. There was a look on his face which she had never -seen before. She stood transfixed, involuntarily gazing at him, -scarcely conscious that his searching look was wholly concentrated -on her and expressed an earnestness that the next moment struck her -as overwhelmingly pathetic in a man. In that moment the tension of -her figure relaxed, vivid colour rushed over her face, her eyes fell, -veiling undreamt-of tears. It was her first self-consciousness and it -stirred her unutterably, thrilled to the depths of her heart. She felt -rather than heard that he was coming near to her. She had clutched the -gate with one hand, for so sudden was the rush of this new tide of -feeling that it dizzied her, the world swam before her. His voice, with -a new tone in it whose vibration seemed to strike music into life--the -music of love, of marriage, of lifelong companionship, reached her as in -a dream. He was speaking, still with that look of ardent devotion fixed -upon her. This was no dream. She heard, she saw. - -But that was all to-night. - -Mrs. Severn's voice broke into the midst of his eager speech. Both heard -it and turned, startled. - -'Anna, Anna!' she called. - -She was standing at her open window, beckoning. Anna was alarmed, but -Borlase was suspicious. - -'Don't go,' he said, seizing her hand. - -'I must. She wants me.' - -'Oh Anna, so do I. But 'twill be a new habit for you to want me. Well, -I'll wait.' - -'Until I go and come?' - -'Just so,' he said and laughed joyously. - -But she was already blushing at her own words, and his laugh, setting -free as it seemed to do his own wild emotion and her surrender, made her -shrink into herself. - -'Oh! not to-night. How could I come back to-night? It's getting late, -it's----' she said incoherently, and wrung her hand out of his. - -Not before he had bent close to her. - -'But I _shall_ wait. I have and I will in every way,' he said in a -whisper. She gave him one glance, hurried, misty; a smile set in tears; -passed him and was gone. - -He leant against the gate, watching and waiting, scanning the house. -Mrs. Severn had disappeared. No one was visible. It grew dusk. A bat -flitted round him. The murmur of the beck on the sweet still air was -every moment clearer as it sang its 'quiet tune' to the 'sleeping -woods.' Surely she would come. - -But she did not, and presently he mounted his horse and rode away. - - - - - CHAPTER III - - BORLASE IS ABSENT-MINDED - - -Borlase began by being angry and riding hard. He was certain Mrs. -Severn's interruption had been deliberate. It was not probable she would -be friendly to any one who wished to rob Old Lafer of Anna, who was oil -to the domestic machinery. But he thought he should quickly outwit her -unless she developed an ability for taking trouble. - -Gradually his pace slackened. The remembrance of the sudden shyness in -Anna's manner consoled him. He was sure she had understood all at last. -This fired hope and coloured her non-appearance with an encouraging -construction; she could not have come back, for to do so would be -courting his intention. The more he pondered the more convinced he was -that he had banished the old Anna who went and came without a thought -of self. As such she had been delightful but his pulses beat to think -how much more delightful she would be now. Let him only have her to -himself again and no mortal power should balk him of his opportunity. -Her image seemed to move before him all the way home. The tones of her -voice, her little tricks of speech and gesture were photographed on his -mind. She had worn a bunch of sweet peas at her throat, how sweet they -were! He went over all the alternations of her mood that evening, and -as he remembered how her friendliness had at last merged into shyness, -his heart leapt. He would speak to her soon, and in one short year they -would be married. - -Thus his ride ended slowly with drooping rein, and he was only roused -by the Minster clock striking eleven as he entered Wonston. - -He ought to have called at a cottage in East Lafer, and he did not know -that he had passed through the village--yes, he had though; his horse -had shied at the geese asleep on the green and he remembered having -turned to catch the last glimpse of the lights twinkling at Old Lafer. -Why the deuce had he forgotten the poor fellow in pain who was expecting -him? As for the lanes with grassy margins where he generally took a -gallop, the plantations suggesting pheasant-shooting, the oncoming -turnips where partridges would find covert, he had seen none of them. -The charm of the blurred landscape, the freshness of the night air, with -its whiffs of sweetness from the honeysuckle thrown here and there in -foamy sheets over the maple and holly of the hedges, had for once been -unnoticed. - -He had indeed forgotten everything in thinking of Anna, as he realised -when he got into his own house. A sleepy maid met him in the hall with -the announcement that a boy from the Mires had been waiting an hour -for medicine. He found him in the surgery, sitting on a chair behind -the door with his legs dangling, and his cap held between his knees. -He had forgotten all about old Hartas Kendrew's needs, and that he had -ordered a messenger to come, so could not excuse himself by having -overlooked the knack these dalesboys had of covering three or four miles -in a whipstitch. He whistled softly as he sought out the necessary -drugs and compounded them in a mortar. It was certain a doctor had no -business to be in love. He did not care much for old Kendrew, but had -it not been ten to one that the man at East Lafer would be asleep, he -would have galloped back to see him. Old Kendrew was a miserable sinner -whose death certificate it would give him pleasure to sign any day. He -was not only a drunken scoundrel and cherished a blackguardly hatred -of straight dealing but knew one or two discreditable facts connected -with the family whom for Anna Hugo's sake Borlase wished to hold in -special honour. Borlase knew well that there were elements of disastrous -wrong-doing in Mrs. Severn's character and suspected that Kendrew knew -this too. She had at various times left Old Lafer for some weeks and -stayed at Kendrew's pit cottage at the Mires. There she had degraded -herself by intemperance. This rendered it all but an impossibility that -Kendrew should not have the knowledge and power to spread a scandal -whenever he chose. Knowing the man as he did, it was inexplicable that -he had not already done so. Some time had passed since her last visit -to the Mires; and Borlase knew that at present she was little talked -about except with admiration of her appearance and musical gifts. -Her old freaks, if hinted at, were considered amusing, as one of the -irresponsibilities of genius. The sin involved was, he was convinced, -unsuspected where it was not, as in his case, definitely known. Dinah -Constantine had told him. It had, joined to his professional knowledge -of her physique and character, interested him psychologically. - -'And how was Hartas when you came away, Jimmy?' he asked as he folded up -the bottle. - -'Lord, sir, I came off just after you'd gone yourself, so he couldna -either hev worsened or bettered, but I ken he wer swearing awful. I -heard him the whiles Scilla wer talking to me about t' physic--swearing -awful, he wer!' - -Borlase laughed. - -'Swearing, was he?' he said. 'That's his chief complaint, Jimmy, to tell -you the truth. It comes of _not_ telling the truth. A man fouls his -throat with lies and oaths to back them up until a moral disease seizes -it, and he can't speak anything else, and when he drinks and gets D.T. -too, the moral and physical diseases act upon each other until he's a -mass of corruption, soul and body. Take care you never swear and lie and -poach grouse and fire at keepers as Hartas and his lad did. Kit's in -gaol, you know, having a spell at the Mill, and Hartas is still worse -off, as he lies now in a strait-jacket. Mind you're always honest to the -powers that be, and touch your cap to the Admiral and Miss Marlowe.' - -Jimmy's eyes gleamed with awe. What he did not understand in this speech -was even more impressive than what he did. 'Hartas says he'll be even -with the Admiral for sending Kit to t' Mill, he says he will one of -these days, sir. It's that he raves on at, and he calls Miss Cynthia -too, and Lias Constantine for----' - -'I daresay. For telling the truth?' said Borlase, nodding. - -'Well, he witnessed he both saw them kill t' birds and lay fresh -snares. Then he jumbles in Mrs. Severn and----' - -'Yes, yes,' said Borlase hastily, 'he's a cantankerous old gaffer who's -possessed by a thirst for vengeance against the law and those who uphold -it. We all hate being found out in a sin more than the sin itself, I -fear. Now get off home, and tell Scilla to keep up her heart, he'll pull -through.' - -'She'd a deal liefer he wouldn't,' said Jimmy, opening his jacket and -buttoning up the bottle of medicine in his breast pocket. He adjusted -his cap with various shovings to and fro on his shock of red hair and -clutched a heavy stick that had been propped in the corner. - -'Hartas's talk made me feel that queer in my inside, sir,' he said with -a shrewd, half-humorous glance at him, 'that I wer fair certain there'd -be a skirling o' bogies on the moor and I just brought this along to -thwack t' air with.' - -Borlase would have smiled had not Jimmy kept his eye on him with a -boldness born of the suspicion that he might. And after all what was -there to smile at? Jimmy Chapman was a fine little lad, and it was -his realisation of the powers of darkness in the person of a drunkard -and blasphemer that peopled the moor for him with the supernatural. -When Hartas Kendrew was down in delirium tremens as the result of a -drinking bout, his invoking the devil and his agencies was so real an -element in the life of the pitmen at the Mires that his ravings must -generate belief--however reluctant--in the probability of fiends and -bogies responding. Had the Mires been a respectable hamlet and its -pit population one of healthy morals and God-fearing principles, the -midnight moor would have had no terrors, for good would have had the -predominance over evil. - -The mould which makes us is circumstance. Borlase knew it had made Kit -Kendrew a poacher when his wife fell ill of fever. To the epigram that -'nothing is certain but the unforeseen' he thought there might be added -'or more powerful.' It had been so in Kit's case. Up to the time of his -marriage he had been a wild lad, suspected of more and graver trespasses -than were traced home to him, but also open-handed and kind-hearted. -Those who abhorred Hartas as evil to the core and unredeemable, cast -many a kind thought on Kit; he would get into trouble if only from his -daring spirit, and it would be a thousand pities. When he married, many -prophesied that it would be the saving of him. Priscilla was nurse-maid -at Old Lafer and a good steady girl. But she lost her baby and fell -ill when a hard winter was at its hardest. There was no coal-mining to -be done, for the moors were snow-bound. Kit loved her passionately and -nursed her devotedly. He was aghast to find that tea and porridge would -not bring her round to health. Delicacies were ordered, she must have -strengthening diet. Every circumstance was just at that time against -honesty. - -Borlase, looking round and noting with appreciation the exceptional -cleanliness and tidiness of the cottage, never dreamt that extreme -poverty lurked here. He had still to learn that they are often the -poorest who make the greatest efforts to appear least so, and that there -are women who manage a clean collar round their throats when they have -not a loaf of bread in the cupboard. The Marlowes were away, and there -was no soup-kitchen at the Hall that winter for those labourers on the -estate who cared to take advantage of it and no Miss Cynthia to inquire -after wife, husband, or children, and make notes of necessities in a -little morocco-leather note-book, which many knew well and had cause -to bless. Anna Hugo was also away on one of her visits to Rocozanne. -There was no one to befriend them. It was useless to go to Mrs. Severn; -and his heart was sore at the remembrance of various rebuffs in his -courtship which he had had from Dinah Constantine. Dinah had thought -Priscilla was throwing herself away; she knew her value and begrudged -losing her services. The more desperate he became, the more he shrank -from asking help. - -One day, as he trudged back from Wonston with medicine, his dog caught -a hare in a hedge. He pocketed it and made Scilla some soup. This was -before the days of the Ground Game Acts, when it was a penalty to -touch a rabbit whose burrow was on the land a man rented. Kit snared -a few rabbits first. Almost every man at the Mires did the same and -the Admiral knew it. But they did it in a clumsy fashion that raised -no fears of more ambitious depredations. Kit, however, soon found -that there was an art in the practice and a blood-warming risk in its -pursuit. The grouse season was just out for that winter, but there were -other birds whose close time was not so strictly preserved. By the time -Priscilla was strong again he had acquired a skill that absorbed him and -had bent every resource of his mind to its success as a trade. She knew -nothing, but Hartas knew all. They stored their spoil in a dub in the -ling near the coal-pit, and the following winter this spoil was grouse. - -Then came suspicion and watchfulness on the part of the keepers, -combined one night with a nasty fray in which guns were used and a -man was killed. The offenders got off, however, and could not be -sworn to. Kit knew the police were on the alert, and would not allow -his father to run risks. They both kept quiet for a while, and Kit, -without the excitement that mastered him, was a miserable man. Hartas -had the itching palm but Kit the young blood. Do and dare he must. And -he did, once too often. He succeeded in eluding the keepers and not -a soul at the Mires would have betrayed him; but Elias Constantine, -shepherding on a sheep-gait which Mr. Severn had taken over unknown -to him, happened to look over a wall as he was in the act of taking a -moor-bird out of the snare. To Elias, whose respect for the law and all -time-worn institutions was inbred and unbounded, it seemed that he was -an instrument in the hands of Providence for bringing the offender to -justice. Here were grouse, and the Admiral's grouse, going by dozens -into a poacher's sack! Here also, in all probability, was the man who -had fired the shot that killed the under-keeper. If that had not been -murder, it was manslaughter. He watched the scientific process for some -time, the disentangling of the birds' legs from the cunning wire-loop, -the flutters of the exhausted victims, the final twist of the necks, the -re-setting of the snares. - -Then he gave a sign to his collie. A bound over the wall, a rush through -the ling and the dog was at the man's throat and bearing him to the -ground! - -All was over with Kit and he knew it. He would make a clean breast of -it, too, over that gun-shot, be the consequence what it might. But -he managed to save his father, who was busy at the dub, by a warning -whistle. The dim morning light covered Hartas's escape. But Kit was -given up to the wrath of a scandalised bench of game-preserving -magistrates and thence to trial by judge and jury. They inflicted upon -him the full penalty of the law, on a conviction for manslaughter. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - JOY AND SORROW JOIN HANDS - - -Wonston market-place was on market-days an animated scene. It was -filled with booths and stalls, and crowded with country-people with -their produce and townspeople with their purses. On bright days -parasols vied in brilliancy with the flower and fruit stalls. Butter -and eggs, pottery, meat, and corn were displayed in baskets or on the -cobbles. In one corner an auction was going on, in another a patent -medicine vendor shouted to a crowd of gaping half-hearted customers, -who fumbled their coppers and cudgelled their brains to make sure his -wares would suit their own complaints, or those of Ben or Sally at -home. Through the crowd, with its kaleidoscopic shifting of colour and -action, drags and four with excursionists would pilot their way with -much tooting of horns; or a red or yellow omnibus, laden to once again -its own height with poultry hampers, would slowly wend. In the midst -rose the town-cross, an obelisk on steps, with the civic horn slung at -its top and a Crimean cannon at its base. The sunshine glared over all, -whitening the booth awnings, and giving a dazzling cheerfulness to the -whole scene. - -The sleepy old town awoke on these days. Its normal stagnation on every -topic but its neighbour's affairs disappeared and it went in genially -for dissipation of perambulation, expenditure, and acquaintanceship. -Everybody was glad to see everybody else, as conducing to the general -liveliness; and though everybody did not bow to everybody to whom under -an inconvenient strain of circumstance they might have been introduced, -there was certainly less of the eyelid bow on that day than on any -other. It was the harvest of money and mind. Groaning tills afterwards -disbursed to the banks; replete minds gave their surplus coin to their -morals. All was grist of impression or profit. - -On one such day Borlase was standing before the Town Hall talking to -a friend. It was later in the year, grouse-shooting was now waived in -conversation for partridge prospects, _a propos_ of stubble and turnips. -He had just expressed his opinion when Mr. Severn hailed him from the -corn-market opposite and crossed the road. - -Mr. Severn had not visibly aged much in these years since his second -marriage. He was still upright and little gray showed in his black hair; -but Borlase, with his habits of close observation and his knowledge of -facts, knew also that his cheerfulness was always, to a certain extent, -assumed. His face, when at rest, was sad, and he often roused himself -with an effort from depressing thought. This expression was strikingly -evident as he stood by Borlase, whose face was singularly happy and -sanguine. His height dwarfed Borlase, whose inches were scarcely up to -the average and appeared less so from his breadth of chest and good -muscular development. The two men shook hands with a smile; the keen -eyes of the one and the quietly-perceptive eyes of the other met with -genuine liking. Borlase knew no one to whom he looked up in every sense -with more confidence than to Mr. Severn, who, on his part, found comfort -in the knowledge that he was not ignorant of facts in his home-life of -which the world had only vague suspicions and that they had secured for -him and his the loyal sympathy of a less burdened heart. - -'Well, Borlase,' he said, 'you're a perfect stranger, don't know when -we've seen you. Called once or twice, and every one out? pshaw! that -doesn't count. Now I was just coming to ask you a favour. Will you stand -godfather for this baby we're going to christen next week? She's to be -called Deborah Juliana, after Mrs. Marlowe. It's a name that's nearly -killed my wife, but we couldn't pass over a whim of Mrs. Marlowe's. -She thinks this will be our last, as we must realise now that we can't -overrule Providence to another boy to mitigate the spoiling that's -evidently in store for Jack, and she wants to ratify this confidence by -being its godmother. Very good of her and very quaint--all put into Lord -Chesterfieldisms by Mrs. Hennifer. You must dine with us and Tremenheere -too. He always christens our babies. I'm going on to ask Tremenheere.' - -'I shall be most happy,' said Borlase. - -'My dear fellow, the favour is on your side. Anna's to be the other -godmother. I meant the little thing to be called after her, that I -might have an Anna left when she takes flight, as I suppose she will -some day. I hope it'll be a fine day. Now I must go on to the Canon. -Anna's down shopping. If you come across her you can tell her this -arrangement.' - -Borlase had not gone much farther when he saw Anna at the other side -of the street. She had seen him first, however, and had lowered her -parasol to hide her blush. He crossed over, and she waited on the edge -of the pavement. It seemed to him that all the sunshine pouring into the -street settled for the moment on her sparkling face. But her manner was -as frank as usual. This gave him a slight shock of disappointment, for -he had counted upon a shadow of the remembrance of their last parting. -He was far from guessing that this very remembrance gave a buoyancy to -her tones and air born of the fear that otherwise he might think she -remembered too well, and had dwelt on it with wonder and happy hope. He -turned and walked on with her. - -'I have just had a most unexpected pleasure,' he said. - -'And what is that?' said Anna. - -'I am to be godfather to little Miss Deborah Juliana.' - -'Indeed! Everything combines to overwhelm this baby with good luck at -the beginning of her life.' - -'If she is overwhelmed, it won't be good luck,' said Borlase. His fair -face flushed with pleasure and he laughed light-heartedly. He had been -premature in resenting a frankness which led to such a mood. 