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diff --git a/44080-8.txt b/44080-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index acff244..0000000 --- a/44080-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,18126 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Madonna Mary, by Mrs. Oliphant - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Madonna Mary - -Author: Mrs. Oliphant - -Release Date: October 31, 2013 [EBook #44080] -[Last updated: April 10, 2016] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MADONNA MARY *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - MADONNA MARY. - - A Novel. - - BY - MRS. OLIPHANT, - - AUTHOR OF - - "LAST OF THE MORTIMERS," "IN THE DAYS OF MY - LIFE," "SQUIRE ARDEN," "OMBRA," "MAY," - ETC., ETC. - - _NEW EDITION._ - - LONDON: - CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. - 1875. - - [_All rights reserved._] - - - - - LONDON: - SWIFT AND CO., NEWTON STREET, HIGH HOLBORN, W.C. - - - - - MADONNA MARY. - - - - - -CHAPTER I. - - -Major Ochterlony had been very fidgety after the coming in of the mail. -He was very often so, as all his friends were aware, and nobody so much -as Mary, his wife, who was herself, on ordinary occasions, of an -admirable composure. But the arrival of the mail, which is so welcome an -event at an Indian station, and which generally affected the Major very -mildly, had produced a singular impression upon him on this special -occasion. He was not a man who possessed a large correspondence in his -own person; he had reached middle life, and had nobody particular -belonging to him, except his wife and his little children, who were as -yet too young to have been sent "home;" and consequently there was -nobody to receive letters from, except a few married brothers and -sisters, who don't count, as everybody knows. That kind of formally -affectionate correspondence is not generally exciting, and even Major -Ochterlony supported it with composure. But as for the mail which -arrived on the 15th of April, 1838, its effect was different. He went -out and in so often, that Mary got very little good of her letters, -which were from her young sister and her old aunt, and were naturally -overflowing with all kinds of pleasant gossip and domestic information. -The present writer has so imperfect an idea of what an Indian bungalow -is like, that it would be impossible for her to convey a clear idea to -the reader, who probably knows much better about it. But yet it was in -an Indian bungalow that Mrs. Ochterlony was seated--in the dim hot -atmosphere, out of which the sun was carefully excluded, but in which, -nevertheless, the inmates simmered softly with the patience of people -who cannot help it, and who are used to their martyrdom. She sat still, -and did her best to make out the pleasant babble in the letters, which -seemed to take sound to itself as she read, and to break into a sweet -confusion of kind voices, and rustling leaves, and running water, such -as, she knew, had filled the little rustic drawing-room in which the -letters were written. The sister was very young, and the aunt was old, -and all the experience of the world possessed by the two together, might -have gone into Mary's thimble, which she kept playing with upon her -finger as she read. But though she knew twenty times better than they -did, the soft old lady's gentle counsel, and the audacious girl's advice -and censure, were sweet to Mary, who smiled many a time at their -simplicity, and yet took the good of it in a way that was peculiar to -her. She read, and she smiled in her reading, and felt the fresh English -air blow about her, and the leaves rustling--if it had not been for the -Major, who went and came like a ghost, and let everything fall that he -touched, and hunted every innocent beetle or lizard that had come in to -see how things were going on; for he was one of those men who have a -great, almost womanish objection to reptiles and insects, which is a -sentiment much misplaced in India. He fidgeted so much, indeed, as to -disturb even his wife's accustomed nerves at last. - -"Is there anything wrong--has anything happened?" she asked, folding up -her letter, and laying it down in her open work-basket. Her anxiety was -not profound, for she was accustomed to the Major's "ways," but still -she saw it was necessary for his comfort to utter what was on his mind. - -"When you have read your letters I want to speak to you," he said. "What -do your people mean by sending you such heaps of letters? I thought you -would never be done. Well, Mary, this is what it is--there's nothing -wrong with the children, or anybody belonging to us, thank God; but it's -very nearly as bad, and, I am at my wit's end. Old Sommerville's dead." - -"Old Sommerville!" said Mrs. Ochterlony. This time she was utterly -perplexed and at a loss. She could read easily enough the anxiety which -filled her husband's handsome, restless face; but, then, so small a -matter put _him_ out of his ordinary! And she could not for her life -remember who old Sommerville was. - -"I daresay _you_ don't recollect him," said the Major, in an aggrieved -tone. "It is very odd how everything has gone wrong with us since that -false start. It is an awful shame, when a set of old fogies put young -people in such a position--all for nothing, too," Major Ochterlony -added: "for after we were actually married, everybody came round. It is -an awful shame!" - -"If I was a suspicious woman," said Mary, with a smile, "I should think -it was our marriage that you called a false start and an awful shame." - -"And so it is, my love: so it is," said the innocent soldier, his face -growing more and more cloudy. As for his wife being a suspicious woman, -or the possible existence of any delicacy on her part about his words, -the Major knew better than that. The truth was that he might have given -utterance to sentiments of the most atrocious description on that point, -sentiments which would have broken the heart and blighted the existence, -so to speak, of any sensitive young woman, without producing the -slightest effect upon Mary, or upon himself, to whom Mary was so utterly -and absolutely necessary, that the idea of existing without her never -once entered his restless but honest brain. "That is just what it is," -he said; "it is a horrid business for me, and I don't know what to do -about it. They must have been out of their senses to drive us to marry -as we did; and we were a couple of awful fools," said the Major, with -the gravest and most care-worn countenance. Mrs. Ochterlony was still a -young woman, handsome and admired, and she might very well have taken -offence at such words; but, oddly enough, there was something in his -gravely-disturbed face and pathetic tone which touched another chord in -Mary's breast. She laughed, which was unkind, considering all the -circumstances, and took up her work, and fixed a pair of smiling eyes -upon her perplexed husband's face. - -"I daresay it is not so bad as you think," she said, with the manner of -a woman who was used to this kind of thing. "Come, and tell me all about -it." She drew her chair a trifle nearer his, and looked at him with a -face in which a touch of suppressed amusement was visible, under a good -deal of gravity and sympathy. She was used to lend a sympathetic ear to -all his difficulties, and to give all her efforts to their elucidation, -but still she could not help feeling it somewhat droll to be complained -to in this strain about her own marriage. "We _were_ a couple of fools," -she said, with a little laugh, "but it has not turned out so badly as it -might have done." Upon which rash statement the Major shook his head. - -"It is easy for you to say so," he said, "and if I were to go no deeper, -and look no further---- It is all on your account, Mary. If it were not -on your account----" - -"Yes, I know," said Mrs. Ochterlony, still struggling with a perverse -inclination to laugh; "but now tell me what old Sommerville has to do -with it; and who old Sommerville is; and what put it into his head just -at this moment to die." - -The Major sighed, and gave her a half-irritated, half-melancholy look. -To think she should laugh, when, as he said to himself, the gulf was -yawning under her very feet. "My dear Mary," he said, "I wish you would -learn that this is not anything to laugh at. Old Sommerville was the old -gardener at Earlston, who went with us, you recollect, when we went -to--to Scotland. My brother would never have him back again, and he went -among his own friends. He was a stupid old fellow. I don't know what he -was good for, for my part;--but," said Major Ochterlony, with solemnity, -"he was the only surviving witness of our unfortunate marriage--that is -the only thing that made him interesting to me." - -"Poor old man!" said Mary, "I am very sorry. I had forgotten his name; -but really,--if you speak like this of our unfortunate marriage, you -will hurt my feelings," Mrs. Ochterlony added. She had cast down her -eyes on her work, but still there was a gleam of fun out of one of the -corners. This was all the effect made upon her mind by words which would -have naturally produced a scene between half the married people in the -world. - -As for the Major, he sighed: he was in a sighing mood, and at such -moments his wife's obtusity and thoughtlessness always made him sad. "It -is easy talking," he said, "and if it were not on your account, Mary---- -The fact is that everything has gone wrong that had any connection with -it. The blacksmith's house, you know, was burned down, and his kind of a -register--if it was any good, and I am sure I don't know if it was any -good; and then that woman died, though she was as young as you are, and -as healthy, and nobody had any right to expect that she would die," -Major Ochterlony added with an injured tone, "and now old Sommerville; -and we have nothing in the world to vouch for its being a good marriage, -except what that blacksmith fellow called the 'lines.' Of course you -have taken care of the lines," said the Major, with a little start. It -was the first time that this new subject of doubt had occurred to his -mind. - -"To vouch for its being a good marriage!" said Mrs. Ochterlony: "really, -Hugh, you go too far. Our marriage is not a thing to make jokes about, -you know--nor to get up alarms about either. Everybody knows all about -it, both among your people and mine. It is very vexatious and -disagreeable of you to talk so." As she spoke the colour rose to Mary's -matron cheek. She had learned to make great allowances for her husband's -anxious temper and perpetual panics; but this suggestion was too much -for her patience just at the moment. She calmed down, however, almost -immediately, and came to herself with a smile. "To think you should -almost have made me angry!" she said, taking up her work again. This did -not mean to imply that to make Mrs. Ochterlony angry was at all an -impossible process. She had her gleams of wrath like other people, and -sometimes it was not at all difficult to call them forth; but, so far as -the Major's "temperament" was concerned, she had got, by much exercise, -to be the most indulgent of women--perhaps by finding that no other way -of meeting it was of any use. - -"It is not my fault, my love," said the Major, with a meekness which was -not habitual to him. "But I hope you are quite sure you have the lines. -Any mistake about them would be fatal. They are the only proof that -remains to us. I wish you would go and find them, Mary, and let me make -sure." - -"The lines!" said Mrs. Ochterlony, and, notwithstanding her -self-command, she faltered a little. "Of course I must have them -somewhere--I don't quite recollect at this moment. What do you want them -for, Hugh? Are we coming into a fortune, or what are the statistics good -for? When I can lay my hand upon them, I will give them to you," she -added, with that culpable carelessness which her husband had already so -often remarked in her. If it had been a trumpery picture or book that -had been mislaid, she could not have been less concerned. - -"When you can lay