'Are you as -pleased as I am, Miss Hugo?' he asked, glancing down at her. - -'At baby's impending discomfiture? Are you always so benevolently -disposed towards the babies, Mr. Borlase?' - -'No indeed. If I have been asked once to be sponsor in this parish I -have been asked a score of times and have always refused.' - -'Then you are a most inconsistent individual. What excuse can you offer -for breaking your rule?' - -'That one must draw the line somewhere.' - -'So you will be open to all offers?' - -'On the contrary this is the only one I shall accept. The rule -immediately comes into practice again. No other baby would have induced -me to break it.' - -'But you won't have the felicity of standing by Mrs. Marlowe. Mrs. -Hennifer is her proxy.' - -'I shall have another felicity, however.' - -'And what is that?' - -'The felicity of standing by you.' - -As he spoke, looking straight at her, he was startled by a change in -her face. Its sparkle of archness suddenly faded, and her eyes dilated -with astonishment. Evidently she had not heard what he said. She was -looking at some object in the crowded street. Involuntarily she put -her hand on his arm, as though she could not stand steadily. He drew -her to one side to lean against a doorway, but with a resentful gesture -she freed herself and began to make her way down the pavement. He -kept close to her, but there was no need to ask what had alarmed her. -Elias Constantine, astride of a cart-horse, was a figure easily to be -discerned above the heads of foot-passengers, and at his first following -of her gaze Borlase too saw him. But he had not seen them yet and was -glancing eagerly from side to side. He was red with heat and looked -scared and angry. The horse had evidently been unloosed from a cart and -mounted at once. Its foamy mouth and streaming flanks spoke of a gallop. - -'Make him see us,' said Anna. - -He was attracting attention, and various voices were shouting the -addresses of the different doctors, one of whom it was taken as a -matter of course that he wanted. Borlase seized Anna's parasol and swung -it above his head. Elias caught the movement. A look of mingled relief -and more urgent anxiety possessed his face as his eyes fell on Anna. He -dug his spurless heels into the horse's flanks, sending it forward with -a plunge that cleared his course, and in another moment pulled up by her. - -'She's off,' he said hoarsely. - -'Who?' said Anna. Her voice was scarcely audible. - -'Clo, t' missis, that limb o' the devil.' - -'Oh, hush!' said Anna. - -She put her hand over her eyes as though to collect her thoughts for -grappling an emergency. But Borlase saw her stricken look. He had seen -it before. He knew what must have happened at Old Lafer--only one -calamity could make Anna Hugo look as she looked now. Yet when she took -her hands from her eyes she managed to smile. It wrung his heart. He -had experience of that smile on a woman's face which hides the deepest -wound and buries its own grief in hopes of assuaging another's. - -'Come this way,' he said, placing her hand on his arm and turning down -a by-street; 'every one will observe us here and some officious fool be -volunteering to find Mr. Severn. As it happens, I know where he is and -that he is safe from hearing of this for the present at least.' - -'Do you really?' she said. Her voice trembled but she looked up at him -with unutterable gratitude. - -'He is gone to the Canon's, to Tremenheere's, about this christening. -Now, Constantine, bring the mare quietly to this corner and tell Miss -Hugo what she must know at once. I have a patient near who will take me -a moment.' - -He seized her hand, wrung it and turned away. She was scarcely -conscious of a force of sympathy that almost unmanned him. Her attention -was fixed on Elias. - -He leant over her, clutching the horse's mane to steady himself. His -face worked with an emotion more of rage than grief. He would not allow -himself to be miserable; he was fired, not numbed. He could have sworn -at Anna for the quenching of her spirit, she, the good, the true, to be -overwhelmed by what such a hussy as Mrs. Severn could do. - -'She slipped off as neat as a weasel through a chink in a wall none -other ud see,' he said. 'Dinah wer scouring t' dairy as she allus does -after the week's butter's off to market, and I wer sledging peats off -t' edge, and Peggy minding t' baaerns in the beck-side meadows. Mrs. -Hennifer had been though; she came clashing ower t' flags in Madam's -coach, and it went back empty, and Mrs. Hennifer walked home to t' Hall -by the woods, and so she did. And an hour on there wasn't a soul in t' -house but Clo and her babby, and Dinah clashing in her pattens ower her -pail and clouts. As I came ower t' edge I seed a figure flit off t' door -stanes, but niver gev it a thought. It must ha' been her, and she'd -slipped into t' gill and bided there while I crossed t' watter. Then she -sallied forth frev t' shadow o' the firs, and when I'd reached the flags -and stopped to mop a bit, I happed look across and there was my leddy -tripping it ower t' ling for all the world as if she'd wings to her -heels. I kenned her then, her shape and her dark gown and the way she -took, due west for Kendrew's lal cottage ower at t' Mires. It wer t' old -trick, but I couldn't believe my eyes, it's that long since she tried -it. I shouted for Dinah, and she came and I swore, ay, God Almighty, I -did, and Dinah none chided me. I lay she wished she'd been a man to -swear too! She's gone after her, and I loosed t' mare and came for thee. -And neither on us thought we were leaving t' babby alone. She'd none -thought on it neither, her two months' babby. Shame on her!' - -His voice shook. He raised his hand, held it an instant, and let it fall -heavily on his knee. - -Anna had stood motionless, her face absolutely blank. Now a spasm of -returning emotion crossed it. Tears rushed to her eyes; she turned pale -to the very lips. - -'Woe to her by whom the offence cometh,' said Elias. - -She lifted her head and looked at him in mute reproach. His heart -misgave him. - -'It fair caps me how you can care about her,' he said deprecatingly. -'Ye ken she gangs from bad to worse there, and t' Almighty alone can -say where she'll stop. If she gets to drink again, t' Master must ken, -it'll reach him. Scilla Kendrew's getting scared on her, and Hartas'll -spread it. When Scilla told Dinah afore, she said she'd tell you next -time. Nay, nay, if she can tak off like this, and leave her babby to -spoon meat, she's hopeless; she's worse a deal nor last time, when there -wer no babby to think on. She's possessed by t' devil hissel----' He -paused a moment, forcing down a lump in his throat whose presence he -disdained. - -'Thee and t' Master are alike,' he said. 'It's allus "Till seventy times -seven." But I dinna ken if it would be wi' t' Master, if he kenned all -we do. Now don't fret, my honey. If ought can stir her to come back -afore she gets drink and he gets his heart-break, it'll be yoursel.' - -He spoke to her but he looked at Borlase, who had returned and was -standing by her. Borlase had already laid his plans. She was stunned, -but he knew she would do what he told her. - -'Constantine,' he said, 'walk the mare quietly out on the Mires road, -and Miss Hugo will keep up with you. I shall follow immediately and -drive her to the Mires. Mr. Severn is certain to lunch at the Canon's, -and will hear nothing.' - -Then he turned to Anna. - -'When you are out of the town, find a seat and rest until I come,' he -said. - -He started at once, disappearing down an alley, by which there was a -short cut to his house. The look in Anna's eyes sickened him. He was -astonished too. It was so long, above three years he was certain, since -Mrs. Severn had last gone to the Mires, that he had been convinced the -fancy had left her. Her indulgence there could not now be her excuse, -for she now indulged at home. He had discovered the fact for himself and -had warned Dinah Constantine, whom he considered perfectly faithful. -It was certain that she had told Anna, for he had overheard Elias's -words. His doing so had not, assuredly, occurred to either. If, however, -it were necessary to exert authority, he would own his knowledge to -Anna, for the sake of using it as a leverage with Mrs. Severn. If not, -Anna should not guess his knowledge until he could be certain it would -relieve her to know he knew. As he ran down the alley, haunted by the -hunted shame in her eyes, his feelings were strangely compounded of -burning sympathy with her and professional interest in the case. What -possessed Mrs. Severn to act thus? Was the problem based on the physical -or the moral? Was it his duty to tell her husband? - - - - - CHAPTER V - - OVER THE HILLS - - -Elias, however, did not lead the way. At first Anna declared she would -go alone, but he would not hear of it--he would wait with her. They -agreed that this should be at the bridge over the Woss, to which, for -the sake of raising less remark, they would go by different ways. - -She was there first. A hill with an abrupt turn led down to it. On -either side lay a stray, in pasturage, to which the poor people of the -town had common rights. It was sheltered by steep wooded banks that made -the river's course still a valley. The river was thickly overhung with -trees. Thickets of wild rose and bracken, overrun with bramble, bossed -the hollows of the ground; golden spires of ragwort gleamed in the sun; -the sleek red backs of the cattle were to be discerned in the patches of -sultry shade. The air was breathlessly hot. Anna had walked quickly, and -now, as she leant against the parapet, she felt sick and dizzy. - -She had gone to the centre of the bridge before stopping. It was an -old-fashioned structure, and the keystone of the arch was accented by a -peak in the masonry. Along one side ran a narrow ridge as a footpath. -Originally it had connected a mule-track. When mules in single file went -out of fashion, it was widened for waggons. When the Marlowes vacated -Old Lafer for the new Hall, to which this was the high road, the road -was levelled and macadamised at great cost, but the old bridge underwent -no alteration. It was said the Madam Marlowe of that day liked to keep -her tenants waiting in their carts and shandrydans while her coach swung -over it. At first this was taken as a matter of course, and the tenantry -pulled their forelocks as the unwieldy vehicle, with its four black -horses and buff-liveried out-riders, swayed past them. But gradually -they became indifferent, then defiant, and at last it was known that -some swore when they caught the glimpse of buff and the rattle of the -drag that obliged them to pull up and stand to one side. More than -once the present owner, the genial and popular old Admiral, had been -petitioned by town and county to build a new one. It was represented to -him that had it been a Borough bridge and within the jurisdiction of -the Surveyor of Highways and dependent upon the ratepayers, it would -have been done years before. He knew this, and declared himself glad -that it was not. A generous and open-handed man, he had yet certain -whims which no mortal power could combat; indeed, under the pressure -of mortal power, a whim became a resolution. It did so in this case. He -favoured the petitioners with his reasons for declining: there was not -much traffic except on Wonston market-days; beyond the Hall the road ran -only to the moors and the Mires, an unholy hamlet which he should allow -gradually to fall into ruins; the old bridge was staunch in socket and -rim--when he had been carried over it on his back Cynthia might do as -she liked, but by that time electricity would probably have been adapted -to night-travelling in carriages and her dinner-company would illumine -the road beyond possibility of mishap. - -One day he asked Cynthia what she would do. - -'I shall build a new one, grandpapa,' she said. - -'You will? Why?' - -'That I may not fear an accident some dark night to some poor creature -while I am comfortable here.' - -'The poor creature would be some rascal from the Mires, old Kendrew -probably, getting home drunk, Cynthy.' - -'Perhaps the doctor coming to you or grandmamma.' - -'Or you, my blooming damsel.' - -'Or me. Why not?' - -'Which God forbid!' cried the Admiral. 'But in any case we would send -for him with well-trimmed lamps.' - -'The foolish virgins trimmed their lamps too late,' said Cynthia. - -'Well, see you don't,' said the Admiral, with provoking good-humour. - -'Oh grandpapa, has never a Marlowe got drunk at his own dining-room -table?' - -'Cynthia!' - -'Well, gentlemen do,' she said with shame, but decisively. - -'Never here,' said the Admiral hastily. 'Perhaps at Old Lafer in the -days of the Georges, never here! You go too far, Cynthy; you make me -uncomfortable. What do you know of such things? I must instruct Mrs. -Hennifer not to allow such a license of thought. Good Heavens, you will -be turning Chartist next. There, there, I'm not going to tell you what -that is.' - -She looked wistful, but he laughed, chucked her under the chin and -walked away. - -A few days later she drove over the bridge with Mrs. Marlowe. Just as -the coach took the turn on the Wonston side she looked back and her eye -was caught by an unfamiliar gleam of white among the foliage from which -they had emerged. It was a board on a post. She could not distinguish -the notice inscribed on it but she must know what it was. She pulled the -check-string and with an incoherent explanation to Mrs. Marlowe jumped -out and ran back. - -These were the words she read: - - 'Let all drunkards and blasphemers and otherwise unholy persons - who are the destroyers of peace, plenty, and prosperity in their - homes, beware of this bridge. To such it may prove an instrument, - placed by Almighty God in the hands of the devil, for their - destruction in the blackness of night or the fury of the tempest. - - 'SIMON MARLOWE, - 'Lord of the Manor, 18--.' - -She did not shudder. She realised instantly that such a warning as -this might be efficacious, while a new bridge would encourage vice by -ensuring safety. She was then a girl in her early teens, and now she was -a woman. Each year the clear lettering of the words had been renewed. -But there had been no judgment of God on the drunken men who clung to -their saddles by His providence, or reeled to and fro on foot as they -made their way home on pitch-dark nights, when the ring of a horse's -hoofs could not be heard above the roar of the flood rushing below. - -As Borlase turned the corner to-day his eyes fell upon the board. He was -driving slowly, as it was necessary to do at this point. A moment before -he had caught the sound of voices above the murmur of the scanty summer -stream. He knew they would be those of Constantine and Anna. And now, as -his thoughts centred gravely on the words 'destroyers of peace' as for -them the kernel of the warning at this hour, he came in sight of Anna. - -She was sitting on the footway. Her hat was off, her head thrown back -against the masonry, her hands were clasped round her knees. Over -her there played the flecks of sunshine that filtered betwixt the -foliage above. Her face was turned to Elias, who sat sideways upon the -mare's back, looking down at her. Her attitude was listless, her face -pale and grave. Just as Borlase saw her she raised her hand to impel -silence and inclined her head to listen. Another moment and he became -distinguishable in the shadow of the trees. A flash of relief so intense -as to be almost joy crossed her face and she sprang up. - -Not a word was spoken. All were too intent upon the plan they had to -accomplish; the beating of their hearts swayed between hope and fear, -misgiving and faith. It was too certain that if Mrs. Severn were to be -made to return home before her husband, there was not a moment to be -lost. Borlase helped Anna to the seat beside him, then whipped on his -horse. Elias jogged ahead to open the gate which secured the cattle from -straying, and Anna nodded as they passed him. In another moment they -disappeared round a corner where one of the park lodges stood, and he -retraced his way to the bridge where a lane led up the valley to East -Lafer, and thence by the high road to Old Lafer. It would take an hour -to reach the Mires even with Borlase's good horse. Beyond the park the -road was rough and hilly. At first it was overhung with trees, then the -hedges gave way to unmortared walls. The last tree, a sturdy, stunted -oak, was left behind. They passed through a gate and struck across a -benty pasture where cotton grass shimmered, through another with tufts -of heather here and there, and then had reached the moor. - -The ling was in full blow. It swelled round them for miles, purple -melting into amethystine distances that faded under the heat-haze, into -the sky-line. Here and there were patches of vivid green bilberry, -silvery spagnum, or ash-gray burnt fibre. In the hollows was the dense -olive velvet of the rush. Lichened boulders threw lengthening streaks -of shadow. Deep gills with streams whose waters now gathered into still -pools, then foamed round rocks, cut the hills in every direction. Over -all the cloud-shadows sailed, eclipsing the sunshine that again flashed -softly forth behind them and steeped the still earth in fragrant heat. - -And now there was a fresh soft breeze. It seemed to blow from heights -above Meupher Fell or Great Whernside, to be a very balm from Heaven. -When Borlase mounted the dog-cart after closing the gate Anna took -off her hat and the breeze blew over her face and through her hair, -giving her a delicious feeling of renewed courage and energy. So far -they had scarcely spoken. Now she suddenly felt a lightening of heart, -a quenching of the fever of perplexity and grief. Her face cleared. -Borlase caught the change as he took the reins again. - -'Let us talk,' he said, smiling. - -'I fear it will be on a well-worn subject.' - -'Mrs. Severn? There might be a better as we know, but that "the nexte -thinge" is the one to be faced.' - -She looked straight ahead. It was so perfectly natural that Clothilde -should be discussed with Borlase, not only as an old friend but in his -confidential professional character, that she was scarcely conscious of -the immense relief of being able to talk of her. But her trouble was far -too poignant for her to venture to meet his eyes, though imagining that -he only knew the half. - -'You remember this happening before?' she said. - -He nodded, carefully flicking a fly from his horse's ear. - -'You called at Old Lafer that very day, just after Dad had gone to see -if she would be persuaded to come back at once.' - -'Yes, I did.' - -Would he ever forget that call? - -It was on a bleak day in early spring. No gleam of sunshine lit up the -old house as he rode up the hill. A north-east wind blew off the moors, -whose hollows were still snow-drifted. The roar of the swollen stream -thundering down the gill filled the air; the larches strained away -from the buildings they sheltered, creaking with every fresh blast. He -had knocked at the front door without answer, then gone round to the -back with the same result. Not even the bark of a dog disturbed the -death-like silence. Returning to the flags he scanned the fields. In the -corner of the first pasture was a temporary shed for the ewes. As he -looked, Dinah Constantine emerged from it carrying two lambs. Her keen -eyes noted him instantly. She ran back, put down the lambs, and came up -the field at the top of her speed. On reaching him she grasped his arm -with the grip of a vice, poured into his amazed ears her dreary story, -and finally opened the parlour door and showed him Anna. - -She was sitting at the table with outflung arms, in which her face was -buried. It was her first sorrow. She was exhausted by a grief that had -been passionate and now was sickening. It seemed to her earnest and -matter-of-fact nature that happiness had flown for ever from Old Lafer. -He sat down and reasoned with her after closing the door against Dinah. -He did not go near her, knowing instinctively that to feel any one near -her would be intolerable, circumscribing, as it would seem to do, both -grief and sympathy. Standing near the window in silence for a while, -then sitting down apart, but where she could see him when she looked up, -as he hoped she would do soon, he set himself to win her through the -struggle and show her the light again. - -And as he won her back to patience, he was himself won to love. Her -bitter tears, yet the spasmodic efforts at smiles that pierced her -hopelessness with hope and showed her capable of bracing herself for -trial; her ardent love for Clothilde; her fierce shame and agony of -remorse for Mr. Severn; her refrain at each point gained as to what -had possessed Clothilde to be so 'wicked' as to leave her home, and -her simple perplexity at its having been 'allowed' by God, expressing -themselves on her face and in her gestures more than by word, made a -never-to-be-forgotten impression upon him. This school-girl, whom he -had as a matter of course either overlooked or patronised, and who was -certainly plain to the point of being the ugly duckling of the family, -dwelt thenceforth enthroned in his heart. His thoughts centred round -her. His steps took him to her side at every opportunity. Other women, -though beautiful, palled upon him. There insensibly stole into his -soul a tender reverence that gradually made him hold aloof from the -very intensity of his longing to be near her. He discovered in himself -a new nature, capable of chivalrous self-control and subtly delicate -adoration. Anna Hugo was dearer to him than life itself, except for her -sake. She was a girl whom time would mature into a noble womanhood, and -the stern realities of life at once strengthen and sweeten; the one -woman whom--if he were to have his heart's desire--he must win for his -wife. - -And here she was to-day, at his side but still not won. However, she -knew now that she was wooed. He would know more soon. Mrs. Severn should -not come between them a third time, either directly or indirectly. - -'The first time she ran away I was at school,' Anna said. 'Dad has never -spoken of it, but Dinah has told me how awful it was. He became frantic -when hours passed and there was no news or trace of her. There had been -a heavy storm, and the waters were out, and he was certain she had -been in the gill and slipped in and been drowned. And then old Hartas -Kendrew came over from the Mires and told them she had gone there to see -Scilla. Of course they thought it was a call; and Scilla made tea and -then expected she would go. But the storm came on, and so she waited, -and when it cleared Scilla proposed to set her home. Then she looked at -her and said, "Prissy, I am come to stay with you, my husband won't let -me go to Paris." She always calls Scilla Prissy, though she knows how -she dislikes it. Scilla thought she was joking. Fancy going to the Mires -because she could not go to Paris! But she would stay, and so Hartas -came to tell us.' - -'And Mr. Severn brought her back?' - -'Yes. He was very angry, and insisted, and she was frightened. The -second time he tried to persuade her, and she would not be persuaded, so -he let her stay, and at a month's end she came back. But she never asked -him to forgive her, and it was heart-rending to see him so gentle. He -blamed himself, said he should never have asked her to marry him, that -she was too young and handsome and well-born, and had he not been too -selfish to let her alone she would have married some man who could have -given her all the wealth and pleasure she had a right to expect. Last -time he did not even try to coax her, though he actually went to see -her. He said she must be happy in her own way. He had only his love to -plead, and she had taught him she did not care for that.' - -Her voice had sunk to the lowest of tones. Its inflexion touched the -chord in his heart, of whose vibration in devotion to herself she was -far from thinking in this hour. He caught his breath and abruptly turned -his head away. He could not have borne to glance at her. For a moment he -could not speak. - -'Constantine said Mrs. Hennifer had called,' he said. - -'Yes. She often does, but it is generally to see me now. Somehow she and -Clothilde don't care for each other, though they've known each other for -years. Clothilde was at her sister's school in London, and while she -was there Mrs. Hennifer married and went out to India.' - -'It seemed a strange coincidence that brought them into proximity again -here.' - -'That was years after. Captain Hennifer left her badly off, and she was -glad to get such a delightful sinecure as looking after Cynthia.' - -'Where is Miss Marlowe now?' - -'In Jersey with the Kerrs. They're all going to winter there together.' - -'Perhaps Mrs. Kerr will ask the Canon to join them by and by. I suppose -she is his favourite sister.' - -'Yes, and particularly as she's Cynthia's friend. But she will scarcely -venture to ask him unless Cynthia wishes it. His being with them could -only have one meaning, but I fear Cynthia won't wish it. I wish, every -one does, that she would marry Canon Tremenheere.' - -Above the ridge before them there just then wavered into the air a thin -thread of peat reek. Anna saw it and averted her head. But Borlase had -seen the rush of colour over face and neck. He put his hand on hers. - -'Shall I come down with you?' he said. - -She shook her head, with a swift half-frightened glance at him. He knew -she did not know how she would find Mrs. Severn. - -'Well, remember I am here and will do what you wish.' - -'I'll come and tell you.' - -'You really will?' he said, smiling into her eyes. She suddenly felt -herself inspired with fortitude, and with a confidence so full and free -that she could have told him anything. - -'Yes, I will,' she said. - -What wonder that his hand closed over hers with a sense of possession? -Yet neither wished at the moment that there were time for more,--it is -sweet to anticipate the joy that is very near. They were on the ridge. -In the hollow below lay the Mires. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - CYNTHIA MARLOWE - - -Cynthia Marlowe had come to Lafer Hall when little more than a baby. She -was the only child of the Admiral's only son. His soldier's death in an -Afghan gorge killed his young wife, and then Cynthia was sent to her -grandparents. - -Her life was lonely but very happy. She knew no other children, but the -Admiral was always ready for a romp. There was plenty of room for them -to have it without giving Mrs. Marlowe a headache. When grandmamma shook -her head, and feared Cynthy would grow up a dreadful tomboy, grandpapa -declared she was precluded by all facts of nature and grace from being -otherwise than a lady. How could Lennox, Cholmondeley, and Marlowe -in one produce an anomaly? No, no; if she did not romp, stretch her -muscles, and inflate her lungs she would be puny, and he would rather -she could not mark her own name than be puny. He pished at samplers, -and delighted to interrupt the working-lesson. Cynthia, caught by Mrs. -Marlowe, and made to sit on a little stool at her feet, with flushed -cheeks and impatient fingers that tugged and tugged at the silks until -they were tangled among broken threads, listened with strained senses -for the Admiral's step in the corridor. So did Mrs. Marlowe, and was -much the more nervous of the two. It meant release for the one and -defeat for the other. - -'What! ho, Cynthy,' the Admiral would say, 'snared again, my pretty -bird? Getting a round back and a narrow chest for a fal-lal? Come, -granny, this'll never do; you don't reason, my dear. The child'll always -have a woman for her fineries; why let her risk her eyesight and her -figure?' Then he would pretend it would grieve Cynthia dreadfully to lay -the tangle aside, and that she far preferred the morning-room to the -park. 'I'm very sorry, Cynthy, but out you must go this fine day. Granny -hasn't seen the sunshine, or your tippet would have been on an hour ago. -Where's your work-box? Now gently; put it in tidily; always be tidy. -Don't burst the hinges. That's a good girl!' - -And off she would fly with the always fresh wonder whether grandpapa -really had no idea how delightful it was to go. - -Poor Mrs. Marlowe made an equally useless struggle over books. This was -a subject that had greatly exercised the Admiral too, and indecision -engendered irritation. He was still more peremptory. - -'Now, Juliana, it's no good, no good at all, bringing out all these -old volumes of yours. _Mangnall's Questions_ might comprise all that -was necessary for a girl to learn in your day, but it's obsolete. -So is _Murray_. Why, good Heavens! a chit of a creature told me -the other night at the Deanery that there isn't an article now in -our English grammar, and all the other parts of speech are playing -puss-in-the-corner--for want of it, I should think. Cynthy must learn to -read and write and cipher, of course; she'll have to sign cheques and -witness deeds one of these days. She can read any book in my library; -there isn't one vicious thing there; and as for allusions in Shakespere, -for instance, well, she'll lay the good to heart and won't understand -the bad. She'll pick up information as she goes along, and then, of -course, she must finish off with masters. But as for _Mangnall_, it's -no good at all. Just leave the child alone. I'll teach her to ride, and -jump, and fence, and play bowls, and we shall have her a fine woman, -and that's all a woman need be.' - -But he pulled his moustache ferociously, and his hand trembled so much -in fixing his eye-glass, when he presently took up the _Gentleman's -Magazine_, that Mrs. Marlowe was sure he had misgivings. However, it -was a mercy that she was not expected to lay down the law and take -responsibility. - -But this did not exempt her from unhappiness on Cynthia's account. She -had a clear vision of a _via media_ that should not entail mathematics -and classics, but should comprise more than the three R's. It made her -miserable to see Cynthy's fearlessness on her pony; she would ride to -hounds and break her neck; she would sprain her ankle when jumping -and be crippled for life; and when she had learnt dancing who in the -world was to chaperon her to balls? The Admiral was too headstrong; she -would be a tomboy after all, and set every social rule at defiance and -chaperon herself! The skipping-rope was all very well; she liked to see -her spring up and down the length of the corridors on a wet day, and it -was really pretty to watch the Admiral teach her bowls, but was a girl -ever taught to fence? He would be teaching her the tactics of naval -warfare next. Why was he crazy for her to be a fine-looking woman? _she_ -had never been so. Just so; and she was delicate. Well, perhaps he was -right. But she sighed and was sure he was wrong. - -It was when Cynthia was nine years old that Mrs. Marlowe found a -strong-willed ally. Mrs. Tremenheere, the wife of the Dean of Wonston, -had girls of her own and very clear ideas of the _via media_ in which -health and education go hand in hand. She had the audacity to tilt with -the Admiral on the subject. They were equally self-opinionated, but he -was not only obliged to defer to her as the lady, but she could produce -her own daughters as proofs of her common sense. She also derided the -possibility of health of body being compatible with mental ignorance -in nineteenth-century England, and commiserated the masters who were -to 'finish' unprepared ground. The Admiral, who had long secretly felt -himself in a dilemma, listened and yielded. For her own sake Cynthy must -not be a dunce. Mrs. Tremenheere undertook to find a governess, and she -found Mrs. Hennifer. - -After this every one had an uneasy time at Lafer Hall until Mrs. -Hennifer arrived. The Admiral had yielded, but he was not at all sure -that Mrs. Tremenheere knew what sort of a governess he wanted. - -'She may have got us something Jesuitical, Juliana,' he said. 'I know -Mrs. Tremenheere pretty well, she's a worldly woman and a schemer. -She's done well for her girls so far, and she'll marry 'em well; and -there's Anthony, you know, her only boy, and depend upon it she'll want -a masterpiece for him; and she knows, every one does, that Cynthy's an -heiress. Very nice to land Anthony at Lafer Hall, eh? Now what I say is, -she may be sending us a creature of her own.' - -'Oh Simon, and Cynthy only nine years old!' - -'Well, well, I don't say she is, but she's a schemer, depend upon it she -is, Juliana. She'd twist you round her little finger, and maybe she's -twisted me too, God knows.' - -But Mrs. Hennifer was not a 'creature,' and when the Admiral found that -she had never seen Mrs. Tremenheere until she was introduced to her in -Mrs. Marlowe's drawing-room, his qualms were set at rest. It was soon -evident too that Cynthia's happiness was doubled. Forces in her that -had been running to waste were now directed into wholesome grooves of -work. Her spirit and enterprise devoted themselves to becoming as clever -as Theo and Julia Tremenheere. She still romped with the Admiral, and -then she rushed into the schoolroom, sat down, threw back her golden -hair, planted her elbows on the table, and mastered her difficulties in -grammar and arithmetic. As she could not help laughing when the Admiral -would walk past the window, looking forlorn and signalling to her to be -quick, she remonstrated and said if he still would do it she must change -her seat. To change her seat, she added, would be a great trouble, -for it did help her to look at the sky. Her fervent seriousness quite -abashed him, and he resisted the inclination to laugh at her quaintness. -He did not understand, but Mrs. Hennifer did and gave her a book called -_Look up, or Girls and Flowers_. Mrs. Hennifer had a wonderful knack at -choosing pretty books, and sometimes when they read them aloud together -Cynthia found that they brought tears to those keen eyes. - -'My darling Mrs. Henny,' she said once, 'don't cry. It's only a story, -and a very very little bit of the story too.' - -She did not know, and Mrs. Hennifer prayed she never would, that the -'very very little bit' is often that round which the whole of life -centres, tinging its joys and sorrows, hopes and fears, thenceforth. -Nor would this be sad if it were realisable at the time. But it is -afterwards, by added experience and unexpected sequence, that the -incident becomes the event. - -One day when Cynthia was no longer a child the Admiral happened to join -his wife and Mrs. Hennifer on the terrace. Beyond the broad reach of -gravel and the stone balustrades in whose vases geraniums glowed, the -ground fell abruptly into the finely-wooded undulations of the park. A -group of red deer lay in the shadow of a line of chestnuts which swept -a slope, at whose base the lake gleamed. In the distance, over the dark -shoulders of the woods, Wonston was visible. Its red tiles and yellow -gables lay in a haze of smoke, above which rose the Minster towers. -Admiral Marlowe was Lord of the Manor as far as they could see in every -direction. - -As they strolled up and down, their talk wandered from small details -of social pleasures and duties to more important ones connected with -the estate. No allusion was made to the dead son. Mrs. Marlowe had not -named him since the day she heard of his death. But the Admiral felt -her hand tremble on his arm as he speculated on the amount of Cynthia's -knowledge of her heiress-ship. He looked down at her tenderly. She had -been a beauty in her youth, and sorrow had chiselled her features into -increased delicacy by giving her an air of plaintive melancholy. - -'Let us tell Cynthy the truth and hear what she will say,' he said. - -'Yes, by all means,' said Mrs. Marlowe. - -'My good Mrs. Hennifer, will you bring her here? She's on the -bowling-green, or was. Heaven knows where she may have been spirited off -to by this time, Heaven or the fairies. I think they're her nearest of -kin.' - -Mrs. Hennifer went in search, disappearing behind a group of cedars -whose shadow, thrown at noon on the drawing-room windows, kept it cool -on the hottest day. They heard her calling 'Cynthia!' as she passed in -and out among the trees or crossed the lawns. Presently a man's tones -answered 'Here we are!' Then came a girl's light laugh. A few moments -more and Cynthia appeared alone upon the terrace. - -She was very lovely. It was prophesied that she would be the beauty -of Riding and county. She had been in town this spring for the sake -of masters, and her portrait had been painted by one of the greatest -artists of the day. He generally spiritualised his subjects, but -when he saw Cynthia Marlowe he knew that if he added to nature's -spiritualisation he must add wings. It went from his studio to Lafer. -The Admiral would allow no 'vulgar herd' to criticise it at Burlington -House. His pride in her was the chivalrous pride which guards against -publicity for women, and recognises even beauty's 'noblest station' as -'retreat.' The portrait was hung at one end of the long drawing-room. -In walking towards it, it seemed that Cynthia herself was standing to -greet the comer. She was already tall, and as slight and straight as the -natural gymnasium of judicious liberty, fresh air, and pure influences -could make her. She was dressed in white, and her golden hair hung in -curls to her waist. Her fair skin readily showed a flush. Her brows were -level, her lips firm yet sensitive. There was an exquisite transparency -in her eyes, which were large and of a warm hazel colour. She looked at -every one with a frank and fearless confidence that was unwittingly -fascinating. - -'Cynthy,' said the Admiral, smiling upon her as every one did, 'there's -a question we want to ask you. Have you ever wondered to whom Lafer will -go when we die?' - -'Yes,' she said; 'but I have not liked to know you will die.' - -'We must in the course of nature. Nature sometimes fails to keep her -courses, though, as in our case, where a generation is gone between us -and you for some wise purpose of the Almighty's. The fact gives you -great responsibilities. My dear, Lafer will belong to you.' - -'I have sometimes thought it would,' she said. - -As she spoke she rested one hand on the balustrade and with the other -shaded her eyes and looked at Wonston. He followed her gaze. - -'You will be Lady of the Manor as far as the most southernly house in -Wonston Earth and to Great Whernside on the north. Do you realise it, -you a slim girl in your teens?' - -'I was not trying to realise it. Just at the moment I was sure I saw the -Deanery, Anthony has often assured me he could from beside this vase. -I shall not be a "slim girl in my teens" when I am Lady of the Manor, -grandpapa. Don't let us think of it. It won't be for a very long time, -and we will forget it unless you want to tell me something I must do.' - -'My dear, when the time comes you'll do all that's good, even to -rebuilding the old bridge, eh? But there's one thing you must get, a -good husband. You mustn't be left alone in the world.' - -'He must get her, my dear,' said Mrs. Marlowe. - -'Of course, of course. There, there, Cynthy, no need to colour up. -Plenty of time and no rocks ahead, choice in your own hands, et cetera. -Now kiss us and you can go back to Anthony. He'll stay and dine, and -then you'll sing to us.' - -She did as she was bidden like a child. They watched her out of sight. -Then the Admiral went to the vase near which she had stood and, fixing -his eye-glass with a nervousness so unusual that it resisted many -efforts before it was steady, stared at Wonston. - -'We certainly ought to see the Deanery,' he said in a tone so -dissatisfied that it was certain he did not. - -'Certainly we should.' - -'Well, if we don't the best thing is for him to persuade her that we do.' - -'I think he has.' - -'I have no doubt he is convinced he sees her room from his room.' - -'Don't say so to Cynthy.' - -'Juliana! as though I should be such a fool as to say anything about -it--the very thing to upset our schemes!' - -'Do you remember, Simon, how frightened you once were lest Mrs. -Tremenheere should scheme for us?' - -The Admiral puffed out his cheeks to hide a little embarrassment. But -Mrs. Marlowe looked so inoffensive that this could not be maliciousness. - -'I am yet,' he said. 'It's out of a woman's province to scheme, quite -beyond it, she'll only make a mess. Now, she's a worldly woman, she'd -want Cynthy's money, but we want Anthony because he's a good fellow, -and 'll make her happy. No good could come of her scheme, but ours is -moral to the marrow. A world of difference, my dear Juliana, a world of -difference.' - -When Cynthia came out, it was under Mrs. Tremenheere's chaperonage. -Since she must come out, it was safest for her to do so with Anthony's -mother. She went through two seasons of the conventional routine, -refused many offers of marriage, and each time returned happily to -Lafer and her friendship with the Tremenheeres. Never for a moment did -the Admiral fear for the success of his plan. - -It was on the day of his ordination to deacon's orders that Anthony -asked her to be his wife. She promised that she would. It seemed the one -natural sequence. - -Yet she shrank from accepting his ring. He was going to the Holy Land, -need they be openly engaged until his return? He smiled and insisted, -and she gave way. But the first seed of self-distrust was springing -up in her heart. During his absence she became gradually restless and -dissatisfied. Every one about her noticed the change. The Admiral, -purblind, attributed it to want of Anthony; but Cynthia realised each -day more clearly that it rose from the dread of his return, for upon -it their marriage must quickly follow. She longed for the old time -of friendship, and at last confessed to herself that she had made -a mistake, she did not love him. When he returned it was to a great -sorrow, for she broke off her engagement. - -The succeeding months were unutterably bitter. For the first time in her -life she was brought face to face with unhappiness. For herself she did -not care, but to know that she had wounded and disappointed those she -loved cost her many a tear. And Anthony worshipped her; he would never -marry if not her; he was a noble-hearted man, and she missed him. He -had made her understand it must be all or nothing; if not her husband -he could only be her steadfast friend at a distance. The old familiar -intercourse was all done away. A miserable year passed; he asked her -again but she refused; yet as she loved no one else he still hoped. -She found another chaperon, and went up to town as usual, returning to -entertain the Admiral's shooting-parties and glide into a dull winter. -But it was not quite so bad as the previous one. Mrs. Hennifer, who was -the friend of both, persuaded Anthony to go away. He threw up his curacy -and went out to Delhi on a commission for the translation of the Bible -into some of the Hindoo dialects; he was more scholar than priest, and -the work was congenial. In his absence the Admiral ceased to harass -Cynthia, and by degrees Mrs. Hennifer, more even than the winsome and -disarming patience into which his harshness disciplined Cynthia herself, -managed to narrow the breach and restore to the Hall its old atmosphere -of affection. - -During Anthony's absence of some years the Dean died and he returned -to the inheritance of entailed property. But he did not live on it. If -in England he must be near Cynthia. He took a house near the Minster, -accepted an honorary canonry to please his mother by keeping up a link -with the ecclesiastical prestige of the place, and devoted his time to -study. His library was upstairs, and Cynthia knew he had made interest -with one of the woodmen for the felling of a tree and the lopping of -some branches that hid his view of the Hall. - -One day he showed her it, explaining how cleverly it had been managed. -His manner proved to her as well as words could have done that time had -quenched none of his affection. It had taught him to endure, and still -to be happy and useful. He had not prayed for more. She stood in the -window silently for a long time. He had never touched her so much. There -was such a noble and simple courage about him that the pathos of it all -nearly overcame her. At last she turned and smiled tremblingly. - -'Anthony,' she said, 'I would have given all that will one day be mine -to have been able to be your wife.' - -There was no uncertainty in his smile. It was quick and bright. - -'I know you would, Cynthia. Nothing is your fault, it is our joint -misfortune. You may still find a perfect happiness. As for me I shall be -faithful, as you would have been had you cared. That is my happiness, -and to be able to be so near to you, I can enjoy that now--"so near and -yet so far,"' he added after a moment's pause. - -His tone was more wistful than he knew. Cynthia felt herself on the very -verge of yielding to a sudden strong impulse which she was impelled to -trust. She put out her hand. But he was not looking. He had looked and -been unnerved. He had thought himself stronger. With a hasty movement -he turned to the table and took up a pamphlet, furling its edges with -fingers that might at that moment have closed over Cynthia Marlowe's -in lifelong possession. Her courage failed. She went to the other side -of the table and surveyed the accumulation of books and papers; most -of them were, she knew, in Hindostanee and Sanskrit. The sight did not -abash her. On the contrary it renewed her courage. - - 'Anthony, you know that line-- - - "I do not understand, I love,"' - -she said; 'now, in how many languages can you conjugate those verbs?' - -But he did not look up, and nervousness made her tones too buoyant. He -never saw the light in her eyes which would at last have answered the -question in his. - -'In nine languages and a dozen dialects,' he said lightly. - -She had failed to convey her meaning. Her lips closed. She shut her -eyes, feeling for a moment faint and tired. When she wished him -good-bye, he thought she looked at him strangely. But he did not guess -the truth or know that he had failed to take the tide 'at the flood.' In -a few days she ceased to wonder what was truth. - -Shortly afterwards, Tremenheere's sister, Theodosia Kerr, with whom -she corresponded regularly, perceiving listlessness in her letters and -an exasperating resignation in his, threw herself into the breach by -proposing that she should travel with her and her husband. Kerr was -delicate, and after a yachting cruise in the Mediterranean, was going -to winter in Jersey. The plan took Cynthia's fancy. She had never -travelled, discovered she had a great wish to do so, and was speedily -on her way to join their yacht in Southampton Water. Mrs. Kerr, in her -superior wisdom of married woman, meant to give her what she spoke of to -her husband as 'a good shaking-up,' and then have Tremenheere quietly -out to Jersey in autumn; the result was to be all that everybody could -wish! - -Three months later news reached Lafer Hall which struck consternation -into Mrs. Hennifer's soul, and sent her over to Old Lafer to see Mrs. -Severn at once. The consequence was that a few hours after Mrs. Severn -was again at the Mires. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - AT THE MIRES - - -A more God-forsaken-looking place than the Mires it would be impossible -to imagine. Even on this glorious day in late August it looked dreary -and forbidding. The cluster of stone cottages, half of them roofless, -with the inner white-washed walls showing through the jagged gaps where -windows and doors had been, straggled round a marsh whose pools of water -glistened like scales among tufts of rush and treacherous slimy moss. -The hollow was cup-like. There was no ling on its sides, they were -covered with a harsh dry bent, through which the breeze swished. In -one place this was disfigured by a mound of shaly refuse marking the -site of an old coal-pit. Its seams had been exhausted years ago, and -the miners now trudged a mile to a shaft on the edge of the firwoods -that divided the Hall and Old Lafer. At one end a stream oozed from the -rushes and wandered away with a forlorn look over a stratum of clay. The -chirping of a grasshopper made the silence more intense. The heat was -overpowering. - -When Anna left Borlase he drove back a little way, out of sight of the -cottages. Anna half ran, half slipped through the bent. Hartas Kendrew's -was the cottage from whose chimney the smoke curled. It stood a little -apart from the others, and was in good repair. Scilla had even tried to -make it cheerful by hanging checked curtains in the windows, and nursing -a few pots of geranium and hydrangea on the sills. It seemed to Anna -that they gasped for air, flattened as they were against the closed -panes. She thought of Old Lafer, cool and sweet, the doors and windows -wide open, and the velvety breeze wandering into every corner. Scilla's -life seemed now as much cramped as her flowers. From having been a bonny -blithe girl, singing about her work at Old Lafer, free from care and -responsibility, she was saddened by her husband's absence in prison, and -shackled with his father's drunken humours. - -Anna reached the edge of the marsh on the side opposite to Kendrew's. So -far no one was visible. Now, a figure appeared in the doorway. It was -Mrs. Severn. She came towards her, waving her hand as though bidding -her remain where she was. Anna did so, gazing at her. She saw in a -moment that she walked steadily, and thought she had never looked more -handsome. Her incongruity with her surroundings seemed to vanish in the -harmony of the silvery green background. She walked slowly, the long -black dress she always wore trailing after her, yet half-looped up over -one arm, akimbo on her hip. The cameo-like head was held with regal -dignity; her dark hair was braided in a knot that would have enchanted a -sculptor. The sun seemed to catch and outline every curve of her figure. -She was not so pale as usual, and the tinge of colour gave a deep but -passionless glow to her eyes, which seemed to light up her face to an -extraordinary degree. She fixed them on Anna with the silent mesmerism -that always drew speech from any one whom she expected to speak to her. -They expressed no emotion beyond an expectation that Anna felt to be -sharpened with defiance. Anna, with her fire of indignation kindling -every look and gesture, though held in control, was an absolute contrast. - -When she was only a few paces away, Anna hurried forward and took her -hands. No sooner had she done so than she felt the old love, the old -longing to kiss and forgive. She held her at arm's length in a scrutiny -from which she banished suspicion and reproach. - -'You'll come home with me, Clothilde,' she said. - -Mrs. Severn smiled and disengaged her hands. - -'Have you not brought me some clothes on the chance that I choose to -remain here?' she said. - -'That is the last thing I should have thought of doing, dearest.' - -'Why have you come, then? Dinah one way, you the other, just to make a -useless fuss.' - -'She did not know I could get here.' - -'How did you? Who brought you?' - -'Mr. Borlase. We drove.' - -'Prissy said so. Her sight is ridiculously good. I could only see the -twinkling of wheels in the sun. Is he gone? Will you go back with -Dinah?' - -'Oh Clothilde, don't talk so coldly. With you and Dinah?' - -Her voice was low, little more than a whisper, but she managed to make -it clear and confident. She always trusted to her instincts in dealing -with Mrs. Severn. Simple straightforward decision in the course resolved -on was of little use if allowed to be felt as decisive. Mrs. Severn's -opinion was generally reversed by the acquiescence of others, and her -egotism was so baffling that it was impossible to feel certain of -anything making the desired impression, unless advanced for the sake of -being contradicted. - -She did not answer now, but turned and looked across the marsh to the -cottage. The sun beat fiercely on her head. She raised one hand and -pressed it flat above her brow. But the shelter was insufficient. - -'You might lend me your parasol, Anna,' she said. - -'Of course, how stupid of me when I have my large hat. But I was not -thinking of parasols.' - -'Because you have one. It certainly is very hot here,' she said, resting -the parasol on her shoulder and twirling it to and fro. - -'Stifling.' - -'And on the ridge, where there's a breeze, the colour of the ling makes -my eyes ache. I've been sitting there reading. There was a book of yours -on the parlour table, one of Bret Harte's. I took it up and carried it -all the way. I did not know I was carrying it. Strange!' - -'I think you knew as little what else you were doing.' - -There was another pause. Anna suspected indecision, but neither Mrs. -Severn's face nor the poise of her figure betrayed any. She stood -restfully. Still she was certainly pondering deeply. - -'Not one of the windows opens,' she said suddenly. - -Anna could not help smiling. - -'Has Hartas sealed them up since you were here last?' - -'It was never weather like this. And Prissy will not let the fire go -out; she likes the kettle to be always boiling.' - -'I don't wonder when this is the only water to be got.' - -'That is not her reason, of course.' - -Another figure now emerged from the cottage. They both recognised Dinah. -She stood a moment, shading her eyes with her hand, looking at them. -Then she went on quickly, and struck off up the slope in the direction -in which Old Lafer lay. - -Mrs. Severn glanced keenly at Anna. - -'She is going home,' she said. 'Now you would drive again with Mr. -Borlase. I suppose he would take you round by the park, and the old -bridge, and East Lafer.' - -Anna flushed, but it was with anger. - -'That is not the question,' she said. 'But I shall not walk home unless -you go with me, Clothilde. If you go we will walk over the moor to the -wood. It will take less time, and if we can't get home before Dad does, -then we must feign to have had a walk for pleasure. The drive would rest -me, though. I am tired. You have alarmed me. And besides, I dare not -leave you here.' - -Mrs. Severn laughed, an angry flush rising into her face. - -'You are a goose--_dare_ not!' she said. 'And why not? You must let -me do as I like. You know I may please myself now about coming here, -but because it is so long since I came that you thought I never should -again, you are aggrieved because I have. I should not have come but that -Mrs. Hennifer called; I cannot endure her. She shall learn to keep away -from Old Lafer--no, she must come as usual, oftener if she likes--and -she talked about Miss Marlowe. Really Miss Marlowe's affairs don't -concern me--and there's a mistake, I'm certain. But if not, what----' - -Her voice had been growing hurried and faltering. She now broke off -abruptly, and at the same moment, swiftly transferring the parasol from -one shoulder to the other, interposed it between Anna and herself. It -struck Anna for the first time that she was not her usual self. Could it -be possible that she had been mistaken, that she had been drinking? The -dreadful fear died at birth, however. She felt convinced that she had -not. Something was wrong, though. Whatever else she was, she was never -incoherent in speech. What had Mrs. Hennifer and Miss Marlowe to do with -her except in the ordinary course of a call and small-talk?--but she was -speaking again. - -'Really, I don't think I can endure Prissy's flock mattress in this -heat, and I am certain this bog smells,' she said, again turning and -looking at Anna. - -'I am certain it does. Bogs always do under quick evaporation.' - -'You are very scientific, as dry as it will be if the heat lasts. Any -one coming into this malarious sort of air might soon have a fever.' - -Anna's face was momentarily settling into sternness. - -'You must sit in the house, Clothilde. Hartas will keep fever out by -smoking bad tobacco, drinking gin, and eating onions.' - -'I sit upstairs, Anna, and it has always been very cosy. But since I was -here they have taken off the thatch and actually slated the roof, and -slates attract the sun to a frightful degree.' - -'In fact Old Lafer is so much more comfortable that you will return to -it,' said Anna in a stifled voice. - -Mrs. Severn was not looking at her or she would have been warned of what -was impending. As it was she smiled indulgently. - -'Don't let us quarrel, Anna. You know I have only very limited means -at my disposal for doing as I like. I always think you should all be -thankful I come here instead of going to Wonston, which would cause so -much more scandal.' - -She put her hand on her arm as she spoke, half confidingly, half as a -help in walking, for she now turned to the cottage. - -But Anna shook it off as though she were stung, and started back, fixing -on her a look of repugnant mistrust. - -'Clothilde,' she exclaimed, 'I will never leave you here again. You are -mad to speak so lightly. I will tell you the truth. I know everything. -Scilla told Dinah that you drank when last you were here. If I left you -here to-day she would warn me. But I will not. You might do it again. -If every one here knew the truth it would reach Dad. If I can prevent -his knowing, I will. You may have felt that I should not leave you, and -have invented all these stupid excuses to make it appear that you are -pleasing yourself by going home with me. Clothilde, you shall come home -with me or every one shall know the truth. Even a shameful truth is -better known sometimes; it is salvation instead of damnation. Clothilde, -I did not know how I should find you to-day. If I had found you as it -would have been shameful to find you, I should have told Mr. Borlase -the whole truth, and he would have helped me--anything to save you from -yourself! But I will not leave you here. Now you know that I know all, -that----' - -'_All?_' said Mrs. Severn. She had listened, stunned, half-terrified. -Anna had never spoken to her with absolute just anger before. But she -had expected more--a further condemnation. Now her face cleared with a -relief that was unaccountable to Anna, and made her pause abruptly. - -'_All?_' she said again. - -'Yes,' said Anna passionately. 'How can you act in such a way, -Clothilde? Go and get your bonnet, and we'll start instantly. Go, -Clothilde.' - -Mrs. Severn shrugged her shoulders, but did as she was bidden. - -Anna rushed up the hill. Her passionate words were but a poor vent for -her surging resentment. She was choked. She longed to throw herself down -in the bent and cry out her grief and disdain. She had not imagined -anything so weak, so baffling. She could not wonder at Elias's scorn. -It struck her as possible that if Mr. Severn knew all he might some day -spurn her; revulsion of feeling might impel him to it. - -At the top of the hill she paused. The dog-cart was a dozen paces -farther on. Borlase had not heard her, and was looking the other way. -He sat with drooping rein, and one arm thrown over the back of the seat. -His face was in profile, but she could see its expression of deep, calm -thought. It impressed her with the possibility of controlling this white -heat of angry disgust. Only pride had enabled her to steady her voice -before Clothilde. Tears had forced themselves into her eyes, but Mrs. -Severn, being a cursory observer, had attributed the scintillation to -passion. This reaction was more full of shame than the disclosure in -Wonston streets had been. The new impression of Clothilde became the -mastering one; to a less earnest and honest nature it might have been -fleeting as a phantom. Could she hope ever to lose its bitterness? - -But as she looked at Borlase her temper cooled. - -His unconsciousness of her presence, though he was waiting for her, -added force to his curb on her own impetuosity of which she had been -conscious before now. - -But there was an interest beyond that of character in the abstraction of -his air. Of what was he thinking, of whom? The wonder of whom another -is thinking is the germ of the wish and the hope that the thought may -be of one's self. A twinge of jealous fear follows it. At this moment -she grasped the realisation of a kindness that had been at pains to show -solicitude, to be individual. His words and looks and hand pressure -poured in warm remembrance into her heart. He had helped her, he would -have helped her more. She knew of what joy they were on the verge. - -Yet she hesitated. She felt unnerved. Must she go on in spite of her -tear-washed eyes, which he would instantly perceive, or return unseen -and send Scilla with a message? True, she had promised to go herself. -She wanted to speak to him too, to thank him, to explain. But it seemed -all at once as though it would be much easier to send Scilla. Her very -shyness was surrender, but this she did not know. - -And while she hesitated, he suddenly turned and their eyes met. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - 'SIN THE TRAVELLER' - - -It was a flash of the most intensely delighted surprise that illumined -Borlase's face. Its reflection stole over hers and she smiled at him. -Full knowledge of the hidden truth of both hearts pierced each at once. - -Her smile decided him. He knew her well. He knew she had been taken -unawares, and might resent her involuntary self-betrayal to herself when -she realised it, as in another moment she might do. - -She had not moved. It seemed to him that she expected him to go to her. -His heart leapt as he perceived that here at last was what he wanted, -she was no longer unconscious. He saw a change even in the poise of her -figure, she was shy and uncertain. Yet there was a gleam in her eyes, -clear and steady, that defied her strange confusion. Seizing reins and -whip he was instantly alongside of her. He jumped down and took her -hands. - -'Anna,' he said, 'you know now what I have been waiting for, what I -am longing to ask for, what I want to make me a happy man. You know, -because at last you can give it me, cannot you, my darling?' - -He drew her nearer. - -'Give me the right to comfort you in every trouble,' he said. 'Let us -share all joys and sorrows. I have loved you so long. Will you be my -wife, Anna?' - -For a moment she turned away, feeling that she could scarcely bear him -to see her face. She was half ashamed of her happiness. She could not -speak. She felt as though there were a world of happiness in her eyes. -Then the thought came that it would make him happy to see it there. And -so she raised her eyes to his and he did see it. - -'And are you going back with me?' he said after a while. - -She shook her head in a way expressive to him of a delightful amount of -regret. - -'No. Clothilde is going, and we are going to walk by the moor and the -wood. We shall get home sooner.' - -'Then you have persuaded her. Who would you not persuade to be good and -do right? But may I not drive you both?' - -'Oh no, Clothilde never would, and what could we say to Dad in -explanation if he were home first? And I have not persuaded her, there -was no need for persuasion. You must not think too much of me, idealise -me or anything of that kind----' - -'And what is my name, Commandant?' Borlase broke in, laughing. - -'Your name? Geoffry, isn't it? Yes.' - -'Well, then, call me Geoff or your commands shall be null.' - -'That can wait till next time,' said Anna piquantly. - -'Very well, it shall. The anticipation will bring me all the sooner to -Old Lafer to see Mr. Severn. And I shall write to Mr. Piton. I shall be -delighted to assert my ownership at Rocozanne. I've always been jealous -of Ambrose.' - -She laughed, and murmured that she must be going. - -'Yes, I suppose you must,' he said. 'But tell me, are you going away -happier than you came? Yes? And not only because Mrs. Severn has been -amenable to reason? Have I at last a niche in your life, will it be -more than a niche soon? It is so, is it not? Anna, remember you are to -learn to be all mine. I shall be jealous of every one at Old Lafer, Mr. -Severn, your sister, the whole batch of children.' - -Her face showed him what music his eager tones were to her. - -She could not herself have been more impetuous. His frankness charmed -her. Well it might! It was the surest guerdon of lifelong happiness. -He knew she was of the same nature. To such there is no fear of one of -those tragedies of life which turns upon a misunderstanding. - -Anna quickly re-descended into the hollow. She hoped Mrs. Severn would -come out and not oblige her to go up to the cottage. She was anxious to -get away while the Mires was still depopulated by the cottagers being -out at their peat-stacks and bracken cutting. Besides which Hartas might -be at home. She dreaded his familiar garrulousness, and the violence of -his menacing hatred for the Admiral which he never lost an opportunity -of impressing upon every one. - -Mrs. Severn, however, did not come out, but Scilla did. She hurried -towards her looking more troubled and anxious than usual, Anna thought. -She was very bonny, and had a fresh colour and a quantity of fair hair -which her constant flittings into the open air without hat or hood kept -in a rough condition that suited her and showed off its colour. Sunbeams -seemed to be caught among it. Years ago sunbeams had been in her limpid -blue eyes too. But now they were sad, a haunting sorrow and a furtive -fear brooded there. Not only was Kit in prison and her baby beneath a -little mound in the churchyard, but there were times when she scarcely -dared stay in the house with Hartas. Anna had often urged her to leave -him and come back to Old Lafer. But she would not. She had promised Kit -that she would not. If she broke a promise to him she would lose her -hope of keeping him to better ways when his term was up and he was home -again. - -'Well, Scilla,' said Anna, 'when are you coming to see the children -again?' - -'Bless them,' said Scilla, her eyes filling; 'and another baby too. But -oh, Miss Anna, I want a word with you. Come along, though. Don't let us -stand or she'll maybe guess what I'm telling you. Father told me I never -had to tell you, no, not if she did it again and again. He hates every -one since poor Kit's punishment, and he'd help ruin any one that had -aught to do with the Admiral. But I made up my own mind I'd tell if Mrs. -Severn ever came here again and asked for---- She's going away with you -but that doesn't matter, she's been and she may come again. Miss Anna, -the last time she was here she got to a bottle of father's----' - -Her voice sank. Her eyes fixed themselves on Anna's, mutely imploring -her to understand and yet not to be overwhelmed. Yes, she did -understand. There was an anguished shame in her whole face. - -They were walking slowly on. Just before reaching the cottage Anna said -in a low voice-- - -'I did not know Hartas knew, Scilla. Dinah told me, she thought it right -to do so, and it was right. Have you ever told any one?' - -'Never, Miss Anna; not even Kit. Dearest Miss Anna, she's asked for -some to-day. I made pretence we'd none by us. She'd soon have sent for -some. And that's what's been my fear, that she should get hold of Jimmy -Chapman or one of the little ones and send them. Then all t' Mires would -have known and a deal o' folk beside.' - -'Do you think Hartas has told any one?' - -'I don't think so,' she said; adding reluctantly, 'I sometimes fancy if -he hasn't, he's biding his time, he's none one to let bad things drop.' - -To Anna's relief and yet almost to her terror she found that Hartas was -out. Hartas Kendrew, primed with this knowledge, had already become a -power, a factor in her life; she would constantly be wondering and -fearing what, involuntarily in his drunken fits or of malice prepense, -he might disclose. - -Scilla's little kitchen was empty of life, but for a kitten curled up -on the langsettle, fast asleep. The flagged floor was bordered with a -design in pipeclay, which Scilla renewed once a week. Some samplers hung -in frames upon the walls between groups of memorial cards of various -sizes. On the high mantel was a row of five copper kettles, all polished -into a glint of gold, and above them two guns on crockets. A line of -freshly-ironed clothes hung across the ceiling; some worsted stockings -were drying off over the oven-door; the ironing blanket lay still -unfolded on the table but had one corner turned over to make room for -some cups and saucers and a rhubarb pasty. Scilla had made tea but no -one would have any. - -When Mrs. Severn heard their voices she came downstairs in her bonnet, -a flimsy elegant affair of black lace which Anna had wondered at -her having taken off. She said good-bye to Scilla with her ordinary -indifference. But Anna lingered behind and kissed her with a passionate -hand-grasp that assured her of her gratitude and confidence. Scilla -looked at her searchingly. She had long cherished a hope for Anna. She -was longing that it should be fulfilled. And had not Mr. Borlase brought -her here to-day, and could he possibly have seen her in this old trouble -and not wished to be her comforter? Surely she would never repulse him. -He was good, of that Scilla was certain. She had thought as she walked -along the edge of the marsh and met her that she had an air of quiet -and happy preoccupation. She wanted to satisfy herself that it was so. -Surely her love and respect warranted her. - -'Why do you look at me, Scilla?' said Anna, as they were parting. - -Scilla's pent-up solicitude rushed forth. - -'Oh Miss Anna, I love you so,' she said in a hurried whisper, 'I -want you to be happy. Are you? It's a queer question after what I've -just told you, but there are others in the world besides her,' with -a nod towards the door, 'while one brings trouble, another brings -lightsomeness. And you are so good, always the same; you don't put a -body in your pocket one day and turn a cold shoulder the next. You were -always so helpful to me at Old Lafer. If you'd been there that dree -winter I was ill, I know Kit would never have taken to bad ways, for -you'd have tided us over, and he'd none have been tempted. Trust me a -bit further, Miss Anna dear.' - -She had never taken her eyes off her face, and seeing the colour that -spread from neck to brow as she looked, she ventured to the verge and -now stood breathless. - -'How have you guessed?' said Anna. - -'Then it's true?' cried Scilla rapturously, tightening her hold of her -hands. 'I've prayed for it. I thought he'd never be so daft as to pass -you by, a jewel that you are! And you're light at heart, eh? So was I -when Kit came about Old Lafer, but you'll none have the finish I've had. -God bless you.' - -'This isn't the finish for you, Scilla,' said Anna. 'You'll have a happy -time yet.' - -Scilla smiled an April smile. Then suddenly she laughed. 