your hands upon them!" cried the exasperated man. "Are -you out of your senses, Mary? Don't you know that they are your -sheet-anchor, your charter--the only document you have----" - -"Hugh," said Mrs. Ochterlony, "tell me what this means. There must be -something in it more than I can see. What need have I for documents? -What does it matter to us this old man being dead, more than it matters -to any one the death of somebody who has been at their wedding? It is -sad, but I don't see how it can be a personal misfortune. If you really -mean anything, tell me what it is." - -The Major for his part grew angry, as was not unnatural. "If you choose -to give me the attention you ought to give to your husband when he -speaks seriously to you, you will soon perceive what I mean," he said; -and then he repented, and came up to her and kissed her. "My poor Mary, -my bonnie Mary," he said. "If that wretched irregular marriage of ours -should bring harm to you! It is you only I am thinking of, my -darling--that you should have something to rest upon;" and his feelings -were so genuine that with that the water stood in his eyes. - -As for Mrs. Ochterlony, she was very near losing patience altogether; -but she made an effort and restrained herself. It was not the first time -that she had heard compunctions expressed for the irregular marriage, -which certainly was not her fault. But this time she was undeniably a -little alarmed, for the Major's gravity was extreme. "Our marriage is no -more irregular than it always was," she said. "I wish you would give up -this subject, Hugh; I have you to rest upon, and everything that a woman -can have. We never did anything in a corner," she continued, with a -little vehemence. "Our marriage was just as well known, and well -published, as if it had been in St. George's, Hanover Square. I cannot -imagine what you are aiming at. And besides, it is done, and we cannot -mend it," she added, abruptly. On the whole, the runaway match had been -a pleasant frolic enough; there was no earthly reason, except some -people's stupid notions, why they should not have been married; and -everybody came to their senses rapidly, and very little harm had come of -it. But the least idea of doubt on such a subject is an offence to a -woman, and her colour rose and her breath came quick, without any will -of hers. As for the Major, he abandoned the broader general question, -and went back to the detail, as was natural to the man. - -"If you only have the lines all safe," he said, "if you would but make -sure of that. I confess old Sommerville's death was a great shock to me, -Mary,--the last surviving witness; but Kirkman tells me the marriage -lines in Scotland are a woman's safeguard, and Kirkman is a Scotchman -and ought to know." - -"Have you been consulting _him_?" said Mary, with a certain despair; -"have you been talking of such a subject to----" - -"I don't know where I could have a better confidant," said the Major. -"Mary, my darling, they are both attached to you; and they are good -people, though they talk; and then he is Scotch, and understands. If -anything were to happen to me, and you had any difficulty in -proving----" - -"Hugh, for Heaven's sake have done with this. I cannot bear any more," -cried Mrs. Ochterlony, who was at the end of her powers. - -It was time for the great _coup_ for which his restless soul had been -preparing. He approached the moment of fate with a certain skill, such -as weak people occasionally display, and mad people almost always,--as -if the feeble intellect had a certain right by reason of its weakness to -the same kind of defence which is possessed by the mind diseased. "Hush, -Mary, you are excited," he said, "and it is only you I am thinking of. -If anything should happen to me--I am quite well, but no man can answer -for his own life:--my dear, I am afraid you will be vexed with what I am -going to say. But for my own satisfaction, for my peace of mind--if we -were to go through the ceremony again----" - -Mary Ochterlony rose up with sudden passion. It was altogether out of -proportion to her husband's intentions or errors, and perhaps to the -occasion. _That_ was but a vexatious complication of ordinary life; and -he a fidgety, uneasy, perhaps over-conscientious, well-meaning man. She -rose, tragic without knowing it, with a swell in her heart of the -unutterable and supreme--feeling herself for the moment an outraged -wife, an insulted woman, and a mother wounded to the heart. "I will hear -no more," she said, with lips that had suddenly grown parched and dry. -"Don't say another word. If it has come to this, I will take my chance -with my boys. Hugh, no more, no more." As she lifted her hands with an -impatient gesture of horror, and towered over him as he sat by, having -thus interrupted and cut short his speech, a certain fear went through -Major Ochterlony's mind. Could her mind be going? Had the shock been too -much for her? He could not understand otherwise how the suggestion which -he thought a wise one, and of advantage to his own peace of mind, should -have stung her into such an incomprehensible passion. But he was afraid -and silenced, and could not go on. - -"My dear Mary," he said mildly, "I had no intention of vexing you. We -can speak of this another time. Sit down, and I'll get you a glass of -water," he added, with anxious affection; and hurried off to seek it: -for he was a good husband, and very fond of his wife, and was terrified -to see her turn suddenly pale and faint, notwithstanding that he was -quite capable of wounding her in the most exquisite and delicate point. -But then he did not mean it. He was a matter-of-fact man, and the idea -of marrying his wife over again in case there might be any doubtfulness -about the first marriage, seemed to him only a rational suggestion, -which no sensible woman ought to be disturbed by; though no doubt it was -annoying to be compelled to have recourse to such an expedient. So he -went and fetched her the water, and gave up the subject, and stayed with -her all the afternoon and read the papers to her, and made himself -agreeable. It was a puzzling sort of demonstration on Mary's part, but -that did not make her the less Mary, and the dearest and best of earthly -creatures. So Major Ochterlony put his proposal aside for a more -favourable moment, and did all he could to make his wife forget it, and -behaved himself as a man naturally would behave who was recognised as -the best husband and most domestic man in the regiment. Mary took her -seat again and her work, and the afternoon went on as if nothing had -happened. They were a most united couple, and very happy together, as -everybody knew; or if one of them at any chance moment was perhaps less -than perfectly blessed, it was not, at any rate, because the love-match, -irregular as it might be, had ended in any lack of love. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - -Mrs. Ochterlony sat and worked and listened, and her husband read the -papers to her, picking out by instinct all those little bits of news -that are grateful to people who are so far away from their own country. -And he went through the births and marriages, to see "if there is -anybody we know,"--notwithstanding that he was aware that corner of the -paper is one which a woman does not leave to any reader, but makes it a -principle to examine herself. And Mary sat still and went on with her -work, and not another syllable was said about old Sommerville, or the -marriage lines, or anything that had to do with the previous -conversation. This tranquillity was all in perfect good faith on Major -Ochterlony's side, who had given up the subject with the intention of -waiting until a more convenient season, and who had relieved his mind by -talking of it, and could put off his anxiety. But as for Mary, it was -not in good faith that she put on this expression of outward calm. She -knew her husband, and she knew that he was pertinacious and insisting, -and that a question which he had once started was not to be made an end -of, and finally settled, in so short a time. She sat with her head a -little bent, hearing the bits of news run on like an accompaniment to -the quick-flowing current of her own thoughts. Her heart was beating -quick, and her blood coursing through her veins as if it had been a -sudden access of fever which had come upon her. She was a tall, fair, -serene woman, with no paltry passion about her; but at the same time, -when the occasion required it, Mary was capable of a vast suppressed -fire of feeling which it gave her infinite trouble to keep down. This -was a side of her character which was not suspected by the world in -general--meaning of course the regiment, and the ladies at the station, -who were all, more or less, military. Mrs. Ochterlony was the kind of -woman to whom by instinct any stranger would have appropriated the name -of Mary; and naturally all her intimates (and the regiment was very -"nice," and lived in great harmony, and they were all intimate) called -her by her Christian--most Christian name. And there were people who put -the word Madonna before it,--"as if the two did not mean the same -thing!" said little Mrs. Askell, the ensign's baby-wife, whose education -had been neglected, but whom Mrs. Ochterlony had been very kind to. It -was difficult to know how the title had originated, though people did -say it was young Stafford who had been brought up in Italy, and who had -such a strange adoration for Mrs. Ochterlony, and who died, poor -fellow--which was perhaps the best thing he could have done under the -circumstances. "It was a special providence," Mrs. Kirkman said, who was -the Colonel's wife: for, to be sure, to be romantically adored by a -foolish young subaltern, was embarrassing for a woman, however perfect -her mind and temper and fairest fame might be. It was he who originated -the name, perhaps with some faint foolish thought of Petrarch and his -Madonna Laura: and then he died and did no more harm; and a great many -people adopted it, and Mary herself did not object to be addressed by -that sweetest of titles. - -And yet she was not meek enough for the name. Her complexion was very -fair, but she had only a very faint rose-tint on her cheeks, so faint -that people called her pale--which with her fairness, was a drawback to -her. Her hair was light-brown, with a golden reflection that went and -came, as if it somehow depended upon the state of her mind and spirits; -and her eyes were dark, large, and lambent,--not sparkling, but -concentrating within themselves a soft, full depth of light. It was a -question whether they were grey or brown; but at all events they were -dark and deep. And she was, perhaps, a little too large and full and -matronly in her proportions to please a youthful critic. Naturally such -a woman had a mass of hair which she scarcely knew what to do with, and -which at this moment seemed to betray the disturbed state of her mind by -unusual gleams of the golden reflection which sometimes lay quite -tranquil and hidden among the great silky coils. She was very happily -married, and Major Ochterlony was the model husband of the regiment. -They had married very young, and made a runaway love-match which was one -of the few which everybody allowed had succeeded to perfection. But -yet---- There are so few things in this world which succeed quite to -perfection. It was Mrs. Kirkman's opinion that nobody else in the -regiment could have supported the Major's fidgety temper. "It would be a -great trial for the most experienced Christian," she said; "and dear -Mary is still among the babes who have to be fed with milk; but -Providence is kind, and I don't think she feels it as you or I would." -This was the opinion of the Colonel's wife; but as for Mary, as she sat -and worked and listened to her husband reading the papers, perhaps she -could have given a different version of her own composure and calm. - -They had been married about ten years, and it was the first time he had -taken _this_ idea into his head. It is true that Mrs. Ochterlony looked -at it solely as one of his ideas, and