'Miss Anna,' -she said, 'what'll Mrs. Severn say to it? She'll none want to lose you -from Old Lafer. She was in a fine taking on an hour ago, when I told -her 'twere you and Mr. Borlase. But never mind what she says. Insulting -words may come nigh you, but don't you make a trouble of them; they'll -only speak badly for her as uses them. Every one knows what _you_ are in -your inwardest nature.' - -Mrs. Severn had walked on and was now standing on the ridge, silhouetted -against the sky. Anna soon overtook her, and they went on quickly, -shortening the way by striking into the ling. Her anger had melted. The -old tenderness was in her heart; for some bitter moments it had seemed -indeed that the new shame must quench it. Nor was it her new-found -happiness that inspired it. Her anger must have humiliated Clothilde, -and she could not bear to think she was humiliated. - -During the heavy walking through the ling she did all she could to be -kind. The beautiful face, growing weary and haggard with a rare anxiety -which she attributed to the wish to be home before her husband, touched -her deeply. She helped her on, holding up her dress, throwing the shade -of the parasol wholly over her, and hoping each moment that she might -strike some chord that would unseal her heart and give some clue to its -enigmatical life. - -But Mrs. Severn remained silent, walking with her eyes down, but -carefully picking her way among the tufts of ling. Anna in her white -dress and sun hat got along easily, but Mrs. Severn's progress was -laboured. She looked extraordinary, a figure more fit for a stage than -the moor, her black draperies at once handsome and negligent, her arms -bare from the elbows, the lace strings of her bonnet arranged about her -throat with a mantilla-like effect, which set off the fine contour of -her face. Always conscious of herself, she was now. - -'I wonder, if any one met us, what we should be taken for?' she said, as -they stood resting a moment by leaning against the wall of the coal-pit -shanty. 'I think I might be taken for an actress gone astray.' - -Anna thought this so much nearer the truth than was intended that she -said nothing. - -'And you for my maid.' - -'Probably,' said Anna, and walked on again. She felt too worn by the -varying strong emotions she had gone through to dissent from any -suggestion. It seemed hopeless to think of reaching Clothilde's inner -self, but she could not help speculating over it. Life's opening out -for herself during the last few hours had quickened her perceptions. A -new experience of the influence each can exert on the lives round it, -bringing a rush of undreamt-of possibilities that invested the vista -of the future with a halo of definite and sacred responsibilities, had -stirred her to a wider grasp of the issues involved in action, as well -as to a keener questioning of their mainspring. She had known for years -that Clothilde did not love her husband; but considered that she had no -capacity either for love or hate, treating her emotions as diffused and -colourless, and herself none the more unhappy for her indifference. - -But now she wondered why she did not love him. She had been surprised by -the vehemence of the tone in which she had said, 'I cannot bear Mrs. -Hennifer.' It was not merely the irrational petulance of a childish -mind resenting disapproval. Why did she not like her? Had she never -cared for her husband? If so, if she had force of character to strongly -dislike the one and shrink so sensitively from the other, that his home -sometimes became unbearable, and all her married and social obligations -were sacrificed to the one dominating desire to get away from them, -there must be a reverse to the picture, comparison must play its natural -part in her mind, dislike of one be accented by appreciation of another, -and shrinking from one by attraction to another. Had she ever loved -any one as a woman can and does love? A few short minutes of vivid -personal experience had proved to her how one life bears upon another, -weaving a web of influence and circumstance which is completed or left -incomplete by the frailty of a single thread. Was there a broken thread -in Clothilde's life? Might this discord have been a harmony? - -The silence was not again broken before they reached home. The sun was -setting as they emerged from the larch woods on to the wooden bridge -that crossed the beck below the meadows. Old Lafer was above them on -the hillside, its drifts of smoke wreathing against the sky. As they -climbed the fields, the moors gradually came into sight, the last rays -from the sun striking in a golden haze athwart the dense blue shadows -that moulded them. The old house looked dark and gray. Anna scanned -every window as she balanced herself on the stile. That of the parlour -was wide open. She saw that Mr. Severn was neither in his arm-chair nor -in the one before the secretaire at which he wrote the correspondence -that he did not get through at the office. The tea-table, too, was too -orderly for any one to have already had tea there. She went on into the -house. His hat was not on its peg on the stand. Dinah heard her step as -she worked with the kitchen door open in readiness, and, sallying forth, -shook her head. - -'He's none come. Hev you brought her?' she said in a loud but cautious -whisper; and peering beyond her as she spoke, she caught sight of Mrs. -Severn just crossing the flags. - -'T' Almighty be thanked!' she ejaculated. 'And eh, Miss Anna, I've -put out some honey for tea. That'll keep t' baaerns so busy, what wi' -smashing it, and smearing their bread, and messing theirsels, that -they'll hev no time for much talk. Now go your ways upstairs and get a -souse to freshen yoursel for tea. My word, _she_ looks like death! And -there are some girdle-cakes, my dearie. Them's what you favour, and -Master too for t' matter of that, only he mayn't be in time.' - -Half an hour later they were sitting round the tea-table. Mr. Severn -had not come yet, and the children's chatter was varied, as usual, by -pauses in which they all steadied themselves to listen for his horse's -hoofs, or the clash of the gate, or his voice calling Elias. - -But they missed the sounds of his arrival to-day. He surprised them by -quietly opening the door and standing just within while taking off his -gloves. His eyes travelled from one to another, and rested longest on -his wife. She was leaning back playing with the spoon in her saucer and -scarcely glanced at him. Nevertheless he came round and kissed her. - -'I've news,' he said, passing on to his seat. 'Here's a bit of -excitement for you at last, Clothilde. We're to have a wedding. Now, -who's the bride-elect?' - -'Miss Marlowe, Cynthia,' said Anna. - -'Miss Marlowe it is, but Tremenheere's none the man. Mrs. Kerr's been a -bad manager, not known how to marshal her forces, taken too much time -about it.' - -'Not Canon Tremenheere after all! And you've lunched there; did he know? -Who is it? Who told you?' - -'The Admiral told me. I wish it had been the Canon, I do. I always -thought she'd come round. And she went off so simply, was the only one -who didn't suspect Mrs. Kerr's plan. I was sure she'd fall in with it -quite naturally. But it's a failure. She's engaged herself without any -leave-asking to a man she's met on their travels; Danby they call him, -Lucius Danby. He's an Anglo-Indian.' - -He was stirring his tea, Anna was replenishing the teapot. No one -noticed that Mrs. Severn's head had fallen back, and that she was -slipping off her chair. - -For the first time in her life she had fainted. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - LETTERS - - -Cynthia was now on her way home. Her plans for remaining in Jersey until -Christmas fell through. In one letter she mentioned that she had got a -nice room in Bree's Hotel, and felt quite settled for three months. In -the next, a few days later, she announced her engagement to a man whom -she had not before named, and of whom the Admiral and Mrs. Marlowe had -never heard. She and her maid were returning at once to Lafer Hall, and -Mr. Danby would travel to town with them, and see them off from thence -by the North Express. - -This was indeed carrying matters with a high hand. The Admiral was -dumbfounded. He stormed down to Canon Tremenheere, forgetful, in his -anxiety to know if he had had details from Mrs. Kerr, of the trouble -he might be in. He vowed Cynthy was a 'matter-of-fact puss.' If he had -ever thought she would take him literally, he would not have assured her -choice was in her own hands. So there was no letter from Theodosia Kerr? -Was she not responsible for Cynthy? Whatever were they all thinking of? -Truly it was a mad world, time for him to be in his grave, he couldn't -stand such whirligigs, Cynthy might be a teetotum and expect to set them -all spinning with her. - -'Look here, Anthony,' he said, buzzing round Tremenheere's library like -a fly, while Anthony sat with his hands clasped behind his head, and an -air of endurance, 'I always thought you'd be the man. I always thought -she'd come round. She knows your worth, and you're such a fine fellow -compared, for instance, to a little naval tub like myself. But I'll tell -you what it is. The very devil gets into these women, good souls though -they are, bless 'em, and they either don't know what they want, or won't -take the trouble of making up their minds. And to think that after all -these years her fancy should be caught like this, all in a jiffy. She's -held herself too cheap; it's Cynthy all over, just what she does, thinks -nothing of herself. If a beggar smiles upon her she gets a spasm of -happiness, and thinks all the world's full of happiness.' - -'But how do we know it's been a hasty thing?' said Tremenheere. - -'Has Theodosia ever named the fellow?' - -'Never. But she doesn't write voluminously.' - -'Then of course it has. Just write to Theodosia now, will you? It was -her bounden duty to have sent her off home the moment she suspected his -pretensions. I'll confess it's a good name is Danby, but bless me! one -sees Campbell over a shop door, and Spencer on a costermonger's cart! -And an Anglo-Indian too! Don't know anything about them and care less. -And then to think she might have had you, letting alone Ushire's son, -who'd have made her a countess some day. Really, Anthony, it's fit to -turn one's blood; it'll upset my liver, I know. He may be a scamp, a -fortune-hunter, a merry-andrew, a married man,' said the Admiral, his -imagination running rampant, and his voice taking a higher key as each -new possibility occurred to him. He was woe-begone and desperate. 'I -can't digest it, Anthony,' he said, settling in one of the windows, and -looking limp and hopelessly perplexed; 'I can't digest it. It's not like -Cynthy. It's a loss of dignity. And she, with all her charm and her -choice, and _you_ at her beck. It's inconceivable; I can't believe it.' - -'She will be home before I can hear from Theo,' said Tremenheere. He was -too conscious of his own lack of spirit to marvel at the Admiral's. 'I -can't understand her not having written, though. There must have been -some mistake over the mails. She ought to have written to you, or rather -perhaps Kerr should. But he's such an easy-going fellow, is St. John. -However, if I were you, Admiral, I would not distress myself. I don't -think Cynthia's judgment will have failed her. We must hope for the -best.' - -'Hope for the best! That often means getting the worst. The best won't -come for our sitting with folded hands, thinking about it. No, no, -Anthony, and I'll have none of your confounded aphorisms--"Whatever -is, is best," and all that fraternity of philosophy. They're a mental -creeping paralysis, that's what they are. I mean to act, to act, -Anthony!' - -He stamped his foot as he spoke, and screwing his eye-glass into his -eye, glared at Tremenheere as though wishing for contradiction for the -sake of defying it. - -'I would,' said Tremenheere, 'certainly I would, if I were you, Admiral. -There will be many considerations in the case of your granddaughter. -But wait until she gets home and then be calm, do be calm. Don't alarm -her. I don't think it's occurred to her how you will have taken it, how -you'll feel it. Letters would only complicate matters by crossing or -miscarrying or not reaching. She will soon be home.' - -The Admiral was walking up and down the room again. He was listening, -but with no intention of heeding until the tone in which these last -words were uttered struck on his ears. It was a tone utterly unlike the -petulance of his own, that of a man baulked in his dearest desire who -foresees nothing but pangs in a proximity where hope had long hovered, -but whence it had for ever taken flight. - -'Anthony,' said the Admiral, reaching him rapidly and putting his hand -on his arm, 'I'm a confounded selfish old brute. Here am I screwing into -your nerves to save my own. I'm going. Come down with me. The air in -your garden'll do you good. But just write to Theodosia, will you?' - -Tremenheere nodded as he got up. - -He did not want to thwart the Admiral, but it was not for him to probe -the matter. He scarcely knew whether he wished Theo had written or -was thankful she had not. He was stunned by the news. The Admiral had -discharged it at him like a ball from a cannon's mouth; and the more he -thought of it, the more intolerable became the burning tension at his -heart. He wanted to be alone. He felt unmanned. He had had hard work to -reconcile himself to the idea of Cynthia travelling, even though he had -faith in Theo's good offices and a vague impression that she meant to -accomplish something in his favour. But when she was at Lafer he knew -he had her near and safe, that she belonged to no one else and was out -of range of new admirers. In his own mind he attributed Theodosia's -flagrant carelessness to the loss their sister Julia had sustained. -Julia Tremenheere, married at seventeen, became a widow fifteen months -later, and two years subsequently she married again. Her second husband -was also now dead. News of this loss would reach the Kerrs at Athens. -He could imagine that Julia's sorrow would deeply affect Theodosia, and -that she then overlooked what was happening in her own travelling party. -But in the Admiral's present mood he had been careful to keep this in -the background; to endure such rough-shod treatment of his sister's -grief as well as his own was more than he could do. - -Throughout the cruise Theodosia had written to him constantly, keeping -him up in all their movements, and inferring her care of his interests. -These letters he had answered regularly. Sometimes he enclosed a note -for Cynthia. He had done this only the previous day. A verandah ran -the length of his house, and was festooned with virginia-creeper whose -crimson tints were now resplendent in the glowing autumn sunshine. It -was a favourite plant of hers. The last time she called before going -away he asked if she would be back in time to see its splendour. -Unconscious of Mrs. Kerr's plans, she had said yes, and when he heard -she was not coming until Christmas he wrote to upbraid her, hoping that -his words might draw from her consent to his soon going out to Jersey, -since Mrs. Kerr would now soon propose it. - -'My dear Cynthia,' he wrote, 'my garden is in its glory. The verandah is -in gala attire. I am convinced that the tendril that touched your cheek -as the wind swayed it--do you remember--heard your promise, and thinks -long of you as I do too, for the whole plant is early crimsoned this -year. You know what an exquisite foreground it then forms for the fine -mass of the Minster behind it. Are you not coming to be our last rose -of summer? Better that, dear Cynthia, than a Christmas rose; that's too -cold and pale for my fancy. Don't be our Christmas rose, if I am not to -see you before that time--or I shall be chilled by presentiments. Come -home and leave Kerr and Theo to coddle each other. Everybody wants you -here, as you know.--Faithfully yours, Anthony Tremenheere.' - -After the Admiral mounted his horse and rode off he sauntered round to -the verandah. He knew the tendril that touched her cheek in spring. He -stood and thought of her, picturing her as she then stood by his side. -Would she ever visit him again as Cynthia Marlowe, and find occasion -for one of their quiet talks? - -He thought of his note, she would have started before it reached Theo; -surely she would not forward it to her. He felt now with tingling -blood that it was lover-like, and they were severed when he wrote -it. For one fierce moment he rebelled against the cruelty of that -ignorance enfolding our human actions at which it is easy to think that -devils must laugh. Bitterness welled in his heart; what is emotion -but a pitfall? Then he pulled himself together again. This thing, -inconceivable but true, had hung over him for years. Now, the blow -had fallen. What he had thought was hope was after all only suspense. -Apparently he would not even have to readjust his life. He had prayed -for her welfare. If she had chosen well, that prayer would be answered. -Friendship should not be sacrificed; her husband, her children, should -add to his interests. His life-work was on his library table, but it -should not conform him into a Dryasdust. He made up his mind to love her -still by casting out self. - -The next day he heard from Mrs. Kerr. An examination of the post-marks -told him that it had been intended he should hear at the same time as -the Admiral. - -'My dearest Tony,' she wrote, 'I have bad news for you, and I wish -with all my heart I had never undertaken Cynthia. I knew she would be -attractive, but I didn't think it would be to any purpose on her own -score. I had a preconceived idea that our trip would prove to her there -was no one like you in the world. And now, my dear old fellow, she has -electrified us by announcing her engagement to a man whom we had not -recognised as a suitor. We met him first at Ajaccio, then he turned up -in Zante, and finally we found him at St. Helier's. Still I suspected -nothing. St. John, who was with her when he ran up against them here, -did. You know how the colour flies, positively _flies_ into her cheeks; -well, that's how it did, St. John says, when she saw him. He told me, -but I pooh-poohed it. She's been so long proof, and there was you. -However, everything and everybody but Mr. Danby are forgotten now; -St. John says it's a downright case of evangelisation--all her idols -are cast to the moles and bats. He teases her dreadfully; she's been -wearing her hair with fillets and he says he knows now why, because Mr. -Danby was so fond of fillets of kid at Ajaccio. This of course is all -nonsense. But what will the Admiral say? I have expostulated with her; -I told her she never ought to have been engaged here but have let him -come to Lafer. You know what a laugh she has when she's happy; well, she -just laughed--"Theo," she said, "your worldly wisdom guards the gardens -of the Hesperides." "Gardens of the fiddle-sticks!" said I. But all is -useless. She is packing now, and will be home almost before you get -this. St. John says I ought to write to Mrs. Marlowe, but that means -the Admiral, and I don't know what I can say, except that it really is -no more my fault than that I asked her to come with us. Oh, Tony, my -dearest boy, I wish I could see you! But don't make a trouble of it, and -do let me know what you think of Mr. Danby.--Yours ever, Theodosia Kerr.' - -Tremenheere sat for a long time with this before him. He knew Theo's -style of writing, but had excused her when there really was nothing to -say--he had not expected the letters of a Disraeli except for egotism. -But when there was something to say he had expected she would be able to -say it. And here was tragedy made into comedy, a drama slurred out of -all proportion. He had wanted to know what she thought of Danby, what -Kerr thought of him. And here was judgment thrown on to his shoulders. - -'Good God!' he thought, 'how am I to get to know him? That is just what -I cannot do until she has married him.' - -He tormented himself over that demand for his opinion. What did it mean? -Were they dissatisfied? Was Kerr mistrustful? had even Theo misgivings? -If they had liked him with genuine hearty British liking, would they not -have said so? Was this vagueness intentional--'We don't like him, do -you?' He knew that flying of the colour into Cynthia's cheeks; he could -hear that joyous laugh of hers. He sat on now, thinking of them. She -must be happy. Would she be if she had a doubt of this man? She could -not be wholly blinded, he must be sterling if she were so happy. - -Then he was seized by a great longing to see her at once, as soon as -she arrived, that he might judge for himself. His restlessness was -intolerable. He must walk it off. He would go up to Lafer and hear if -they had had a telegram. Had she reached London? When were they coming -on? By what train were they to arrive? - -He saw Mrs. Hennifer. The Admiral was out with one of the woodmen; Mrs. -Marlowe was not down; she had been so unnerved by the news that she had -not been beyond her dressing-room since. They had heard that Cynthia was -to arrive that night. He walked to the window and stood a long while -silent. Mrs. Hennifer remained in the middle of the room, also standing. -An air of unusual indecision was on her face. She did not know how much -she dared say of all that was in her mind. - -Tremenheere turned at last and looked at her. - -'I very much wish to see Cynthia,' he said. - -'You must come up to-morrow, or we will drive down.' - -'No, neither. I want to see her to-night. Tell the Admiral I'll meet -her and put her into the carriage.' - -'That will do very well. Mrs. Marlowe can't spare me, and the Admiral is -too peremptory in the matter to talk coherently in the carriage.' - -'Naturally. I hope he will be gentle with her--you will be at hand, -won't you? Some one must meet her too, it would otherwise be so -cheerless. Thanks.' - -He took up his hat and stick, his eyes meanwhile slowly travelling round -the room. It was the morning-room, and opening from the drawing-rooms -had often been used in their place as being more cosy after dinner in -winter. A little bamboo table with a low chair beside it was hers. How -often they had played chess together there, or talked, Cynthia with -bright silken work in her hands. It was pain to Mrs. Hennifer to see the -sadness of his face. He came up and put his hand out. She took it within -both her own and looked at him earnestly, her thin angular figure -relaxing sufficiently to lean slightly towards him. - -'Canon, it may never be a marriage,' she said. - -'Never a marriage!' he repeated. 'Dear Mrs. Hennifer, that would, I -fear, be a grief to her.' - -'She must have been a little hasty.' - -'But haste does not always entail mistake.' - -'She may discover that she has not known sufficient about him. He is -some years older than she. She may eventually see herself that it is not -desirable.' - -'True. It is possible.' - -'But improbable, you think. It would entail unpleasantness. Still, the -breaking off might be a mutual arrangement; it might.' - -He was silent again, struggling with the desperate hope that sprang -up anew at the suggestion. It took him unawares. He had determined -that Cynthia's manner that night should decide the future irrevocably -for him. He would fight free of suspense, and suffer no paralysis of -indecision. At last he smiled slightly, that smile of a radiance so -rarely, softly bright that it fell like a benediction wherever it was -bestowed. - -'You want to soften things for me,' he said. 