gave no weight whatever to the -death of old Sommerville, or the loss of the marriage lines. She had -been very young at the time of her marriage, and she was motherless, and -had not those pangs of wounded delicacy to encounter, which a young -woman ought to have who abandons her home in such a way. This perhaps -arose from a defect in Mary's girlish undeveloped character; but the -truth was, that she too belonged to an Indian family, and had no home to -speak of, nor any of the sweeter ties to break. And after that, she had -thought nothing more about it. She was married, and there was an end of -it; and the young people had gone to India immediately, and had been -very poor, and very happy, and very miserable, like other young people -who begin the world in an inconsiderate way. But in spite of a hundred -drawbacks, the happiness had always been pertinacious, lasted longest, -and held out most stedfastly, and lived everything down. For one thing, -Mrs. Ochterlony had a great deal to do, not being rich, and that happily -quite preserved her from the danger of brooding over the Major's -fidgets, and making something serious out of them. And then they had -married so young that neither of them could ever identify himself or -herself, or make the distinction that more reasonable couples can -between "me" and "you." This time, however, the Major's restlessness had -taken an uncomfortable form. Mary felt herself offended and insulted -without knowing why. She, a matron of ten years' standing, the mother of -children! She could not believe that she had really heard true, that a -repetition of her marriage could have been suggested to her--and at the -same time she knew that it was perfectly true. It never occurred to her -as a thing that possibly might have to be done, but still the suggestion -itself was a wound. Major Ochterlony, for his part, thought of it as a -precaution, and good for his peace of mind, as he had said; but to Mary -it was scarcely less offensive than if somebody else had ventured to -make love to her, or offer her his allegiance. It seemed to her an -insult of the same description, an outrage which surely could not have -occurred without some unwitting folly on her part to make such a -proposal possible. She went away, searching back into the far, far -distant years, as she sat at work and he read the papers. Had she anyhow -failed in womanly restraint or delicacy at that moment when she was -eighteen, and knew of nothing but honour, and love, and purity in the -world? To be sure, she had not occupied herself very much about the -matter--she had taken no pains for her own safety, and had not an idea -what registrars meant, nor marriage laws, nor "lines." All that she knew -was that a great many people were married at Gretna Green, and that she -was married, and that there was an end of it. All these things came up -and passed before her mind in a somewhat hurrying crowd; but Mary's -mature judgment did not disapprove of the young bride who believed what -was said to her, and was content, and had unbounded faith in the -blacksmith and in her bridegroom. If that young woman had been occupying -herself about the register, Mrs. Ochterlony probably, looking back, -would have entertained but a mean opinion of her. It was not anything -_she_ had done. It was not anything special, so far as she could see, in -the circumstances: for hosts of people before and after had been married -on the Scottish border. The only conclusion, accordingly, that she could -come to, was the natural conclusion, that it was one of the Major's -notions. But there was little comfort in that, for Mrs. Ochterlony was -aware that his notions were persistent, that they lived and lasted and -took new developments, and were sometimes very hard to get rid of. And -she sighed in the midst of the newspaper reading, and betrayed that she -had not been listening. Not that she expected her husband's new whim to -come to anything; but because she foresaw in it endless repetitions of -the scene which had just ended, and endless exasperation and weariness -to herself. - -Major Ochterlony stopped short when he heard his wife sigh--for he was -not a man to leave anything alone, or to practise a discreet -neglect--and laid down his paper and looked with anxiety in her face. -"You have a headache," he said, tenderly; "I saw it the moment I entered -the room. Go and lie down, my dear, and take care of yourself. You take -care of everybody else," said the Major. "Why did you let me go on -reading the paper like an ass, when your head aches?" - -"My head does not ache. I was only thinking," said Mrs. Ochterlony: for -she thought on the whole it would be best to resume the subject and -endeavour to make an end of it. But this was not the Major's way. He -had in the meantime emptied his reservoir, and it had to be filled again -before he would find himself in the vein for speech. - -"But I don't want you to think," said Major Ochterlony with tender -patronage: "that ought to be my part of the business. Have you got a -novel?--if not, I'll go over and ask Miss Sorbette for one of hers. Lie -down and rest, Mary; I can see that is all you are good for to-day." - -Whether such a speech was aggravating or not to a woman who knew that it -was her brain which had all the real weight of the family affairs to -bear, may be conjectured by wives in general who know the sort of thing. -But as for Mary, she was so used to it, that she took very little -notice. She said, "Thank you, Hugh; I have got my letters here, which I -have not read, and Aunt Agatha is as good as a novel." If this was not a -very clear indication to the Major that his best policy was to take -himself off for a little, and leave her in peace, it would be hard to -say what could have taught him. But then Major Ochterlony was a man of a -lively mind, and above being taught. - -"Ah, Aunt Agatha," he said. "My dear, I know it is a painful subject, -but we must, you know, begin to think where we are to send Hugh." - -Mary shuddered; her nerves--for she had nerves, though she was so fair -and serene--began to get excited. She said, "For pity's sake, not any -more to-day. I am worn out. I cannot bear it. He is only six, and he is -quite well." - -The Major shook his head. "He is very well, but I have seen when a few -hours changed all that," he said. "We cannot keep him much longer. At -his age, you know; all the little Heskeths go at four--I think----" - -"Ah," said Mary, "the Heskeths have nothing to do with it; they have -floods and floods of children,--they don't know what it is; they can do -without their little things; but I--Hugh, I am tired--I am not able for -any more. Let me off for to-day." - -Major Ochterlony regarded his wife with calm indulgence, and smoothed -her hair off her hot forehead as he stooped to kiss her. "If you only -would call things by the same names as other people, and say you have a -headache, my dear," he said, in his caressing way. And then he was so -good as to leave her, saying to himself as he went away that his Mary -too had a little temper, though nobody gave her credit for it. Instead -of annoying him, this little temper on Mary's part rather pleased her -husband. When it came on he could be indulgent to her and pet her, -which he liked to do; and then he could feel the advantage on his own -side, which was not always the case. His heart quite swelled over her as -he went away; so good, and so wise, and so fair, and yet not without -that womanly weakness which it was sweet for a man to protect and pardon -and put up with. Perhaps all men are not of the same way of thinking; -but then Major Ochterlony reasoned only in his own way. - -Mary stayed behind, and found it very difficult to occupy herself with -anything. It was not temper, according to the ordinary meaning of the -word. She was vexed, disturbed, disquieted, rather than angry. When she -took up the pleasant letter in which the English breezes were blowing, -and the leaves rustling, she could no longer keep her attention from -wandering. She began it a dozen times, and as often gave it up again, -driven by the importunate thoughts which took her mind by storm, and -thrust everything else away. As if it were not enough to have one great -annoyance suddenly overwhelming her, she had the standing terror of her -life, the certainty that she would have to send her children away, -thrown in to make up. She could have cried, had that been of any use; -but Mrs. Ochterlony had had good occasion to cry many times in her life, -which takes away the inclination at less important moments. The worst of -all was that her husband's oft-repeated suggestion struck at the very -roots of her existence, and seemed to throw everything of which she had -been most sure into sudden ruin. She would put no faith in it--pay no -attention to it, she said to herself; and then, in spite of herself, she -found that she paid great attention, and could not get it out of her -mind. The only character in which she knew herself--in which she had -ever been known--was that of a wife. There are some women--nay, many -women--who have felt their own independent standing before they made the -first great step in a woman's life, and who are able to realize their -own identity without associating it for ever with that of any other. But -as for Mary, she had married, as it were, out of the nursery, and except -as Hugh Ochterlony's wife, and his son's mother, she did not know -herself. In such circumstances, it may be imagined what a bewildering -effect any doubt about her marriage would have upon her. For the first -time she began to think of herself, and to see that she had been hardly -dealt with. She began to resent her guardian's carelessness, and to -blame even kind Aunt Agatha, who in those days was taken up with some -faint love-affairs of her own, which never came to anything. Why did -they not see that everything was right? Why did not Hugh make sure, -whose duty it was? After she had vexed herself with such thoughts, she -returned with natural inconsistency to the conclusion that it was all -one of the Major's notions. This was the easiest way of getting rid of -it, and yet it was aggravating enough that the Major should permit his -restless fancy to enter such sacred grounds, and to play with the very -foundations of their life and honour. And as if that was not enough, to -talk at the end of it all of sending Hugh away! - -Perhaps it would have been good for Mary if she had taken her husband's -advice and lain down, and sent over to Miss Sorbette for a novel. But -she was rebellious and excited, and would not do it. It was true that -they were engaged out to dinner that night, and that when the hour came -Mrs. Ochterlony entered Mrs. Hesketh's drawing-room with her usual -composure, and without any betrayal of the agitation that was still -smouldering within. But that did not make it any easier for her. There -was nobody more respected, as people say, in the station than she -was--and to think that it was possible that such a thing might be, as -that she should be humiliated and pulled down from her fair elevation -among all those women! Neither the Major nor any man had a right to have -notions upon a matter of such importance. Mary tried hard to calm -herself down to her ordinary tranquillity, and to represent to herself -how good he was, and how small a drawback after all were those fidgets -of his, in comparison with the faults of most other men. Just as he -represented to himself, with more success, how trifling a disadvantage -was the "little temper" which gave him the privilege, now and then, of -feeling tenderly superior to his wife. But the attempt was not -successful that day in Mrs. Ochterlony's mind; for after all there are -some things too sacred for discussion, and with which the most fidgety -man in the world cannot be permitted to play. Such was the result of the -first conversation upon this startling subject. The Major found himself -very tolerably at his ease, having relieved his mind for the moment, and -enjoyed his dinner and spent a very pleasant evening; but as for Madonna -Mary, she might have prejudiced her serene character in the eyes of the -regiment had the veil been drawn aside only for a moment, and could -anybody have seen or guessed the whirl of thoughts that was passing -through her uneasy mind. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - -The present writer has already lamented her inability to convey to the -readers of this history any clear account of an Indian bungalow, or the -manner in which life goes on in that curious kind of English home: so -that it would be vain to attempt any detailed description of Mary -Ochterlony's life at this period of her career. She lived very much as -all the others lived, and gave a great deal of attention to her two -little boys, and wrote regularly by every mail to her friends in -England, and longed for the day when the mail came in, though the -interest of her correspondence was not absorbing. All this she did like -everybody else, though the other ladies at the station had perhaps more -people belonging to them, and a larger number of letters, and got more -good of the eagerly looked-for mail. And she read all the books she -could come by, even Miss Sorbette's novels, which were indeed the chief -literary nourishment of the station; and took her due share in society, -and was generally very popular, though not so superior as Miss Sorbette -for example, nor of remarkable piety like Mrs. Kirkman, nor nearly so -well off as Mrs. Hesketh. Perhaps these three ladies, who were the -natural leaders of society, liked Mary all the better because she did -not come in direct contact with their claims; though if it had ever -entered into Mrs. Ochterlony's head to set up a distinct standard, no -doubt the masses would have flocked to it, and the peace of the station -might have been put in jeopardy. But as no such ambitious project was in -her mind, Mary kept her popularity with everybody, and gained besides -that character of "She could an if she would," which goes a great deal -farther than the limited reputation of any actual achievement. She was -very good to the new people, the young people, the recent arrivals, and -managed to make them feel at home sooner than anybody else could, which -was a very useful gift in such society; and then a wife who bore her -husband's fidgets so serenely was naturally a model and example for all -the new wives. - -"I am sure nobody else in the station could do so well," Mrs. Kirkman -said. "The most experienced Christian would find it a trying task. But -then some people are so mercifully fitted for their position in life. I -don't think she feels it as you or I should." This was said, not as -implying that little Mrs. Askell--to whom the words were ostensibly -addressed--had peculiarly sensitive feelings, or was in any way to be -associated with the Colonel's wife, but only because it was a favourite -way Mrs. Kirkman had of bringing herself down to her audience, and -uniting herself, as it were, to ordinary humanity; for if there was one -thing more than another for which she was distinguished, it was her -beautiful Christian humanity; and this was the sense in which she now -spoke. - -"Please don't say so," cried the ensign's wife, who was an unmanageable, -eighteen-year-old, half-Irish creature. "I am sure she has twenty -thousand times more feeling than you and--than both of us put together. -It's because she is real good; and the Major is an old dear. He _is_ a -fidget and he's awfully aggravating, and he puts one in a passion; but -he's an old dear, and so you would say if you knew him as well as I." - -Mrs. Kirkman regarded the creature by her side, as may be supposed, with -the calm contempt which her utterance merited. She looked at her, out of -those "down-dropt," half-veiled eyes, with that look which everybody in -the station knew so well, as if she were looking down from an infinite -distance with a serene surprise which was too far off and elevated to -partake of the nature of disgust. If _she_ knew him as well as this baby -did! But the Colonel's wife did not take any notice of the audacious -suggestion. It was her duty, instead of resenting the impertinence to -herself, to improve the occasion for the offender's own sake. - -"My dear, there is nobody really good," said Mrs. Kirkman. "We have the -highest authority for that. I wish I could think dear Mary was possessed -of the true secret of a higher life; but she has so much of that natural -amiability, you know, which is, of all things, the most dangerous for -the soul. I would rather, for my part, she was not so 'good' as you say. -It is all filthy rags," said Mrs. Kirkman, with a sigh. "It might be for -the good of her soul to be brought low, and forced to abandon these -refuges of lies----" - -Upon which the little Irish wild-Indian blazed up with natural fury. - -"I don't believe she ever told a lie in her life. I'll swear to all the -lies she tells," cried the foolish little woman; "and as for rags--it's -horrible to talk so. If you only knew--if you only could think--how kind -she was to me!" - -For this absurd little hapless child had had a baby, as might have been -expected, and would have been in rags indeed, and everything that is -miserable, but for Mary, who had taken her in hand; and being not much -more than a baby herself, and not strong yet, and having her heart in -her mouth, so to speak, she burst out crying, as might have been -expected too. - -This was a result which her companion had not in the least calculated -upon, for Mrs. Kirkman, notwithstanding her belief in Mary's -insensibility, had not very lively feelings, and was not quick at -divining other people. But she was a good woman notwithstanding all her -talk. She came down off her mountain top, and soothed her little -visitor, and gave her a glass of wine, and even kissed her, to make -matters up. - -"I know she has a way, when people are sick," said the Colonel's wife; -and then, after that confession, she sighed again. "If only she does not -put her trust in her own works," Mrs. Kirkman added. - -For, to tell the truth, the Chaplain of the regiment was not (as she -thought) a spiritual-minded man, and the Colonel's wife was troubled by -an abiding consciousness that it was into her hands Providence had -committed the souls of the station. "Which was an awful responsibility -for a sinful creature," she said, in her letters home; "and one that -required constant watch over herself." - -Perhaps, in a slightly different way, Mrs. Ochterlony would have been -similarly put down and defended in the other two centres of society at -the station. "She is intelligent," Miss Sorbette said; "I don't deny -that she is intelligent; but I would not say she was superior. She is -fond of reading, but then most people are fond of reading, when it's -amusing, you know. She is a little too like Amelia in 'Vanity Fair.' She -is one of the sweet women. In a general way, I can't bear sweet women; -but I must confess she is the very best specimen I ever saw." - -As for Mrs. Hesketh, her opinion was not much worth stating in words. If -she had any fault to find with Mrs. Ochterlony, it was because Mary had -sometimes a good deal of trouble in making the two ends meet. "I cannot -endure people that are always having anxieties," said the rich woman of -the station, who had an idea that everybody could be comfortable if they -liked, and that it was an offence to all his neighbours when a man -insisted on being poor; but at the same time everybody knew that she was -very fond of Mary. This had been the general opinion of her for all -these years, and naturally Mrs. Ochterlony was used to it, and, without -being at all vain on the subject, had that sense of the atmosphere of -general esteem and regard which surrounded her, which has a favourable -influence upon every character, and which did a great deal to give her -the sweet composure and serenity for which she was famed. - -But from the time of that first conversation with her husband, a change -came upon the Madonna of the station. It was not perceptible to the -general vision, yet there were individual eyes which found out that -something was the matter, though nobody could tell what. Mrs. Hesketh -thought it was an attack of fever coming on, and Mrs. Kirkman hoped that -Mrs. Ochterlony was beginning to occupy herself about her spiritual -state; and the one recommended quinine to Mary, and the other sent her -sermons, which, to tell the truth, were not much more suitable to her -case. But Mary did not take any of the charitable friends about her into -her confidence. She went about among them as a prince might have gone -about in his court, or a chief among his vassals, after hearing in -secret that it was possible that one day he may be discovered to be an -impostor. Or, if not that,--for Mary knew that she never could be found -out an impostor,--at least, that such a charge was hanging over her -head, and that somebody might believe it; and that her history would be -discussed and her name get into people's mouths and her claims to their -regard be questioned. It was very hard upon her to think that such a -thing was possible with composure, or to contemplate her husband's -restless ways, and to recollect the indiscreet confidences which he was -in the habit of making. He had spoken to Colonel Kirkman about it, and -even quoted his advice about the marriage lines; and Mary could not but -think (though in this point she did the Colonel injustice) that Mrs. -Kirkman too must know; and then, with a man of Major Ochterlony's -temperament, nobody could make sure that he would not take young Askell, -the ensign, or any other boy in the station, into his confidence, if he -should happen to be in the way. All this was very galling to Mary, who -had so high an appreciation of the credit and honour which, up to this -moment, she had enjoyed; and who felt that she would rather die than -come down to be discussed and pitied and talked about among all these -people. She thought in her disturbed and uneasy mind, that she could -already hear all the different tones in which they would say, "Poor -Mary!" and all the wonders, and doubts, and inquiries that would rise up -round her. Mrs. Kirkman would have said that all these were signs that -her pride wanted humbling, and that the thing her friends should pray -for, should be some startling blow to lead her back to a better state of -mind. But naturally this was a kind of discipline which for herself, or -indeed for anybody else, Mary was not far enough advanced to desire. - -Perhaps, however, it was partly true about the pride. Mrs. Ochterlony -did not say anything about it, but she locked the door of her own room -the next morning after that talk with the Major, and searched through -all her repositories for those "marriage lines," which no doubt she had -put away somewhere, and which she had naturally forgotten all about for -years. It was equally natural, and to be expected, that she should not -find them. She looked through all her papers, and letters, and little -sacred corners, and found many things that filled her heart with sadness -and her eyes with tears--for she had not come through those ten years -without leaving traces behind her where her heart had been wounded and -had bled by the way--but she did not find what she was in search of. She -tried hard to look back and think, and to go over in her mind the -contents of her little school-girl desk, which she had left at Aunt -Agatha's cottage, and the little work-table, and the secretary with all -its drawers. But she could not recollect anything about it, nor where -she had put it, nor what could have become of it; and the effect of her -examination was to give her, this time in reality, a headache, and to -make her eyes heavy and her heart sore. But she did not say a syllable -about her search to the Major, who was (as, indeed, he always was) as -anxiously affectionate as a man could be, and became (as he always did) -when he found his wife suffering, so elaborately noiseless and still, -that Mary ended by a good fit of laughing, which was of the greatest -possible service to her. - -"When you are so quiet, you worry me, Hugh," she said. "I am used to -hear you moving about." - -"My dear, I hope I am not such a brute as to move about when you are -suffering," her husband replied. And though his mind had again begun to -fill with the dark thoughts that had been the occasion of all Mary's -annoyance, he restrained himself with a heroic effort, and did not say a -syllable about it all that night. - -But this was a height of virtue which was quite impossible any merely -mortal powers could keep up to. He began to make mysterious little -broken speeches next day, and to stop short and say, "My darling, I -mustn't worry _you_," and to sigh like a furnace, and to worry Mary to -such an extremity that her difficulty in keeping her temper and patience -grew indescribable. And then, when he had afflicted her in this way till -it was impossible to go any further--when he had betrayed it to her in -every look, in every step, in every breath he drew--which was half a -sigh--and in every restless movement he made; and when Mrs. Ochterlony, -who could not sleep for it, nor rest, nor get any relief from the -torture, had two red lines round her eyes, and was all but out of her -senses--the stream burst forth at last, and the Major spoke: - -"You remember, perhaps, Mary, what we were talking of the other day," he -said, in an insidiously gentle way, one morning, early--when they had -still the long, long day before them to be miserable in. "I thought it -very important, but perhaps you may have forgot--about old Sommerville -who died?" - -"Forgot!" said Mary. She felt it was coming now, and was rather glad to -have it over. "I don't know how I could forget, Hugh. What you said -would have made one recollect anything; but you cannot make old -Sommerville come alive again, whatever you do." - -"My dear, I spoke to you about some--about a--paper," said the Major. -"Lines--that is what the Scotch call them--though, I daresay, they're -very far from being poetry. Perhaps you have found them, Mary?" said -Major Ochterlony, looking into her face in a pleading way, as if he -prayed her to answer yes. And it was with difficulty that she kept as -calm as she wished to do, and answered without letting him see the -agitation and excitement in her mind. - -"I don't know where I have put them, Hugh," she said, with a natural -evasion, and in a low voice. She did not acknowledge having looked for -them, and having failed to find them; but in spite of herself, she -answered with a certain humility, as of a woman culpable. For, after -all, it was her fault. - -"You don't know where you put them?" said the Major, with rising horror. -"Have you the least idea how important they are? They may be the saving -of you and of your children, and you don't know where you have put them! -Then it is all as I feared," Major Ochterlony added, with a groan, "and -everything is lost." - -"What is lost?" said Mary. "You speak to me in riddles, Hugh. I know I -put them somewhere--I must have put them somewhere safe. They are, most -likely, in my old desk at home, or in one of the drawers of the -secretary," said Mary calmly, giving those local specifications with a -certainty which she was far from feeling. As for the Major, he was -arrested by the circumstance which made her faint hope and supposition -look somehow like truth. - -"If I could hope that _that_ was the case," he said; "but it can't be -the case, Mary. You never were at home after we were married--you forget -that. We went to Earlston for a day, and we went to your guardian's; but -never to Aunt Agatha. You are making a mistake, my dear; and God bless -me, to think of it, what would become of you if anything were to happen -to me?" - -"I hope there is nothing going to happen to you; but I don't think in -that case it would matter what became of me," said Mary in utter -depression; for by this time she was worn out. - -"You think so now, my love; but you would be obliged to think -otherwise," said Major Ochterlony. "I hope I'm all right for many a -year; but a man can never tell. And the insurance, and pension, and -everything--and Earlston, if my brother should leave it to us--all our -future, my darling. I think it will drive me distracted," said the -Major, "not a witness nor a proof left!" - -Mary could make no answer. She was quite overwhelmed by the images thus -called before her; for her part, the pension and the insurance money had -no meaning to her ears; but it is difficult not to put a certain faith -in it when a man speaks in such a circumstantial way of things that can -only happen after his death. - -"You have been talking to the doctor, and he has been putting things -into your head," she said faintly. "It is cruel to torture me so. We -know very well how we were married, and all about it, and so do our -friends, and it is cruel to try to make me think of anything happening. -There is nobody in the regiment so strong and well as you are," she -continued, taking courage a little. She thought to herself he looked, as -people say, the picture of health, as he sat beside her, and she began -to recover out of her prostration. As for spleen or liver, or any of -those uncomfortable attributes, Major Ochterlony, up to this moment, had -not known whether he possessed them--which was a most re-assuring -thought, naturally, for his anxious wife. - -"Thank God," said the Major, with a little solemnity. It was not that he -had any presentiment, or thought himself likely to die early; but simply -that he was in a pathetic way, and had a _naïf_ and innocent pleasure in -deepening his effects; and then he took to walking about the room in his -nervous manner. After a while he came to a dead stop before his wife, -and took both her hands into his. - -"Mary," he said, "I know it's an idea you don't like; but, for my peace -of mind; suppose--just suppose for the sake of supposing--that I was to -die now, and leave you without a word to prove your claims. It would be -ten times worse than death, Mary; but I could die at peace if you would -only make one little sacrifice to my peace of mind." - -"Oh, Hugh, don't kill me--you are not going to die," was all Mary could -say. - -"No, my darling, not if I can help it; but if it were only for my peace -of mind. There's no harm in it that I can see. It's ridiculous, you -know; but that's all, Mary," said the Major, looking anxiously into her -face. "Why, it is what hosts of people do every day. It is the easiest -thing to do--a mere joke, for that matter. They will say, you know, that -it is like Ochterlony, and a piece of his nonsense. I know how they -talk; but never mind. I know very well there is nothing else you would -not do for my peace of mind. It will set your future above all -casualties, and it will be all over in half an hour. For instance, -Churchill says----" - -"You have spoken to Mr. Churchill, too?" said Mary, with a thrill of -despair. - -"A man can never do any harm speaking to his clergyman, I hope," the -Major said, peevishly. "What do you mean by _too_? I've only mentioned -it to Kirkman besides--I wanted his advice--and to Sorbette, to explain -that bad headache of yours. And they all think I am perfectly right." - -Mary put her hands up to her face, and gave a low but bitter cry. She -said nothing more--not a syllable. She had already been dragged down -without knowing it, and set low among all these people. She who deserved -nothing but honour, who had done nothing to be ashamed of, who was the -same Madonna Mary whom they had all regarded as the "wisest, -virtuousest, discreetest, best." By this time they had all begun to -discuss her story, and to wonder if all _had_ been quite right at the -beginning, and to say, "Poor Mary!" She knew it as well as if she had -heard the buzz of talk in those three houses to which her husband had -confided his difficulty. It was a horrible torture, if you will but -think of it, for an innocent woman to bear. - -"It is not like you to make such a fuss about so simple a thing," said -Major Ochterlony. "You know very well it is not myself but you I am -thinking of; that you may have everything in order, and your future -provided for, whatever may happen. It may be absurd, you know; but a -woman mustn't mind being absurd to please her husband. We'll ask our -friends to step over with us to church in the morning, and in half an -hour it will be all over. Don't cover your face, Mary. It worries me not -to see your face. God bless me, it is nothing to make such a fuss -about," said the Major, getting excited. "I would do a great deal more, -any day, to please you." - -"I would cut off my hand to please you," said Mary, with perhaps a -momentary extravagance in the height of her passion. "You know there is -no sacrifice I would not make for you; but oh, Hugh, not this, not -this," she said, with a sob that startled him--one of those sobs that -tear and rend the breast they come from, and have no accompaniment of -tears. - -His answer was to come up to her side, and take the face which she had -been covering, between his hands, and kiss it as if it had been a -child's. "My darling, it is only this that will do me any good. It is -for my peace of mind," he said, with all that tenderness and effusion -which made him the best of husbands. He was so loving to her that, even -in the bitterness of the injury, it was hard for Mary to refuse to be -soothed and softened. He had got his way, and his unbounded love and -fondness surrounded her with a kind of atmosphere of tender enthusiasm. -He knew so well there was none like her, nobody fit to be put for a -moment in comparison with his Mary; and this was how her fate was fixed -for her, and the crisis came to an end. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - -"I am going with you, Mary," said Mrs. Kirkman, coming suddenly in upon -the morning of the day which was to give peace to Major Ochterlony's -mind, and cloud over with something like a shadow of shame (or at least -she thought so) his wife's fair matron fame. The Colonel's wife had put -on her last white bonnet, which was not so fresh as it had been at the -beginning of the season, and white gloves which were also a little the -worse for wear. To be sure the marriage was not like a real marriage, -and nobody knew how the unwilling bride would think proper to dress. -Mrs. Kirkman came in at a quicker pace than ordinary, with her hair -hanging half out of curl on either side of her face, as was always the -case. She was fair, but of a greyish complexion, with light blue eyes _à -fleur de la tête_, which generally she kept half veiled within their -lids--a habit which was particularly aggravating to some of the livelier -spirits. She came in hastily (for her), and found Mary seated -disconsolate, and doing nothing, which is, in such a woman, one of the -saddest signs of a mind disturbed. Mrs. Ochterlony sat, dropped down -upon a chair, with her hands listlessly clasped in her lap, and a hot -flush upon her cheek. She was lost in a dreary contemplation of the -sacrifice which was about to be exacted from her, and of the possible -harm it might do. She was thinking of her children, what effect it -might have on them--and she was thinking bitterly, that for good or evil -she could not help it; that again, as on many a previous occasion, her -husband's restless mind had carried the day over her calmer judgment, -and that there was no way of changing it. To say that she consented with -personal pain of the most acute kind, would not be to say all. She gave -in, at the same time, with a foreboding utterly indistinct, and which -she would not have given utterance to, yet which was strong enough to -heighten into actual misery the pain and shame of her position. When -Mrs. Kirkman came in, with her eyes full of observation, and making the -keenest scrutiny from beneath the downcast lids, Mrs. Ochterlony was not -in a position to hide her emotions. She was not crying, it is true, for -the circumstances were too serious for crying; but it was not difficult -to form an idea of her state of mind from her strangely listless -attitude, and the expression of her face. - -"I have come to go with you," said Mrs. Kirkman. "I thought