'In your goodness of heart, -and because you knew her and me as children, and the love that I have -had for her since, you do not wish that I should have to bear what is -hard. I do find it hard, but I would rather it were a thousand times -harder than that sorrow stepped into her path. I love her yet, and shall -eternally, but it is and will be with "self-reverence, self-knowledge, -self-control." Let us pray God that there is no mistake, and if she -marry Danby it may be a happy marriage.' - -Mrs. Hennifer could say no more. It was not expedient that any one but -Mrs. Severn and herself should know that Lucius Danby was known to them -until Cynthia herself knew. It was not likely that this knowledge was -already hers. Mrs. Hennifer felt that if Mrs. Severn were trustworthy it -was possible that this good wish of Tremenheere's would be fulfilled. -She could scarcely yet reconcile herself to the idea of the match, since -her conception of Cynthia's dignity was fastidious. She was convinced, -too, that if the Admiral knew that his granddaughter's engagement was -to a man who had been engaged to his agent's wife and jilted by her, -Danby's proposal would be met with unceremonious and outraged denial. - - - - - CHAPTER X - - OPINIONS AT LAFER HALL - - -Tremenheere was early at the station that night. The evenings were -now short and the lamps were lit. He walked up and down the platform -waiting, his gaze passing from the line whose distant curve was lost -in the gloom, to the starlit sky that roofed it. He was a tall thin -man, with a slight stoop from the shoulders. Out of doors he wore an -Inverness cloak. His complexion was swarthy, his fine cut features were -full of sensitive feeling. His head was scholarly, and he wore his -slightly curly black hair rather long; his eyes were piercing, the rare -smile was an illumination to his whole face. Every one on the platform -knew him and his errand; and Wonston already knew also that Miss Marlowe -was not going to marry him. The footman from the Hall, lounging in the -booking-office, the coachman on his box, each had his knot of gossipers, -eager to gather every morsel of the great news that had stirred Wonston -to its depths. - -And now the train was signalled. He heard the click of the semaphore as -it dropped. A few moments more and a cloud of rosy smoke trailed above -a dark speck on the line. The bell rang, there was a sudden bustle and -wheeling about of trollies, and the train glided in. As it passed him, -he saw Cynthia. The light in the carriage shone full upon her face and -she was smiling. But she did not see him. He walked alongside of her -and opened the door. In spite of endeavour and resolution, his face was -aglow with feeling. - -'Well, Cynthia!' he said. - -Her glance lit upon him with surprise but without embarrassment. She -looked delighted to see an old friend, nothing more. His heart sank. He -knew then that in spite of himself he had still hoped. He believed all -now. Her flying colour, her happy laugh, were not for him. - -'You here, Anthony; how kind of you. All quite well at home, I hope?' - -He gave her his hand and she jumped down. He hurried her outside. It -seemed to him suddenly that he must be looking strange, unlike himself; -at any rate every one was pressing forward to look at her. He put her -into the carriage. She begged him to come too, they would go round by -the Minster. But he preferred to walk. He stood silently with his arm -on the door, listening to her account of the Kerrs, until the maid and -luggage appeared. Then he leant forward and grasped her hand. He did not -speak, he only looked at her--'No word, no gesture of reproach!' And -Cynthia, throwing herself back in the corner of the carriage, suddenly -trembled into tears. They flowed for 'the days that were no more,' for -the faithfulness that had not won love, for Anthony left alone. Many a -path of joy is dewy with such tears; they make it exhale incense. - -A little later the Admiral was standing on the hearth-rug in the -drawing-room at Lafer, fidgeting alternately with his watch and his -white stock. He had dressed more quickly than usual, and instead of -lingering in Mrs. Marlowe's room until the gong sounded, had come down -in hopes of Cynthia being late after her journey. He wanted a few words -with Mrs. Hennifer, who had preserved her calmness during the meeting, -while he had been excited and Mrs. Marlowe emotional. Indeed Mrs. -Marlowe was going to dine upstairs, but she had charged the Admiral to -have private speech with Mrs. Hennifer, and hear what she thought of -Cynthy. - -The moment she came in he turned to her eagerly. He had fixed his -eye-glass, and his face was puckered into the petulant expression -consequent upon all its lines converging towards the vacant one. His own -scrutiny thus always baffled that of others. - -But in this instance Mrs. Hennifer knew scrutiny was superfluous. She -had come to a clear conclusion, and felt the Admiral would have to bend -to the same. The time they had spent together over the tea-table before -Cynthia went to dress had convinced her that the new influence in her -life was an absorbing one. Surely it could not be a bad one. She would -not believe that disaster was before gay and guileless Cynthia Marlowe. -Therefore it was certain that unless any inconceivably serious obstacle -stood in the way, they must all bend to her wishes. She was determined -to be sanguine that all was well. - -She smiled as she crossed the room and sat down opposite the Admiral. -The uprightness of her spare figure, on whose shoulders the fringed -Oriental silk shawl she always wore seemed to sit with odd easiness, -exercised its usual controlling effect upon his fidgetiness. He dropped -his eye-glass and allowed a twinkle to eclipse anxiety. - -'And now for the benefit of your opinion, my good Mrs. Hennifer.' - -'She looks very well and very happy, Admiral.' - -'She does, uncommonly, preposterously so.' - -'She is scarcely our Cynthia now, I fear. She is what she was at -seventeen, with a look in her eyes, a general indefinable air, that -proves there is more of her elsewhere. I may say as much to you.' - -'Good,' said the Admiral. 'My own impression precisely. Still we -must not be carried away by the sentiment of the thing. We must be -practical. He may be a pirate, you know. We must have his credentials, -know who and what he is. And I shall not allow him to write me yet. -We'll try whether Cynthy will cool down; nothing like tactics--sh! here -she is!' - -They both turned. Cynthia had just opened the door. - -She looked radiantly lovely. The vestiges of the years intervening -between childhood and womanhood that had chiefly been seamed by -struggles to attain emotions such as came readily to other girls, and -which she felt should, by duty, if not inclination, come to her, had -vanished. Mrs. Hennifer, who alone knew what those struggles had been, -and had marvelled at the simple and innocent earnestness with which she -had striven to be like other girls, and to accept love and marriage -as a matter of course, was alone able to realise the change in her. -Before Cynthia went abroad it had become her opinion that she would -not marry. She was convinced that she was more under the influence of -Anthony Tremenheere than she knew, and also that he had now no hopes of -winning her. She had looked jaded and perplexed sometimes, as though -she understood neither others nor herself, but her general expression -had been one of calm, amounting almost to exaltation. Without assuming -any habits of unusual goodness, her air, manner, and actions had -expressed a spirituality which was subtly diffusive, and seemed to -rarify the moral atmosphere round her. Had she been a Roman Catholic, -Mrs. Hennifer thought she would have found her vocation in a convent; -but for her love of home and passionate attachment to old associations -and familiar faces, and her strong sense of hereditary obligations as -heiress and landowner, she might have become the brightest and blithest -member of a Sisterhood. The groove of routine, the method of loving -ministry uncharged by the responsibility of personal fervour, these -seemed best adapted to her. Mrs. Hennifer ceased to imagine that any -enthusiasm of feeling was in store for her. She would bless Lafer with -her presence all her life, succeeding to the estates and dispensing -hospitality and bounty to rich and poor; she would be happy in her -loneliness, and in a certain dreaminess that would underlie all her -practical energy and clear judgment; she would never feel the need of -guidance and reliance on a stronger personality than her own; she would -never long for a child, though loving all those with whom she came in -contact; she would pass into ripe age and die. Much the same as this -would be Anthony Tremenheere's lot; the two lives that might have been -one, running apart, in parallel lines, held so by the forces of decorum -and conventionality which Cynthia had forged, and then had vaguely and -distrustfully chafed against as part of the perplexity of a life which -was surely meant to be lucent to its depths. - -And here she was a new creature, illumined by the stir of ardent -emotions, yet shy in her sense of self-surrender and her hope of perfect -joys. - -She was wearing a dress of glistening tussore silk, and had delicate -safrano roses at her throat and in her waist-band. Her golden hair, -rolled back from her brow, was gathered in a loose knot low in her neck. -Her face sparkled with animation, her large hazel eyes had lost none -of their transparent sincerity. She had a habit of allowing her glance -to travel round a room before it fell on the persons occupying it; -thus recognition was with her illumination. As she came forward with a -buoyant step the old-fashioned harmony of the room enhanced her charm. -The white velvet carpet, the faded delicacy of century-old brocade, the -soft wax-lights reflected on ormolu and crystal, at once softened and -heightened her loveliness. - -And now she looked from the Admiral to Mrs. Hennifer with a smile of -artlessly perfect confidence. When she reached them she clasped her -hands over his arm as he leant against the mantelpiece and kissed him. - -'If I did not know conspirators were not necessarily traitors, I should -be afraid of this _tete-a-tete_,' she said. - -He took hold of her hands and held her from him at arm's length, gazing -at her long and tenderly. - -'And so, Cynthy, you mean to have him in spite of us all?' - -'Why in spite of you all? You are not going to be prejudiced against -some one you do not know. Wait till you know him, grandpapa.' - -'But how am I to know him?' - -'You will ask him here, of course--at least surely you will?' she said, -a look of alarm dawning in her eyes. - -'But how can I ask him, as what?' - -She blushed rosily. - -'He will be writing to you. You want to know him, don't you--you and -grandmamma, and you too?' she added, turning to Mrs. Hennifer. - -'Cynthy, you are an innocent, a simpleton,' said the Admiral. 'Don't -you see what a hocus-pocus you have made? I will ask no man here on -the understanding that he may make love to you; no, by George! You -haven't thought sufficient of yourself, you never did, and you never -will. You have let this Danby make up to you as though you were an -ordinary nobody, you've waived all ceremony. I may be old-fashioned in -my notions, but he should have asked me before you, and to do that he'd -have had to come to Lafer without an invitation, and that's what he'll -have to do now. I'll make no promises until he acts like a man, and -then I'll take time to consider if he's a gentleman; yes, by George!' - -As he spoke she flushed scarlet, half in shame, half fear; but now her -face cleared in an instant, and she laughed, clasping her hands, then -flinging them apart, as she had a habit of doing when excited. - -'Darling grandpapa,' she said, 'don't you know the north wind always -gives me the shivers, it blusters so?' - -He pulled one of her little ears. - -'Minx, disarming puss, syren!' he said. - -The gong had sounded. He gave Mrs. Hennifer his arm, and Cynthia went -before them, glancing back over her shoulder as she talked, and giving -them glimpses of the eyes whose brightness was again shadowed by that -indefinable haze of happy abstraction which had startled them all the -moment they saw her. It was so new, so significant, that it told more -than she was likely to do by words. - -Mrs. Hennifer, on her own part, hoped for enlightening confidences. -Cynthia, however, said nothing. The Admiral had a long talk with her, -and found her proudly resolute on the main point, but reticent as to -details. To her the matter was simple, possessing only such rudimentary -elements as a child might invest its joys with. She believed, she -trusted, she loved. Somehow, as the Admiral listened, his memory -recurred to the old Lindley Murray parsing days at Mrs. Marlowe's knee. -Of course he was all they could wish--well, what was he? Had he family, -or fortune, or irreproachable moral character? She did not know. But -she was sure he had not known she was an heiress. The Kerrs had told -him nothing--in fact Theo had told her he had asked nothing; she was -dressing in the most simple fashion; she had had no idea he had been -attracted until he proposed; he was very quiet--and here she broke off, -turning her head aside to hide her blush, and murmuring something about -'contrasts, and she was such a chatterbox herself.' - -The Admiral said little but that he did not wish to hear from Danby at -once. He asked her not to receive letters or to write until he gave -permission. She was amenable, but it rose from the docility of absolute -confidence in another and knowledge of herself. - -Then she returned to her old routine--driving with Mrs. Marlowe, riding -with the Admiral, walking with her stag-hound. She had all her friends -to see. Every one was curious to see her. She was so gay and bright that -they scarcely believed her heart was not with them and their interests -wholly, as of old. But she wore a ring, a cameo of a Greek head, which, -though not significant of more than remembrance, was not a Marlowe -heirloom. The Admiral noticed it, but did not venture to ask where she -had bought it. And sometimes she would suddenly become silent, and her -eyes dilated and became luminous with thought that hovered on the verge -of happy dreams. - -Once during a walk in Zante, when Danby joined them, she had been in so -blithe a mood that at last she began to excuse herself. But he would not -hear her. - -'It is natural for a guileless heart to be gay; let love subdue it,' he -said. - -The words had delighted her in her ignorance; how much more now? - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - NEW LIGHTS ON OLD SUBJECTS - - -Danby returned to Jersey immediately after seeing Cynthia to London. She -would not allow him to go to Lafer until she had smoothed the way with -the Admiral; and being so far as yet unable to realise his happiness, -that the moment she vanished he thought she must be a vision, he went -back to the Kerrs as tangible proofs to the contrary. - -He also wished to hear more about her. She had said nothing of her -surroundings, and when he referred to Kerr on the one momentous point -as her guardian _pro tem._, he had been struck by something odd in his -look; while Mrs. Kerr declared, with what sounded a hysterical sob, that -she would never chaperon a young lady again. He was too much accustomed -to the unaccountable in the moods of all sorts and conditions of men to -attach much importance to an indirect impression. Still it was expedient -to be practical and to prepare himself for unlooked-for conditions. -Until he met her he was far indeed from any intention of marrying, and -his means were such that the last thing that occurred to him was to -speculate about hers. It had delighted her to find her heiress-ship was -unsuspected. - -In his inmost nature Danby had developed diplomacy. He knew it, and -often told himself he had missed his vocation; he should have been -either a Jesuit or an ambassador. It was the one moral slur which the -keen old grief had branded on his soul. He mistrusted, and would never -trust again except after the tests of a tactician who knew his ends -so surely that he could afford to conceal them. Here his favourite -author--Bacon--had fostered knowledge. He knew how 'to lay asleep -opposition and to surprise,' how to 'reserve to himself a fair retreat,' -and how to 'discover the mind of another.' On these principles he had -for many years studied all men. In this spirit he had digested the -Kerrs. Only with Cynthia they had failed him. He had thought that if he -ever married it would be in this spirit; subtle analysis and synthesis -should determine his choice. If judgment threatened desertion he would -refortify himself by apparent withdrawal. Experience had not tended to -make him fear defeat; he might have married before this had he met with -more discouragement. But should such a paradox as discouragement invade -his path he would use his arts, his subtleties, his perceptions, and, -without flatteries, succeed. Flatteries he loathed. He loathed the -women who would have them. His chief delight in the woman of the future -was that she too would loathe them, indeed would probably not understand -them. - -But when he saw Cynthia his tactics failed him. She was simple, she was -single-minded and transparent--such a woman as he had not conceived; -in fact the paradox. He fell in love, but she did not perceive it. Do -what he would to show her his feeling, she never did perceive it until -he asked her to do so. Afterwards he reproached her a little for a -blindness that might have eternally daunted him, but that had he not got -speech with her he would have written. - -'Oh, Lucius!' she said, 'I know whom I like; I don't think I could like -any one who was not good, so I let myself like. But as for more, I never -could until I were asked. Then I should know in a moment if I could. - -He knew her so well now that he knew too this was true; she could not -seek or even think herself sought. - -In returning to Jersey he had, however, another object besides proximity -to the Kerrs. He wanted to see the Pitons. - -When he left India the previous year he intended to go there at once. -Since receiving the note from Clothilde Hugo in which she broke off her -engagement to him by the news that she had that day married another man, -he had not named her or communicated with any one who could give him -information about her. But to return to England and choose some place to -settle in without knowing whether she were living and where she lived, -was a thing he would not do. He could not analyse his own feelings -on the matter, he did not consider it worth while to do so; it was -resolution rather than reason that fixed in his mind the idea of seeing -the Pitons. He chose to make it a point of principle to avoid all risk -of seeing her again. - -At first when he found the Kerrs were going there, it seemed that -everything was arranging itself naturally for his convenience. He could -call at Rocozanne in the incidental manner of an old acquaintance -who found himself accidentally in the neighbourhood, and follow up -his inquiries by naming his engagement. But his ignorance of the -conventionalities surrounding a lady's position baffled him. He followed -the Kerrs to Jersey, and finding himself in the same hotel, met Cynthia -again at once and at once proposed. He was greatly surprised when -she told him the next day that she was going home. He thought he had -displeased her. But Mrs. Kerr approved so warmly, in fact was evidently -so relieved, that he realised his mistake. He could only acquiesce and -do as she wished. He was so absorbed in her that a previous possibility -of Clothilde being settled in St. Helier's where he might at any moment -meet her, which had occurred to him while travelling after the Kerrs, -never occurred to him again. - -Ambrose Piton was sitting on the sea-wall at Rocozanne with his hat -tilted over his eyes and his hands stuffed into his pockets when Douce, -their old maid-servant, brought him Danby's visiting card. He glanced at -it and whistled, then looked at Douce. He saw that she had recognised -the visitor. - -'Much changed, eh?' he asked. - -'No, much the same, white and black, but his eyes very still.' - -'By Jove, I wish he hadn't come. Well, show him out here.' - -'No need for him to freeze me,' he thought, 'since he can't fly out -under this odd turn of affairs. But the question is, does he know or -does he want to know? If he wants to know, he'll soon know more than he -wants. It's a beastly shame. I hate these scurvy tricks of Fate.' - -He got up as Douce reappeared. Yes, he would have known Danby again -anywhere. His was the physique which time affects little. Ambrose, -though the younger man, was suddenly conscious of a tendency to -corpulency and a rolling gait. He surveyed this trim cut-and-dry -Anglo-Indian with apparent indifference, while Danby fixed his gaze in -return and yet seemed to watch the glitter of the ripples in the sun in -the bay beyond. Ambrose was nervous, but preferred to feel amused rather -than impressed. - -'We'll have chairs if you don't care for the wall,' he said. 'I prefer -the wall. One can swing one's legs, an immense luxury of energy to an -idle man.' - -He did not think Danby would take to the wall, but he did. His surprise -was, however, modified by his not throwing his legs over, but sitting -sideways, balanced by one foot pressing the turf. Ambrose returned to -his old position, reflecting upon him as much clipped in manner as -quenched in expression. He said a few nothings, while Danby looked from -the house to the churchyard and thought how the fuchsias had grown and -how many more graves there were. - -Ambrose watched him from the shadow of his hat-brim. He detested -palaver, and Danby could only be there to say something personal. He -was not the man to make himself ridiculous by coming out from St. -Helier's, after so many years, to talk of cows and cabbages, the pear -crop, or even the last mail-boat disaster. But how in Heaven's name was -he to lead up to Clothilde? He suspected that his knowledge of future -complications was the greater, and it seemed hardly fair that Danby -should have to finesse. Naturally he would resent his own tactics when -unexpected disclosures should prove Ambrose's perception of them. - -'I may be a clumsy fellow,' thought Ambrose, 'but here goes for honesty! -I needn't look at him--in fact this glitter dazzles my eyes to that -extent that shut them I must now and then unless I mean to go blind.' - -He stretched out his hand to a pile of books, newspapers, and reviews on -the wall beside him and drew a letter from the pages of the _Quarterly_. -Danby's attention was attracted, and he followed his movements as he -opened it and smoothed it on his knee. - -'This is from my cousin Anna,' he said, clearing his voice and -controlling his fever of nervousness. 'She often writes to us, having a -warm partiality for old friends. It's rarely though that she has much -more than home news to give from Lafer'--he felt rather than saw Danby's -surprise as this name fell on his ears--'it's an out-of-the-world sort -of place, and she only has her sister's children to talk about. But this -morning--yes, I've just received it, she tells me of Miss Marlowe's -engagement to you. She does not say "to you," and apparently hasn't -the slightest recollection of the name, but she calls you by name and -mentions you as being in Jersey, in fact----' - -'But how--where is the connection? I don't understand this. Do you know -Miss Marlowe?' said Danby, unable any longer to remain silent. - -'I do,' said Ambrose. 