you would -like to have somebody to countenance you. It will make no difference to -me, I assure you, Mary; and both the Colonel and I think if there is -_any_ doubt, you know, that it is by far the wisest thing you could do. -And I only hope----" - -"Doubt!" said Mary, lighting up for the moment. "There is no more doubt -than there is of all the marriages made in Scotland. The people who go -there to be married are not married again afterwards that I ever heard -of. There is no doubt whatever--none in the world. I beg your pardon. I -am terribly vexed and annoyed, and I don't know what I am saying. To -hear any one talk of doubt!" - -"My dear Mary, we _know_ nothing but what the Major has told us," said -Mrs. Kirkman. "You may depend upon it he has reason for what he is -doing; and I do hope you will see a higher hand in it all, and feel that -you are being humbled for your good." - -"I wish you would tell me how it can be for my good," said Mrs. -Ochterlony, "when even you, who ought to know better, talk of doubt--you -who have known us all along from the very first. Hugh has taken it into -his head--that is the whole matter; and you, all of you know, when he -takes a thing into his head----" - -She had been hurried on to say this by the rush of her disturbed -thoughts; but Mary was not a woman to complain of her husband. She came -to a sudden standstill, and rose up, and looked at her watch. - -"It is about time to go," she said, "and I am sorry to give you the -trouble of going with me. It is not worth while for so short a -distance; but, at least, don't say anything more about it, please." - -Mrs. Kirkman had already made the remark that Mary was not at all -"dressed." She had on her brown muslin, which was the plainest morning -dress in her possession, as everybody knew; and instead of going to her -room, to make herself a little nice, she took up her bonnet, which was -on the table, and tied it on without even so much as looking in the -glass. "I am quite ready," she said, when she had made this simple -addition to her dress, and stood there, looking everything that was most -unlike the Madonna of former days--flushed and clouded over, with lines -in her forehead, and the corners of her mouth dropped, and her fair -large serene beauty hidden beneath the thunder-cloud. And the Colonel's -wife was very sorry to see her friend in such a state of mind, as may be -supposed. - -"My dear Mary," Mrs. Kirkman said, taking her arm as they went out, and -holding it fast. "I should much wish to see you in a better frame of -mind. Man is only the instrument in our troubles. It must have been that -Providence saw you stood in need of it, my dear. He knows best. It would -not have been sent if it had not been for your good." - -"In that way, if I were to stand in the sun till I got a sunstroke, it -would be for my good," said Mary, in anger. "You would say, it was God's -fault, and not mine. But I know it is _my_ fault; I ought to have stood -out and resisted, and I have not had the strength; and it is not for -good, but evil. It is not God's fault, but ours. It can be for nobody's -good." - -But after this, she would not say any more. Not though Mrs. Kirkman was -shocked at her way of speaking, and took great pains to impress upon her -that she must have been doing or thinking something God punished by this -means. "Your pride must have wanted bringing down, my dear; as we all -do, Mary, both you and I," said the Colonel's wife; but then Mrs. -Kirkman's humility was well known. - -Thus they walked together to the chapel, whither various wondering -people, who could not understand what it meant, were straying. Major -Ochterlony had meant to come for his wife, but he was late, as he so -often was, and met them only near the chapel-door; and then he did -something which sent the last pang of which it was capable to Mary's -heart, though it was only at a later period that she found it out. He -found his boy with the Hindoo nurse, and brought little Hugh in, -'wildered and wondering. Mr. Churchill by this time had put his -surplice on, and all was ready. Colonel Kirkman had joined his wife, and -stood by her side behind the "couple," furtively grasping his grey -moustache, and looking out of a corner of his eyes at the strange scene. -Mrs. Kirkman, for her part, dropt her eyelids as usual, and looked down -upon Mary kneeling at her feet, with a certain compassionate -uncertainty, sorry that Mrs. Ochterlony did not see this trial to be for -her good, and at the same time wondering within herself whether it _had_ -all been perfectly right, or was not more than a notion of the Major's. -Farther back Miss Sorbette, who was with Annie Hesketh, was giving vent -in a whisper to the same sentiments. - -"I am very sorry for poor Mary: but _could_ it be all quite right -before?" Miss Sorbette was saying. "A man does not take fright like that -for nothing. We women are silly, and take fancies; but when a _man_ does -it, you know----" - -And it was with such an accompaniment that Mary knelt down, not looking -like a Madonna, at her husband's side. As for the Major, an air of -serenity had diffused itself over his handsome features. He knelt in -quite an easy attitude, pleased with himself, and not displeased to be -the centre of so interesting a group. Mary's face was slightly averted -from him, and was burning with the same flush of indignation as when -Mrs. Kirkman found her in her own house. She had taken off her bonnet -and thrown it down by her side; and her hair was shining as if in anger -and resistance to this fate, which, with closed mouth, and clasped -hands, and steady front, she was submitting to, though it was almost as -terrible as death. Such was the curious scene upon which various -subaltern members of society at the station looked on with wondering -eyes. And little Hugh Ochterlony stood near his mother with childish -astonishment, and laid up the singular group in his memory, without -knowing very well what it meant; but that was a sentiment shared by many -persons much more enlightened than the poor little boy, who did not know -how much influence this mysterious transaction might have upon his own -fate. - -The only other special feature was that Mary, with the corners of her -mouth turned down, and her whole soul wound up to obstinacy, would not -call herself by any name but Mary Ochterlony. They persuaded her, -painfully, to put her long disused maiden name upon the register, and -kind Mr. Churchill shut his ears to it in the service; but yet it was a -thing that everybody remarked. When all was over, nobody knew how they -were expected to behave, whether to congratulate the pair, or whether to -disappear and hold their tongues, which seemed in fact the wisest way. -But no popular assembly ever takes the wisest way of working. Mr. -Churchill was the first to decide the action of the party. He descended -the altar steps, and shook hands with Mary, who stood tying her bonnet, -with still the corners of her mouth turned down, and that feverish flush -on her cheeks. He was a good man, though not spiritually-minded in Mrs. -Kirkman's opinion; and he felt the duty of softening and soothing his -flock as much as of teaching them, which is sometimes a great deal less -difficult. He came and shook hands with her, gravely and kindly. - -"I don't see that I need congratulate you, Mrs. Ochterlony," he said, "I -don't suppose it makes much difference; but you know you always have all -our best wishes." And he cast a glance over his audience, and reproved -by that glance the question that was circulating among them. But to tell -the truth, Mrs. Kirkman and Miss Sorbette paid very little attention to -Mr. Churchill's looks. - -"My dear Mary, you have kept up very well, though I am sure it must have -been trying," Mrs. Kirkman said. "Once is bad enough; but I am sure you -will see a good end in it at the last." - -And while she spoke she allowed a kind of silent interrogation, from her -half-veiled eyes, to steal over Mary, and investigate her from head to -foot. _Had_ it been all right before? Might not this perhaps be in -reality the first time, the once which was bad enough? The question -crept over Mrs. Ochterlony, from the roots of her hair down to her feet, -and examined her curiously to find a response. The answer was plain -enough, and yet it was not plain to the Colonel's wife; for she knew -that the heart is deceitful above all things, and that where human -nature is considered it is always safest to believe the worst. - -Miss Sorbette came forward too in her turn, with a grave face. "I am -sure you must feel more comfortable after it, and I am so glad you have -had the moral courage," the doctor's sister said, with a certain -solemnity. But perhaps it was Annie Hesketh, in her innocence, who was -the worst of all. She advanced timidly, with her face in a blaze, like -Mary's own, not knowing where to look, and lost in ingenuous -embarrassment. - -"Oh, dear Mrs. Ochterlony, I don't know what to say," said Annie. "I am -so sorry, and I hope you will always be very, very happy; and mamma -couldn't come----" Here she stopped short, and looked up with candid -eyes, that asked a hundred questions. And Mary's reply was addressed to -her alone. - -"Tell your mamma, Annie, that I am glad she could not come," said the -injured wife. "It was very kind of her." When she had said so much, Mrs. -Ochterlony turned round, and saw her boy standing by, looking at her. It -was only then that she turned to the husband to whom she had just -renewed her troth. She looked full at him, with a look of indignation -and dismay. It was the last drop that made the cup run over; but then, -what was the good of saying anything? That final prick however, brought -her to herself. She shook hands with all the people afterwards, as if -they were dispersing after an ordinary service, and took little Hugh's -hand and went home as if nothing had happened. She left the Major behind -her, and took no notice of him, and did not even, as young Askell -remarked, offer a glass of wine to the assistants at the ceremony, but -went home with her little boy, talking to him, as she did on Sundays -going home from church; and everybody stood and looked after her, as -might have been expected. She knew they were looking after her, and -saying "Poor Mary!" and wondering after all if there must not have been -a very serious cause for this re-marriage. Mary thought to herself that -she knew as well what they were saying as if she had been among them, -and yet she was not entirely so correct in her ideas of what was going -on as she thought. - -In the first place, she could not have imagined how a moment could undo -all the fair years of unblemished life which she had passed among them. -She did not really believe that they would doubt her honour, although -she herself felt it clouded; and at the same time she did not know the -curious compromise between cruelty and kindness, which is all that their -Christian feelings can effect in many commonplace minds, yet which is a -great deal when one comes to think of it. Mrs. Kirkman, arguing from the -foundation of the desperate wickedness of the human heart, had gradually -reasoned herself into the belief that Mary had deceived her, and had -never been truly an honourable wife; but notwithstanding this -conclusion, which in the abstract would have made her cast off the -culprit with utter disdain, the Colonel's wife paused, and was moved, -almost in spite of herself, by the spirit of that faith which she so -often wrapped up and smothered in disguising talk. She did not believe -in Mary; but she did, in a wordy, defective way, in Him who was the son -of a woman, and who came not to condemn; and she could not find it in -her heart to cast off the sinner. Perhaps if Mrs. Ochterlony had known -this divine reason for her friend's charity, it would have struck a -deeper blow than any other indignity to which she had been subjected. -In all her bitter thoughts, it never occurred to her that her neighbour -stood by her as thinking of those Marys who once wept at the Saviour's -feet. Heaven help the poor Madonna, whom all the world had heretofore -honoured! In all her thoughts she never went so far as that. - -The ladies waited a little, and sent away Annie Hesketh, who was too -young for scenes of this sort, though her mamma was so imprudent, and -themselves laid hold of Mr. Churchill, when the other gentlemen had -dispersed. Mr. Churchill was one of those mild missionaries who turn -one's thoughts involuntarily to that much-abused, yet not altogether -despicable institution of a celibate clergy. He was far from being -celibate, poor man! He, or at least his wife, had such a succession of -babies as no man could number. They had children at "home" in genteel -asylums for the sons and daughters of the clergy, and they had children -in the airiest costume at the station, whom people were kind to, and who -were waiting their chance of being sent "home" too; and withal, there -were always more arriving, whom their poor papa received with mild -despair. For his part, he was not one of the happy men who held -appointments under the beneficent rule of the Company, nor was he a -regimental chaplain. He was one of that hapless band who are always -"doing duty" for other and better-off people. He was almost too old now -(though he was not old), and too much hampered and overlaid by children, -to have much hope of anything better than "doing duty" all the rest of -his life; and the condition of Mrs. Churchill, who had generally need of -neighbourly help, and of the children, who were chiefly clothed--such -clothing as it was--by the bounty of the Colonel's and Major's and -Captain's wives, somehow seemed to give these ladies the upper hand of -their temporary pastor. He managed well enough among the men, who -respected his goodness, and recognised him to be a gentleman, -notwithstanding his poverty; but he stood in terror of the women, who -were more disposed to interfere, and who were kind to his family and -patronised himself. He tried hard on this occasion, as on many others, -to escape, but he was hemmed in, and no outlet was left him. If he had -been a celibate brother, there can be little doubt it would have been he -who would have had the upper hand; but with all his family burdens and -social obligations, the despotism of the ladies of his flock came hard -upon the poor clergyman; all the more that, poor though he was, and -accustomed to humiliations, he had not learned yet to dispense with the -luxury of feelings and delicacies of his own. - -"Mr. Churchill, do give us your advice," said Miss Sorbette, who was -first. "Do tell us what all this means? They surely must have told _you_ -at least the rights of it. Do you think they have really never been -married all this time? Goodness gracious me! to think of us all -receiving her, and calling her Madonna, and all that, if this be true! -Do you think----" - -"I don't think anything but what Major Ochterlony told me," said Mr. -Churchill, with a little emphasis. "I have not the least doubt he told -me the truth. The witnesses of their marriage are dead, and that -wretched place at Gretna was burnt down, and he is afraid that his wife -would have no means of proving her marriage in case of anything -happening to him. I don't know what reason there can be to suppose that -Major Ochterlony, who is a Christian and a gentleman, said anything that -was not true." - -"My dear Mr. Churchill," said Mrs. Kirkman, with a sigh, "you are so -charitable. If one could but hope that the poor dear Major was a true -Christian, as you say. But one has no evidence of any vital change in -his case. And, dear Mary!--I have made up my mind for one thing, that it -shall make no difference to me. Other people can do as they like, but so -far as I am concerned, I can but think of our Divine Example," said the -Colonel's wife. It was a real sentiment, and she meant well, and was -actually thinking as well as talking of that Divine Example; but still -somehow the words made the blood run cold in the poor priest's veins. - -"What can you mean, Mrs. Kirkman?" he said. "Mrs. Ochterlony is as she -always was, a person whom we all may be proud to know." - -"Yes, yes," said Miss Sorbette, who interrupted them both without any -ceremony; "but that is not what I am asking. As for his speaking the -truth as a Christian and a gentleman, I don't give much weight to that. -If he has been deceiving us for all these years, you may be sure he -would not stick at a fib to end off with. What is one to do? I don't -believe it could ever have been a good marriage, for my part!" - -This was the issue to which she had come by dint of thinking it over and -discussing it; although the doctor's sister, like the Colonel's wife, -had got up that morning with the impression that Major Ochterlony's -fidgets had finally driven him out of his senses, and that Mary was the -most ill-used woman in the world. - -"And I believe exactly the contrary," said the clergyman, with some -heat. "I believe in an honourable man and a pure-minded woman. I had -rather give up work altogether than reject such an obvious truth." - -"Ah, Mr. Churchill," Mrs. Kirkman said again, "we must not rest in these -vain appearances. We are all vile creatures, and the heart is deceitful -above all things. I do fear that you are taking too charitable a view." - -"Yes," said Mr. Churchill, but perhaps he made a different application -of the words; "I believe that about the heart; but then it shows its -wickedness generally in a sort of appropriate, individual way. I daresay -_they_ have their thorns in the flesh, like the rest; but it is not -falsehood and wantonness that are their besetting sins," said the poor -man, with a plainness of speech which put his hearers to the blush. - -"Goodness gracious! remember that you are talking to ladies, Mr. -Churchill," Miss Sorbette said, and put down her veil. It was not a fact -he was very likely to forget; and then he put on his hat as they left -the chapel, and hoped he was now free to go upon his way. - -"Stop a minute, please," said Miss Sorbette. "I should like to know what -course of action is going to be decided on. I am very sorry for Mary, -but so long as her character remains under this doubt----" - -"It shall make no difference to me," said Mrs. Kirkman. "I don't pretend -to regulate anybody's actions, Sabina; but when one thinks of Mary of -Bethany! She may have done wrong, but I hope this occurrence will be -blessed to her soul. I felt sure she wanted something to bring her low, -and make her feel her need," the Colonel's wife added, with solemnity; -"and it is such a lesson for us all. In other circumstances, the same -thing might have happened to you or me." - -"It could never have happened to me," said Miss Sorbette, with sudden -wrath; which was a fortunate diversion for Mr. Churchill. This was how -her friends discussed her after Mary had gone away from her second -wedding; and perhaps they were harder upon her than she had supposed -even in her secret thoughts. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - -But the worst of all to Mrs. Ochterlony was that little Hugh had been -there--Hugh, who was six years old, and so intelligent for his age. The -child was very anxious to know what it meant, and why she knelt by his -father's side while all the other people were standing. Was it something -particular they were praying for, which Mrs. Kirkman, and the rest did -not want? Mary satisfied him as she best could, and by-and-by he forgot, -and began to play with his little brother as usual; but his mother knew -that so strange a scene could not fail to leave some impression. She sat -by herself that long day, avoiding her husband for perhaps the first -time in her life, and imagining a hundred possibilities to herself. It -seemed to her as if everybody who ever heard of her henceforth must hear -of this, and as if she must go through the world with a continual doubt -upon her; and Mary's weakness was to prize fair reputation and spotless -honour above everything in the world. Perhaps Mrs. Kirkman was not so -far wrong after all, and there was a higher meaning in the unlooked-for -blow that thus struck her at her tenderest point; but that was an idea -she could not receive. She could not think that God had anything to do -with her husband's foolish restlessness, and her own impatient -submission. It was a great deal more like a malicious devil's work, than -anything a beneficent providence could have arranged. This way of -thinking was far from bringing Mary any consolation or solace, but still -there was a certain reasonableness in her thoughts. And then an -indistinct foreboding of harm to her children, she did not know what, or -how to be brought about, weighed upon Mary's mind. She kept looking at -them as they played beside her, and thinking how, in the far future, the -meaning of that scene he had been a witness to might flash into Hugh's -mind when he was a man, and throw a bewildering doubt upon his mother's -name, which perhaps she might not be living to clear up; and these ideas -stung her like a nest of serpents, each waking up and darting its venom -to her heart at a separate moment. She had been very sad and very sorry -many a time before in her life,--she had tasted all the usual sufferings -of humanity; and yet she had never been what may be called _unhappy_, -tortured from within and without, dissatisfied with herself and -everything about her. Major Ochterlony was in every sense of the word a -good husband, and he had been Mary's support and true companion in all -her previous troubles. He might be absurd now and then, but he never was -anything but kind and tender and sympathetic, as was the nature of the -man. But the special feature of this misfortune was that it irritated -and set her in arms against him, that it separated her from her closest -friend and all her friends, and that it made even the sight and thought -of her children, a pain to her among all her other pains. - -This was the wretched way in which Mary spent the day of her second -wedding. Naturally, Major Ochterlony brought people in with him to lunch -(probably it should be written tiffin, but our readers will accept the -generic word), and was himself in the gayest spirits, and insisted upon -champagne, though he knew they could not afford it. "We ate our real -wedding breakfast all by ourselves in that villanous little place at -Gretna," he said, with a boy's enthusiasm, "and had trout out of the -Solway: don't you recollect, Mary? Such trout! What a couple of happy -young fools we were; and if every Gretna Green marriage turned out like -mine!" the Major added, looking at his wife with beaming eyes. She had -been terribly wounded by his hand, and was suffering secret torture, and -was full of the irritation of pain; and yet she could not so steel her -heart as not to feel a momentary softening at sight of the love and -content in his eyes. But though he loved her he had sacrificed all her -scruples, and thrown a shadow upon her honour, and filled her heart with -bitterness, to satisfy an unreasonable fancy of his own, and give peace, -as he said, to his mind. All this was very natural, but in the pain of -the moment it seemed almost inconceivable to Mary, who was obliged to -conceal her mortification and suffering, and minister to her guests as -she was wont to do, without making any show of the shadow that she felt -to have fallen upon her life. - -It was, however, tacitly agreed by the ladies of the station to make no -difference, according to the example of the Colonel's wife. Mrs. Kirkman -had resolved upon that charitable course from the highest motives, but -the others were perhaps less elevated in their principles of conduct. -Mrs. Hesketh, who was quite a worldly-minded woman, concluded it would -be absurd for one to take any step unless they all did, and that on the -whole, whatever were the rights of it, Mary could be no worse than she -had been for all the long time they had known her. As for Miss Sorbette, -who was strong-minded, she was disposed to consider that the moral -courage the Ochterlonys had displayed in putting an end to an -unsatisfactory state of affairs merited public