'She was here the other day. She came to call upon -us the day after she arrived in the Islands with her friends. She had -told Anna she would, and my father was greatly pleased. She spoke then -of wintering here. But it seems she is going home unexpectedly.' - -'She is gone. I saw her to London and returned yesterday. But I hope to -follow her soon and to see the Admiral. Still, Piton, I don't understand -how you are all connected. Miss Hugo now, how does she know her -intimately?' - -'Oh, very intimately,' said Ambrose, feeling that he was on the sharp -edge of a precipice. 'She seems to have made a friend of her. She -barely named Mrs. Severn though; she----' - -'And who is Mrs. Severn?' said Danby in a remarkably slow and dry voice -as he faced him straight. - -Ambrose knew that he knew who Mrs. Severn was, but that he was also -determined to have the clear-cut truth uttered. - -'She's my half-cousin, Clothilde, you know. She married to Lafer, Old -Lafer. Her husband is the Admiral's agent,' he said. Under his breath he -added a strong expletive. - -He did not glance at Danby, but was fully conscious of the intense -penetration with which his eyes were riveted on him. - -They sat in silence, and Danby continued to look at him. But now it was -unconsciously. He was for the time morally paralysed. He simply could -not turn his head for the tension on his brain. Every word had struck -home with sledge-hammer force; but to realise at once all they involved -was impossible. - -Ambrose again was apparently absorbed in the bay. He swung his legs and -scanned the horizon for passing ships. A spy-glass lay beside him. He -took it up and examined a schooner that was rounding Noirmont with all -sails set and silver in the sunshine. Then he put it down, and thrusting -his hands deep into his pockets, broke into a low whistle. - -'Upon my soul, if I were a woman I'd be weeping,' he thought. He longed -to turn sharply, clap Danby on the back and say, 'Cheer up, old man! -It's a flabbergasting coincidence, would make a cynic swear; but by Jove -you've been reserved for good luck in the end.' - -However, he dare not. He knew intuitively that Danby looked an 'old -man' at that moment, that his face was drawn and gray. Moreover, he -never had been one with whom it was easy to jest. His actions had too -clearly borne the stamp of earnestness; there had been an energy of life -about him, expressed in few words but impressed on every circumstance -in which Ambrose had seen him, that involuntarily expelled banter -as profane. No! he had done his part. It was best to ignore his own -perception of the dramatic. - -He sat on, blinking at the dazzle of the twinkling ripples. - -And at last Danby turned and looked at them too. - -The afternoon was slipping by. Danby took out his watch, he had been an -hour at Rocozanne, had lost the chance of catching one train, and unless -he caught the next would miss _table d'hote_ at Bree's. But he wished to -miss _table d'hote_. It would suffice to be back in time for a few words -with Kerr over their last cigars. - -'Spend the evening with us,' said Ambrose, feeling inspired. - -'Thanks,' said Danby. - -They sat on until tea was announced. Mr. Piton, a cheery, gnome-like -little old man, though acquainted with the whole complication of -Danby's affairs, ignored every interest that did not bear on Indian -statistics. Over these he developed an insatiable curiosity. Ambrose, -listening in amused laziness, realised for once that impersonality -only is needed to divert tropical heat from the emotional to the -matter-of-fact. He now felt himself cool though broiling in the Indian -sun with Danby in a linen suit and puggaree. Danby was equal to the -occasion. He could dismiss personal feeling. He had had all his life a -passion for accuracy, which circumstances had fostered by sending him -out to our great Oriental Empire, where different races and religions -swarm. He had set himself to master its antagonistic facts. Work -there gradually gave him wealth, position, and after a few years a -tone of level self-satisfaction, not, strictly speaking, to be called -happiness, yet not far from that. He was grateful, and left with a mind -encyclopediacally stored with details of its internal fibre. Nothing -thus could have soothed him better than this talk with Mr. Piton. It -carried him back to old absorbing interests, and eased the tension on -a capacity for emotion whose slumber he had, until this afternoon, -mistaken for death. - -It was late when he got back to St. Helier's, but as he crossed the -street to Bree's he recognised Kerr standing in the portico. He reached -him just as he threw away his cigar-end. Kerr was looking down, but when -he uttered his name he glanced up quickly. Afterwards he told his wife -that there was a _living_ tone in his voice that had convinced him he -was not, after all, a mummy. - -'I want a word with you,' Danby said with a strange new eagerness that -became in him almost inarticulation. 'It's a preposterous question to -ask, but I really am in the dark--who is Miss Marlowe?' - -Kerr stared at him, not understanding. His loathing for what he thought -the jugglery of the question expressed itself in his face. Danby -saw it. For a moment a dangerous gleam of anger scintillated in his -eyes--but after all was it not the way of the world to judge by the -evil construction rather than the good? There was also an element of -absurdity in the question as sincere. He had been so keenly conscious of -this as to guard his ignorance from Ambrose Piton. - -'I do not take Miss Marlowe for an impostor,' he said, smiling. 'I know -she is herself, but who are her people? I have concluded she was one of -a family, had probably sisters, elder sisters. As it happens, we have -not entered upon questions of relations yet beyond her grandfather. -Excuse me, but I am obliged to inquire--are they above the average -in any way--socially, I mean? Is there anything particular in her -circumstances?' - -'She is an heiress,' said Kerr. 'The Marlowes are county people with -fine estates in Yorkshire and Dumfries. Her father was an only child, -she is the same, and there is no entail.' - -He reflected a moment upon the electrified expression in Danby's face, -and seeing it ebb to an involuntary shade of distaste he threw reserve -to the winds. - -'Come out,' he said. 'It's easier to talk walking, and it's necessary -that we should prove ourselves two sensible beings.' - -He put his arm through Danby's, and they went down the steps again on to -the pavement. They walked the length of the street in silence. Then as -they turned and slackened their pace, he loosened his hold and laughed. - -'I'd a strong wish to run for Theo,' he said; 'but I also wished to -resist it. That's why I took forcible possession. She might have thought -you a humbug; I don't. But look here, my good fellow, you've not -got to look like that. You must remember you chose to keep yourself -in the dark. I would have answered any question at any moment, but -as you asked none, I concluded you knew what you were about through -other sources--herself, perhaps. Besides which neither Theo nor I knew -anything about it. We were completely taken by surprise. Theo, you see, -I'm not sure you know, found letters at Athens with the sad news of her -only sister's widowhood, and I fear she did not think sufficiently about -Cynthia for some time after. Cynthia was in our care. If I'd known what -you were about, I'd have made matters square by advising you to address -Admiral Marlowe; but until the other day when we ran up against you -here, Cynthia and I, you remember, as we were starting for Elizabeth -Castle, I had not the faintest suspicion of your intentions. Cynthia, of -course, said nothing; and, considering your attachment, you obtruded -yourself very little. Cynthia has had many offers of marriage. I believe -she has had a horror of being married for her money; the fact of your -ignorance will delight her--has done in fact, for she named it to Theo. -But it's been a blow to my wife, Danby; and, human-like, she's not ready -just now to think the best of you. Her brother has been attached to -Cynthia for many years, and so long as she was attached to no one else -he would not have ceased to hope to win her. You must know that there's -that in Cynthia which inspires a very deep, and more, a very pure -passion.' - -Danby nodded, and stopping, lit a cigarette with fingers that slightly -trembled. The flicker of the match threw an instant's light on his -face and showed it as deathly pale. Kerr's good opinion of him was -momentarily rising. - -'There's a fund of womanly self-respect in her which is not in these -days _the_ distinguishing characteristic of the sex,' said Kerr, as -they went slowly on again. 'She has wished to marry and be married for -love; the latter rather a difficulty in her case. You have done it, -Danby. There's nothing for it now but to pocket your pride. You'll have -to pocket the Marlowe rent-roll, perhaps to become Danby-Marlowe, if -the Admiral cuts up rough and dictatorial. He's been accustomed to a -man-of-war and uncompromising discipline, you know. But if any one can -keep things smooth, Cynthia can. Be patient and subservient, it'll be a -wise discretion. And one thing is certain----' he stopped abruptly. - -'What is that?' said Danby, and was astonished to find that his voice -was scarcely audible. - -Kerr laughed. - -'I've no business to dissect her feelings,' he said. 'But she's a woman -one must think about somehow, not merely bow to and pass. I daresay -you felt it from the first. It's the same with every one. We went out -the other day to St. Brelade's; don't know whether you know it, pretty -place! She wanted to see some people, relatives of their agent's, I -believe; one of them was a very canny old man. He just felt the same -about her and expressed it to Theo; one watches her.' - -'Yes?' - -'Well, I've watched her. I saw how it was. I told Theo, but she wouldn't -see it. The fact is, Danby, you are her choice; she has deliberately -chosen you. Don't you see it all?' he laughed again, awkwardly. - -Danby felt himself to be dense. He could not be sure that he did. Kerr -grasped his arm again. - -'Upon my word I feel quite sentimental,' he said. 'But one wants her -to be happy. She's the sort of creature to whom one would say "All -happiness attend you!" yes, by divine right too. The fact is she cares -for you tremendously. It would break her heart if things went wrong. -Just you fall in with the Admiral's exactions for her sake. Don't be a -fool.' - -They had reached the portico of Bree's again. Both threw away their -cigarette-ends, avoiding looking at each other. They went within, -Kerr in advance. Others were in the hall. Peter, the head waiter, was -flourishing a serviette, and imparting voluble information regarding the -regulations of the hotel to a lady who always travelled with 'darling -creatures' in the shape of two dachshund dogs, who always had the air -of not knowing what was expected of them. Danby walked past them all, -abstractedly. Then suddenly he turned, and going back to where Kerr was -hanging up his hat, took his hand. 'I swear I will,' he said. - -Kerr went off to bed, pondering deeply. He told Theo all, and was vexed -by her unresponsiveness to his new-born enthusiasm. She still chose to -consider Danby self-interested. Kerr swore he was not. He asked himself -why and how--with that force of emotion that he had seen in his eyes, -lurking under the ice of his manner; that absence of self-seeking, where -measured tones had seemed to narrow his opinions within the circle of -his own being--Danby had waited so long to love? That he did love now he -had no longer a doubt. - -'He worships her just as Tony does,' he thought. 'He's not veneered, -it's high-mindedness. By Jove, what a look he had, deathly white. He's -wrapped up in her. Well, well, it's another case of the old old story at -its best.' - -And he had feared that Cynthia was making a mistake! Faith had failed -him with both. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - COUNTER-OPINIONS AT OLD LAFER - - -On the day Danby's letter to the Admiral arrived, Cynthia too had one. -It was the more important-looking of the two; had the Admiral seen it he -would have fired into anger, suspecting its contents. But she received -it in her own room before breakfast. She knew what it held the moment -her eye lit on the envelope. Nothing less than a photograph could be -there. She had asked for one. - -When, a little later, she emerged in the gallery, Mrs. Hennifer was -just disappearing down the stairs. She ran after her and brought her -back, putting the photograph into her hands, and looking at it over her -shoulder. - -It was a remarkable face, and Mrs. Hennifer knew instantly that she -had seen it before, and that Cynthia was going to marry the man to -whom Mrs. Severn had once been engaged. It was not, however, then -sealed by the sardonic keenness that marked it now. Danby's life had -been passed in India, but the skin was still, as it had been in youth, -extraordinarily white, except on the jaw and upper lip, where close -shaving tinged it with indigo. The features were of the moulded rather -than the chiselled type. The eyes had a straight gaze of penetrating -hardness that, remaining fixed, yet seemed to go beyond the object -looked at, and thus could not be deemed offensive. They concentrated -the interest of the face. The pupils had the opaqueness of marble, but -Mrs. Hennifer knew that the radiating violet of the iris possessed -the faculty of a sea-anemone in contracting and expanding. Had she not -known Danby she would have detested those eyes as holding what a bad man -might reciprocate and a good woman resent; discovering to the one too -much knowledge, to the other the nearness of evil. But she knew him as -a young man, and she remembered the mortal agony of wasted tenderness -they had once shown her. Why was her darling Cynthia to be the atonement -for that agony? Surely it was unnatural that her young and ardent life -should have chosen the subdued emotions of a man whose drama of emotion -she had herself witnessed years ago, when she and her husband and he -were at the same Indian station. Ought she, must she tell Cynthia all -this? Or had Danby himself? Did he know that Clothilde was at Old Lafer? - -'Do you like it?' said Cynthia at last. - -Mrs. Hennifer sighed involuntarily. - -'It is the antipodes to yours, dearest.' - -'So dark? But so was Anthony's.' - -'And the expression----' - -'Yes. Theo disliked it when first we all met. I did not think about him -then. But every one cannot be like Anthony--have that awfully sweet -look, you know.' - -'That look would have become very dear to you in pain or trouble.' - -Cynthia flushed, then shook her head. - -'This is very dear to me now,' she said. 'And I feel as though Lucius -wants happiness and brightness, and I can give them. Sometimes Anthony -nearly made me cry, and it vexed me always that I could not give what he -wanted, at least----' she faltered and turned away. - -'Never, my darling?' said Mrs. Hennifer wistfully. - -'Once. There was one little moment when I could have. But it was only a -moment,' she added gaily. 'And now the leaf is turned down for ever, and -I shall learn every day and hour what Lucius wants, and how to make him -happy.' - -'Although he is so much older than you? You may be his nurse before many -years are over, Cynthy.' - -'Nonsense, he's not so old as that,' said she with bright impatience. -'I know his age, he's in the prime of life. But supposing he were -invalided, I'd rather be his nurse than frolicking about with any other.' - -'It seems so strange he should not already be married----' - -'Yes, it does, I confess,' she said, lapsing into gravity. 'I have -thought that too, and I said so to him. Of course I could not expect he -had never had an attachment before he met me. It is partly that he has -lived in India I think, and partly, chiefly, because he had once an--but -why should I tell you?' she added, breaking off with a shake of her head -and a laugh. 'He has told me. That is sufficient. There was some one -before, I don't even know her name--it was natural; you understand? But -it is me now? my turn wholly. He loves me well. Oh, I know I shall make -him happy, and that's all I want.' - -There was no combating this mood. Mrs. Hennifer had not forces to -control the enemy, she could only determine to throw up earthworks to -fortify her position. - -She was going to the christening at Old Lafer to-day. Mrs. Severn had -not been well, and it had been deferred. She had a shrewd suspicion -as to the cause of her invalidism this time, and acknowledged -there was reason in it. The situation was such that a better and -more self-controlled woman might have been daunted, knowing the -uncompromisingly honest stuff of which her husband was made. A whisper -had reached the Hall that she had been to the Mires again. Indeed, when -Anna's engagement was known, and Mrs. Hennifer had hastened to Old Lafer -with congratulations, Anna herself had inadvertently admitted as much, -and she discovered it was on the same day as her call to name Cynthia's -engagement. There was no doubt in her own mind that the name of Lucius -Danby had then sent her from her home. There was no doubt also that she -would have to face out the situation by obtruding herself upon attention -as little as possible, and certainly not by indulging in her old freak -of flight to the Mires. - -The coach came round at eleven o'clock, clattering over the flags of the -courtyard. Mrs. Marlowe was going with her to the chapel-of-ease at East -Lafer but would not get out. It was a hot September day, but the coach -was stuffed with as many cushions and rugs as though the season were -Arctic. A fat pug was lifted by a footman into one corner, where it lay -gasping in useless expostulation against the delusion that it was taking -the air. Mrs. Marlowe, in a cinnamon silk and velvet mantle, and a -bonnet whose sprigged lace veil hung to her waist, descended the steps -feebly. The Admiral was always in attendance on her. His portly little -figure was set off by a buff waistcoat and a bunch of seals dangling -at the fob. Mrs. Hennifer was crisply Quakerish in black satin and the -usual fringed Oriental shawl. There wafted from the group the scent of -Tonquin beans. Cynthia was not going. Her riding-horse was being led up -and down, and she appeared in the hall in her habit as the coach rolled -off. She and the Admiral were going to have one of their favourite -morning rides round some of the inland farms where repairs were in -operation, and both knew that to-day their talk would be serious. She -intended Danby to have permission to come to Lafer at once. - -An hour or two later the christening party had returned to Old Lafer. -The ling had blown late this year and the moors were still in their -glory, rolling up beyond the bent in a haze of purple. Borlase, -loitering in the garden after dinner until Anna's housewifely duties -allowed her to join him, shaded his eyes to face them. How gloriously -beautiful, yet how calmly unconscious they were! Stubble fields gleamed -among the soft misty greens of the far-stretching plain. The trees in -the gill below the house were motionless. There was no breeze. The -murmur of the beck was in the air; now and then a bee buzzed over the -larkspurs and lilies under the wall. - -When Anna appeared she was carrying a little table, and the children -with her had dishes of fruit. Dessert was arranged on the grass-plot -in the centre of Madam's garden--peaches and greengages, sponge-cakes -that Anna had whisked, and syllabub, all on white trellis-china. The -gay flower-borders glowed beyond; there was a murmur of bees in the -trees overhead; in the distance the opalescent plain lay in alternate -shade and shine under the sailing cloud-shadows. Antoinette, Emmeline, -Joan, and Jack, in their holland smocks and Roman scarves, frolicked -from meadow to gill. Mr. Severn and Tremenheere sauntered out of the -house--Mr. Severn with a decanter of claret which he intended the Canon -to finish; Tremenheere himself more conscious of the charm of the place -than of its conventional accessories, and bent on a walk over the moor -when the shadows were lengthening and the evening breeze should silence -the chirp of the grasshoppers and rustle through the ling. - -The ladies were left in the parlour. Mrs. Severn had floated away from -the dinner-table in her sweeping black draperies with a face so white -that Borlase was still obliged to consider her an orthodox patient. Mrs. -Hennifer insisted on ensconcing her on the settee with her feet up. The -parlour, with its faded rose-wreathed chintzes flouncing the chairs, its -gently-swaying net curtains and oak-panelled walls, was cool and quiet. -Mrs. Hennifer took a chair near the window. She felt like napping. It -was pleasantly suggestive to think that a nap would certainly refresh -Mrs. Severn. She looked through a manuscript book of songs for a guitar -accompaniment, and noticed that Clothilde soon closed her eyes and -allowed her head to fall back upon the cushions. She then at once closed -hers too, with a pleasant relaxing of her angular figure into something -approaching negligent comfort. She had scarcely done so before Mrs. -Severn spoke. - -'Mary!' - -'Yes.' - -Mrs. Hennifer was upright again in a moment, more angry than -embarrassed. She was convinced that Mrs. Severn had waited to betray her -into a wish for a doze, for the sake of thwarting it immediately. - -'Did you really think I meant to go to sleep, Mary?' - -'Certainly. You are tired and it is so quiet here. You don't seem to -have got up your strength well. You look no better than when I saw you -last--in July, was it not?' - -'No, later than that. The day you came over to tell me about Miss -Marlowe, you know. I confess I don't think I have ever been well since. -You must have something more to tell me now, have you not?' - -'What about?' said Mrs. Hennifer, fixing her eyes sharply upon her. Mrs. -Severn avoided them; her gaze idly followed the play of her own fingers -through the fringe of the coverlet thrown over her. - -'Well, you know--about Miss Marlowe.' - -Mrs. Hennifer scrutinised her face in silence for some time, but its -absence of colour was equalled by that of expression. - -'Clothilde,' she said, 'we will not deal in innuendo. It is detestable. -Why don't you say like an honest woman, "Have you seen Lucius Danby yet? -Is he the man I was once engaged to marry?" It is perfectly natural, -in fact necessary, that you should still be interested in him to that -extent. For you'll have to keep out of his way. But this dallying with -a love-affair that was wholly dishonouring to yourself is disgusting. -You chose to obliterate yourself from his life years ago, and you -did not choose to confess your dishonour to your husband; and though -circumstances are so cruel that you are compelled to recall all now, it -can only be for the sake of impressing upon yourself the necessity of -dignified self-effacement. If you are ever compelled to meet him it will -be as a married woman and the mother of children, the wife of the man -who will, practically speaking, be his upper servant.' - -'Then it really is the same Lucius?' - -'It is the same Mr. Danby.' - -'And he is at Lafer?' - -'Not at all, as you know, for Severn would have named it had he been. -There are a good many preliminaries to be gone through in the case of a -Miss Marlowe. Cynthia was aware of that. She came home to smooth the -way. The Admiral was very much ruffled.' - -'I should think he intended it to fall through so soon as they had -separated by her coming home.' - -'He did not cause the separation. She knew what was due to him and to -herself----' - -'Why, she surely has not thought more of her own dignity than of -Lucius?' said Mrs. Severn, with one of her low laughs. - -'Her own dignity!' repeated Mrs. Hennifer. 'She has done what was right, -Clothilde, whether by instinct or deliberation I don't know. She has -acted wisely. The Admiral sees her quiet determination and respects it. -He is becoming reconciled, and Cynthia will soon have her way.' - -'Very deep of her,' said Mrs. Severn; 'I should think you will have been -struck by the new phase of her character. You would not have thought she -had such management, would you? So he has not come over and contrived -to see her?' - -Mrs. Hennifer's boiling indignation admitted only of ejaculatory -refrains. - -'Contrived to see her?' - -'Well, I mean is he risking nothing? It all seems to me a preposterously -cool transaction. Of course he knew she was an heiress?' - -'_Heiress! Transaction!_ My word, Clothilde, I could shake you! Cynthia -is not a girl to be met in a lane,' cried Mrs. Hennifer breathlessly. -'The next thing you will assert is that he is going to marry her for -the purpose of being near you. Preposterous! You don't understand. -He did not know she was an heiress when he proposed to her. You will -have to make up your mind not to call him Lucius and also to stay at -home. So you went to the Mires again after I had been here that day? -Highly creditable! And how long did you mean to stay there this time? -You never will be satisfied until you have created a scandal. I don't -suppose Mr. Danby knows where you are or anything about you, and cares -less, I should think. I wonder you haven't thought of writing to inform -him of the interesting and agreeable facts. Ah! but I suppose you don't -know his address? Well, he'll be at Lafer soon.' - -'I should not think of writing to him there.' - -'I should think not indeed. I don't advise you even to ask him for mercy -by not acknowledging you to Severn's face. Leave it to him. He'll soon -respect Severn sufficiently to wish not to humiliate him. But you surely -have not seriously thought of writing to him at all?' - -Mrs. Severn smiled, and a faint colour flickered into her face for a -moment. - -'I did,' she said; 'I confess to the folly. You know I went to the Mires -again--you have heard? I began a letter to him that day to tell him -where I was. It seemed best that he should know. I wrote it on the moor, -and I was startled by--some one coming for me. I slipped it into a book -I had taken to read, and in the hurry I dropped it and never thought of -it again for weeks.' - -'Letter and all? I should think you have wondered if they have ever been -found.' - -'I have indeed. But I daren't say a word about them.' - -'And what has possessed you to be telling me the truth, eh? You're not -in the habit of telling the truth, Clothilde.' - -'You are very hard upon me,' she murmured. - -'God knows I don't wish to be,' Mrs. Hennifer burst out, with a voice -that suddenly trembled. 'Be hard upon yourself. It seems to me, -inconceivable though it be, that you are trifling with memories on -which it is sheer wickedness to dwell. You trifled with him once; for -Heaven's sake don't trifle with yourself.' - -Mrs. Severn moved uneasily. There was a palm-leaf fan near, and she took -it up and held it against her brows. Mrs. Hennifer, with every faculty -upon the alert, and energy of observation as much as of suspicion, was -convinced that her lip trembled. Her eyes were downcast. Her face, -however, remained pale and calm. It was impossible to judge of her -phase of feeling. And at that moment, as though to baffle any effort -on Mrs. Hennifer's part to do so, she slid her feet to the ground and -rose, then rearranged herself at the darker end of the settee. Mrs. -Hennifer, noting each movement with a jealousy for Cynthia that was -almost fierce, reluctantly admired while she mistrusted. The profile of -her face and throat against the wainscot was like a bas-relief in ivory; -every gesture had a slow and self-abandoned grace. She prayed while she -watched her. - -'It has struck me that he might go to see the Pitons,' said Mrs. Severn; -'I suppose he returned to Jersey after Miss Marlowe left. If he went -there Ambrose would probably tell him all. I know Anna told him of the -engagement when she wrote when Miss Marlowe was going there.' - -'A most excellent opportunity, and I hope Ambrose would make the best -use of it. In that case he is _au fait_ with everything, and we need not -distress ourselves,' said Mrs. Hennifer decisively. - -After this they sat for some time in silence. - -'Clothilde, are you very fond of your children?' said Mrs. Hennifer -at last, half unconscious of the question evolved from such a rush -of rambling thought, that whatever had been uttered must have seemed -inconsequent. - -'I suppose so. They are handsome. I am always thankful they are not -plain.' - -'You'll miss Anna, or rather, perhaps, they will.' - -'Anna cannot be spared yet. I think Mr. Borlase a very selfish and -inconsiderate man, but I was really too vexed to tell him so. I told -Anna, however.' - -'Does Mr. Severn say she cannot be spared?' - -'John? You know what John is--crazy for people to be happy, as he calls -it. He said he should have her when he wanted her. It is I who have -the common sense. I told him I could not spare her until Antoinette -was old enough to take her place; and I told Anna Mr. Borlase might -die and leave her a widow without a farthing. I do think, when John -has given her a home all these years, she ought to make us the first -consideration. But every one seems very hard to convince.' - -She got up as she spoke and moved to the piano. While turning over some -music she said in a low voice of bell-like clearness, 'Miss Marlowe -was here the other day telling us about her visit to the Pitons at -Rocozanne. I thought from her manner you had not told her then about me. -Have you since?' - -Mrs. Hennifer started to her feet, throwing the book she held on to the -table with a vigour that startled even Mrs. Severn. It made her look -round hastily. - -'Clothilde,' she said, 'how can you torture me? This is torture. Don't -you know I love Cynthia Marlowe with my whole heart--a thousand times -more than ever I loved you with a foolish creature's adoration of your -mere superficial beauty? It pierces me to the quick to think she should -ever have a moment's pain of mind. Don't you think that if the Admiral -knew her future husband had been jilted by you, he might not tolerate -the match? And her heart might break with the misery of it all; the -Admiral may live twenty years! And how am I to tell her--and yet how -am I to let it go untold?' Her voice sank, and she added this more to -herself than aloud. - -'Oh! she must know,' said Mrs. Severn in a matter-of-fact tone. - -Mrs. Hennifer looked at her quickly. - -'You either won't see it from another's point of view, or you want to -break it all off,' she said. - -'No, no! Only we shall meet, and he will betray something.' - -'You rarely leave Old Lafer, Clothilde.' - -'Still I do go into Wonston occasionally, and I dine at the Hall, -and the Marlowes call upon me. You know, Mary, every one knows I am -something different to John. And Lucius may already know I am here.' - -Mrs. Hennifer considered a moment. - -'One thing is certain,' she said drily, 'you must cure yourself of your -old habit of calling him Lucius, and in order that you shall clearly -understand their confidence in each other _he_ shall tell her who you -are.' - -For an instant their eyes met. Mrs. Severn's bore a darting glance of -defiant appeal, and her whole figure seemed to tremble. - -But whatever her fear she conquered it, and putting her arm through Mrs. -Hennifer's proposed that they should go into the garden. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - SCILLA REASONS WITH HARTAS - - -'Then you won't do a half-day's job?' - -'No, I won't that. I wonder you've fashed yoursel to come and ask me. -You ken I never will, least of all of a Friday. It's against common -sense to think t'Almighty means you to tail off a week when He's sent -sike a downpour the first four days. I'll none trouble t' pits this side -o' Sabbath.' - -'You might be the religiousest man in t' land, Hartas.' - -'It's none religion. It's common sense. Sabbath's a landmark; it'll -hev its due on either side from me. I'm none going to split a week or -two days. We left half a dozen loads o' stuff at t' shaft mouth last -week-end, and not a cart 'll hev crossed t' moor this tempest. They may -come thick to-day, and if you like to go and wait for custom, you can.' - -Dick Chapman laughed angrily. - -'If 'twer a matter o' trapping a few rabbits none ud be keener nor -yoursel,' he said. 'I can't drop into t' pit alone, and so, as Reuben's -off, I'm left in t' lurch. And next week's Martinmas.' - -'I ken so.' - -'And 'll no split that either, I reckon.' - -'Martinmas's out o' count.' - -'Ah! ah! there's no spree where there's no brass, eh?' - -'Brass! Brass indeed! It's folk without fire and with friends that I -think on. Now, Dick, make off. I'll promise four days in t' fore-end. -How art thee going, on Nobbin?' - -'I lay I'll keep drier on my own shanks, and there 'll be nought for -Nobbin to do, though that deuced hind leg o' hers 'll be getting stiff -enough for t' farrier if she stands much longer.' - -'I'll look after Nobbin.' - -'Just a walk along t' track 'll do nought.' - -'I think I ken t' needs o' that limb by now.' - -'Well, I'll gang and see what's doing.' - -Chapman sauntered off, turning up his collar and jamming his hat down -on his brows. The pits lay between the Mires and Old Lafer on the moor -above the Hall, and here the three able-bodied men of the Mires worked -in all seasons except hay-time. At hay-time they hired out to the -low-country farmers as monthly labourers. A small stock of coal sufficed -in summer to eke out the dwindling turfs in the peat shanties, and keep -the fire smouldering while the household laboured in the meadows. - -But there were days all the year round when the wild west wind, -sweeping off Great Whernside, brought tempests of rain, and made it -'that rough on the tops' that no man could stand against it and even -the sheep went uncounted. Then the doors at the Mires were fast shut, -except when a woman in clogs pattered round for a skep of peats, or a -man slouched down to the marsh to count the foaming streams pouring into -it. This when it 'abated like.' Then would come another rush of wind and -wet, blotting out the whole world to within a yard or two of the cottage -windows. - -If there were one kind of weather that Scilla detested more than another -it was fog. A snow-storm or deluge of rain kept Hartas at home, but -betwixt the liftings of fog he would make his way to the Inn at East -Lafer, and when he came back at night there was a wath over the beck -to cross, the moor-track to strike, and the pit-shaft to miss. It was -nothing when he finished off by rolling down the slape sides of the -hollow. - -It was foggy to-day. Hartas was restless, and she was sure he would slip -off after dinner. She had run into Chapman's and suggested the pits. -But her hope had failed and she foresaw a vigil. She had not dared say -a word while the men were talking, lest evident anxiety should make -Hartas contradictious. But despite her forbearance he had been so. There -was no managing him! She was frying bacon, and sighed over the pan, as -into her simple mind there rushed the certainty of his headlong course -to perdition, a perdition symbolised to her by the flames curling and -hissing at every turn of the fork that sent sprints of fat on to the -embers. This was really her idea of hell. She had an equally vivid one -of heaven. Three miles away, straight as an arrow to the north, lay -Wherndale. She had walked many a time to the edge of the moors to see -it. Skirting a deep natural moat round an old copperas mine, she had -slid down the refuse slide, and plunged through bracken, rush, and -spagnum to a great rock overhanging the valley. From hence the view was -glorious on a fine summer evening. The western valley lay bathed in -sun-rays falling through the vapoury heat-mists shrouding the mountains; -the eastern flooded with sunshine; the Meupher range clear against -the sky. Below, the moor fell abruptly into meadow-land; rocks were -scattered in Titanic confusion among the ling; the meadows dimpled with -hollows; the lowering sun streamed through the foliage, and cast long -shadows from every tree and hay-pike; mists of blue smoke hung above -the farmsteads; here and there was a lake-like gleam of river. Scilla, -with the velvet breeze blowing against her, felt that here was heaven. -Did she not touch it, when the very tufts of grass over which she walked -glistened like frosted silver, and the bent-flower gleamed like cloth -of gold? - -'I wish the fog would lift,' she said, as she placed dinner on the -table, and they drew up their chairs. 'If it would, I'd mount Nobbin and -give her a good stretch, better than you'll have patience for, maybe. We -mustn't have her leg worsen.' - -'It only worsens with standing in t' stable. We hevn't plenty o' work -for her, winding up t' coil at t' pits; she'd thrive better on twice as -much, and that's truth. I've an extra job for her to-day, and spite o' -t' fog I'll carry it through.' - -'Why, father, she'll be that stiff after these few days!' - -'It works off t' farther she goes, and what with t' weather-shakken look -o' t' skies when there is a rift, and Martinmas holiday at hand, she'll -be heving so much stable that her leg 'll be her doom i' now.' - -Scilla listened with a sensation of breathlessness. It was rarely he -talked so much, or informed her of any of his intentions. She wondered -what the 'extra job' was, but was so certain that she was to know that -she easily hid her curiosity. - -Hartas ate on phlegmatically, pushing his meat on to the knife with the -fork, and thence conveying it with a pump-handle-like motion to his -mouth. When he had finished he placed them cross-wise on the plate, drew -the back of his hand across his lips, and tilted his chair, sticking his -thumbs into the armholes of his coat. - -'There's t' sale ower at Northside Edge to-day,' he said. - -'Yes. Poor Mrs. Carling, how she'll feel it!' - -'I met Luke Brockell when I wer i' Wonston some days back, and he wer -talking o' taking his trolly up. He has his trolly, but he's lost his -nag, dropped in a fit.' - -'Then how could he take it up, and what would be the use of it? Does he -want to put it in the sale?' - -Hartas chuckled, leering at her with a scowling grin. - -'Thee never wer a bright un, Scilla. All t' glint o' thy wits has run to -waste in your hair. I kenned that when Kit gave you hare soup, and you -never guessed what it was nor where it came from. There, there, no call -to flare up! What, there's a glint in your temper too, is there?' - -Scilla had turned deathly white, and pushed her chair back hastily, -making a harsh sound on the roughly-paved floor that somehow suggested -to Hartas the sound her voice would have had had she spoken. She looked -at him with a threatening disdain as she stood a moment balancing her -slight figure against the table, and apparently expecting him to speak. -He did not, however, and she went to the door. Opening it, she leant -against the lintel. There was something piteously like the fog that -shrouded the world in the wanness that had overclouded her face. The -sweet clearness of the blue eyes was gone. More than a suspicion of -tears weighted their lids and lurked in the trembling of her mouth. -But she was determined not to cry. It was not to fall a prey to the -ready scoff that she had won her way through tribulation to a calm -that--whatever the shocks of the future--should be abiding. - -And at that moment the sky cleared, and a growing light which, in the -absorption of Hartas's confidences, she had not noticed, burst into a -ray of sunshine. - -It fell upon her. She turned, and going in again sat down on the settle. -A smile had flitted over her face. - -'I know now what you meant, father. It was very stupid of me not to -understand. Of course you offered Nobbin for Luke's trolly, and now you -are going with her.' - -She spoke in her usual bright voice, but not with any expectation -of disarming him. She knew well by this stage of her dearly-bought -experience that such men are not to be disarmed. Always surly, his -surliness only varied in degree. - -'Them that's fools this side o' t' grave are less like for it t' other,' -he said. 'It's true I'm taking Nobbin ower to Northside Edge, but -there's no need for all t' Mires to ken. It may or it mayn't come to -Dick Chapman's knowledge, but mind you, you're dumb. I offered her to -Dick to ride to t' pits.' - -While he spoke, avoiding looking at her, a foreboding of some wholly -formless but very decided evil darted into her mind. For an instant she -hesitated to utter the suggestion of principle that rose simultaneously -to her lips. But to have done so would have been to shirk what he was -shirking. - -'Of course Nobbin is half his,' she said. - -Hartas did not answer but got up slowly. - -'And what she earns must be his, half of it, I mean,' she said with -more inward tremor, but more outward steadiness. 'Besides,' she added, -getting up too and going close to him, 'do you think she's fit for this -piece of work, father? It's all very well her hobbling a bit when it's -only to the pits, and often no work when she gets there. No one could -call us cruel to her, she's----' - -Hartas raised his hand suddenly and struck out. But it was only into the -air, and Scilla did not wince as he had hoped she would. He would not -glance at her. Not for worlds would he have owned what the influence of -that glance into her earnest unwavering eyes might have been. - -'Cruel to her!' he exclaimed in his thick voice, 'she's as fat as -butter, and if we're stinted she has her meat. Come, Scilla, what are -you driving at? Let's leave riddles.' - -'The law,' said Scilla, with an urgency which felt to her own keen -emotions desperate. Was not the law her phantom, the dread avenger that -dogged her steps and filled her thoughts? She loved her husband with -all her heart, but in her utmost loyalty she still always considered -him as a transgressor, not as a victim. To Hartas he was a victim, the -victim of adverse circumstance, of an embodiment of spite in the shape -of Elias Constantine. Hartas Kendrew's predominant article of faith was -that in which Admiral Marlowe, Mr. Severn, and Elias Constantine were -inextricably mingled. But his trinity in unity possessed, according -to his distorted reasoning, a viciousness which could only nurture -revengefulness. - -'The law,' said Scilla again, nerving herself to appeal; 'don't let us -put ourselves near it. It seems a dishonest thing to say,' she added, -faltering a moment, while a look of perplexity filled her eyes, 'as -though we were all the time doing wrong, but you know lots of folk 'll -see Nobbin at Northside Edge, and if she goes lame----' - -'There's not a sore on her, and what's a hobble? There's not a sprain -about her. She's sound, I tell you. D---- the law!' - -His violence convinced her of his misgivings. It was not then so much -what Nobbin might earn that day, a sum that would probably be balanced -on Chapman's side at the pits, but the risk he ran in taking her so -far from home that made him anxious to do it quietly. But why run the -risk? Where was the advantage of it? It could only be as a matter of -convenience to Luke Brockell. She knew Luke and did not like him. -Not that she had ever heard any evil of him. But there was something -cautious and furtive about him that she instinctively resented. The -straightforwardness which Hartas chose to construe as slowness of -comprehension made her shrink from imputing interested or dishonest -motives to others. But she was often compelled to do so. And now she -searched her mind for a clue to this compact of friendliness on -Hartas's part with a man who, on his side, would do well to keep out of -his companionship. - -She had moved aside and stood leaning against the settle-back with a -droop in her figure expressive of her dismayed despondency. What more -could she say or urge? To a man of Hartas Kendrew's temperament, risk -added zest. To run into it quickened his sluggish blood to a degree -which he cherished with delight; failure nurtured his lowest nature, -success was only more enthralling as feeding a triumph whose chief charm -lay in its maliciousness. - -'You must have weighed it all, father,' Scilla said at last, timidly, -again raising her eyes to his, and searching his face for confirmation -of her worst fears. 'You know that if anything goes wrong when you take -her off in this way, Dick 'll come down on us for all her value. And -though she mayn't be worth much to others, she is to us.' - -'You talk quite book-like,' said Hartas, with a sneer. It pleased him to -think she had grasped the whole situation, and was made proportionately -miserable. But after all, were not her qualms wholly womanly? His were -those of manhood. He would dare the devil to do his worst at him. Had he -not other plans for circumventing the devil's own? Luke Brockell was a -more cautious chap than Kit, he would beat him out and out as a partner -over the snare, the sack, and the dub; folks never pried into the stuff -on his trolly; already grouse were again on their way from Admiral -Marlowe's moors to distant markets, with which Luke dealt in the delf -line. Luke had fast and influential friends, and he meant to leave no -stone unturned whereby Luke might also be his. - - END OF VOL. I - - _Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, _Edinburgh_ - - G. C. & Co. - - - - -Transcriber's Note: Although most printer's errors have been retained, -some have been silently corrected. Some spelling and punctuation, -capitalization, accents and formatting markup have been normalized and -include the following: - - Line 1544 peek is now peak - Line 3575 the word as was written twice, [reflecting upon him as as] - Line 4026 the double quotation mark has been replaced by a single - quote to match the opening quote. [I saw you last--in July, was it - not?"] - -Most chapters of this book have a decorative image at the beginning and -end of chapters. The image indicators have been removed in the text -version. The images are included in the html version. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mrs. Severn, Vol. 1 (of 3), by -Mary Elizabeth Carter - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. 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