appreciation. Little Mrs. -Askell, for her part, rushed headlong as soon as she heard of it, which -fortunately was not till it was all over, to see her suffering -protectress. Perhaps it was at that moment, for the first time, that the -ensign's wife felt the full benefit of being a married lady, able to -stand up for her friend and stretch a small wing of championship over -her. She rushed into Mrs. Ochterlony's presence and arms like a little -tempest, and cried and sobbed and uttered inarticulate exclamations on -her friend's shoulder, to Mary's great surprise, who thought something -had happened to her. Fortunately the little eighteen-year-old matron, -after the first incoherence was over, began to find out that Mrs. -Ochterlony looked the same as ever, and that nothing tragical could have -happened, and so restrained the offer of her own countenance and -support, which would have been more humbling to Mary than all the -desertion in the world. - -"What is the matter, my dear?" said Mrs. Ochterlony, who had regained -her serene looks, though not her composed mind; and little Irish Emma, -looking at her, was struck with such a sense of her own absurdity and -temerity and ridiculous pretensions, that she very nearly broke down -again. - -"I've been quarrelling with Charlie," the quick-witted girl said, with -the best grace she could, and added in her mind a secret clause to -soften down the fiction,--"he is so aggravating; and when I saw my -Madonna looking so sweet and so still----" - -"Hush!" said Mary "there was no need for crying about that--nor for -telling fibs either," she added, with a smile that went to the heart of -the ensign's wife. "You see there is nothing the matter with me," Mrs. -Ochterlony added; but notwithstanding her perfect composure it was in a -harder tone. - -"I never expected anything else," said the impetuous little woman; "as -if any nonsense could do any harm to you! And I love the Major, and I -always have stood up for him; but oh, I should just like for once to box -his ears." - -"Hush!" said Mary again; and then the need she had of sympathy prompted -her for one moment to descend to the level of the little girl beside -her, who was all sympathy and no criticism, which Mary knew to be a kind -of friendship wonderfully uncommon in this world. "It did me no harm," -she said, feeling a certain relief in dropping her reserve, and making -visible the one thing of which they were both thinking, and which had no -need of being identified by name. "It did me no harm, and it pleased -him. I don't deny that it hurt at the time," Mary added after a little -pause, with a smile; "but that is all over now. You need not cry over -me, my dear." - -"I--cry over you," cried the prevaricating Emma, "as if such a thing had -ever come into my head; but I _did_ feel glad I was a married lady," the -little thing added; and then saw her mistake, and blushed and faltered -and did not know what to say next. Mrs. Ochterlony knew very well what -her young visitor meant, but she took no notice, as was the wisest way. -She had steeled herself to all the consequences by this time, and knew -she must accustom herself to such allusions and to take no notice of -them. But it was hard upon her, who had been so good to the child, to -think that little Emma was glad she was a married lady, and could in her -turn give a certain countenance. All these sharp, secret, unseen arrows -went direct to Mary's heart. - -But on the whole the regiment kept its word and made no difference. Mrs. -Kirkman called every Wednesday and took Mary with her to the -prayer-meeting which she held among the soldiers' wives, and where she -said she was having much precious fruit; and was never weary of -representing to her companion that she had need of being brought down -and humbled, and that for her part she would rejoice in anything that -would bring her dear Mary to a more serious way of thinking; which was -an expression of feeling perfectly genuine on Mrs. Kirkman's part, -though at the same time she felt more and more convinced that Mrs. -Ochterlony had been deceiving her, and was not by any means an innocent -sufferer. The Colonel's wife was quite sincere in both these beliefs, -though it would be hard to say how she reconciled them to each other; -but then a woman is not bound to be logical, whether she belongs to High -or Low Church. At the same time she brought Mary sermons to read, with -passages marked, which were adapted for both these states of -feeling,--some consoling the righteous who were chastened because they -were beloved, and some exhorting the sinners who had been long callous -and now were beginning to awaken to a sense of their sins. Perhaps Mary, -who was not very discriminating in point of sermon-books, read both with -equal innocence, not seeing their special application: but she could -scarcely be so blind when her friend discoursed at the Mothers' Meeting -upon the Scripture Marys, and upon her who wept at the Saviour's feet. -Mrs. Ochterlony understood then, and never forgot afterwards, that it -was _that_ Mary with whom, in the mind of one of her most intimate -associates, she had come to be identified. Not the Mary blessed among -women, the type of motherhood and purity, but the other Mary, who was -forgiven much because she had much loved. That night she went home with -a swelling heart, wondering over the great injustice of human ways and -dealings, and crying within herself to the Great Spectator who knew all -against the evil thoughts of her neighbours. Was that what they all -believed of her, all these women? and yet she had done nothing to -deserve it, not so much as by a light look, or thought, or word; and it -was not as if she could defend herself, or convince them of their -cruelty: for nobody accused her, nobody reproached her--her friends, as -they all said, made no difference. This was the sudden cloud that came -over Mary in the very fairest and best moment of her life. - -But as for the Major, he knew nothing about all that. It had been done -for his peace of mind, and until the next thing occurred to worry him he -was radiant with good-humour and satisfaction. If he saw at any time a -cloud on his wife's face, he thought it was because of that approaching -necessity which took the pleasure out of everything even to himself, for -the moment, when he thought of it--the necessity of sending Hugh "home." -"We shall still have Islay for a few years at least, my darling," he -would say, in his affectionate way; "and then the baby,"--for there was -a baby, which had come some time after the event which we have just -narrated. That too must have had something to do, no doubt, with Mary's -low spirits. "He'll get along famously with Aunt Agatha, and get -spoiled, that fellow will," the Major said; "and as for Islay, we'll -make a man of him." And except at those moments, when, as we have just -said, the thoughts of his little Hugh's approaching departure struck -him, Major Ochterlony was as happy and light-hearted as a man who is -very well off in all his domestic concerns, and getting on in his -profession, and who has a pleasant consciousness of doing his duty to -all men and a grateful sense of the mercies of God, should be, and -naturally is. When two people are yoked for life together, there is -generally one of the two who bears the burden, while the other takes -things easy. Sometimes it is the husband, as is fit and right, who has -the heavy weight on his shoulders; but sometimes, and oftener than -people think, it is the wife. And perhaps this was why Major Ochterlony -was so frisky in his harness, and Madonna Mary felt her serenity fall -into sadness, and was conscious of going on very slowly and heavily upon -the way of life. Not that he was to blame, who was now, as always, the -best husband in the regiment, or even in the world. Mary would not for -all his fidgets, not for any reward, have changed him against Colonel -Kirkman with his fishy eye, nor against Captain Hesketh's jolly -countenance, nor for anybody else within her range of vision. He was -very far from perfect, and in utter innocence had given her a wound -which throbbed and bled daily whichever way she turned herself, and -which she would never cease to feel all her life; but still at the same -time he stood alone in the world, so far as Mary's heart was concerned: -for true love is, of all things on earth, the most pertinacious and -unreasonable, let the philosophers say what they will. - -And then the baby, for his part, was not like what the other babies had -been; he was not a great fellow, like Hugh and Islay; but puny and -pitiful and weakly,--a little selfish soul that would leave his mother -no rest. She had been content to leave the other boys to Providence and -Nature, tending them tenderly, wholesomely, and not too much, and hoping -to make men of them some day; but with this baby Mary fell to dreaming, -wondering often as he lay in her lap what his future would be. She used -to ask herself unconsciously, without knowing why, what his influence -might be on the lives of his brothers, who were like and yet so unlike -him: though when she roused up she rebuked herself, and thought how much -more reasonable it would be to speculate upon Hugh's influence, who was -the eldest, or even upon Islay, who had the longest head in the -regiment, and looked as if he meant to make some use of it one day. To -think of the influence of little weakly Wilfrid coming to be of any -permanent importance in the lives of those two strong fellows seemed -absurd enough; and yet it was an idea which would come back to her, when -she thought without thinking, and escaped as it were into a spontaneous -state of mind. The name even was a weak-minded sort of name, and did not -please Mary; and all sorts of strange fancies came into her head as she -sat with the pitiful little peevish baby, who insisted upon having all -her attention, lying awake and fractious upon her wearied knee. - -Thus it was that the first important scene of her history came to an -end, with thorns which she never dreamed of planted in Mrs. Ochterlony's -way, and a still greater and more unthought-of cloud rising slowly upon -the broken serenity of her life. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - -Everything however went on well enough at the station for some time -after the great occurrence which counted for so much in Mrs. -Ochterlony's history; and the Major was very peaceable, for him, and -nothing but trifling matters being in his way to move him, had fewer -fidgets than usual. To be sure he was put out now and then by something -the Colonel said or did, or by Hesketh's well-off-ness, which had come -to the length of a moral peculiarity, and was trying to a man; but these -little disturbances fizzed themselves out, and got done with without -troubling anybody much. There was a lull, and most people were -surprised at it and disposed to think that something must be the matter -with the Major; but there was nothing the matter. Probably it occurred -to him now and then that his last great fidget had rather gone a step -too far--but this is mere conjecture, for he certainly never said so. -And then, after a while, he began to play, as it were, with the next -grand object of uneasiness which was to distract his existence. This was -the sending "home" of little Hugh. It was not that he did not feel to -the utmost the blank this event would cause in the house, and the -dreadful tug at his heart, and the difference it would make to Mary. But -at the same time it was a thing that had to be done, and Major -Ochterlony hoped his feelings would never make him fail in his duty. He -used to feel Hugh's head if it was hot, and look at his tongue at all -sorts of untimely moments, which Mary knew meant nothing, but yet which -made her thrill and tremble to her heart; and then he would shake his -own head and look sad. "I would give him a little quinine, my dear," he -would say; and then Mary, out of her very alarm and pain, would turn -upon him. - -"Why should I give him quinine? It is time enough when he shows signs of -wanting it. The child is quite well, Hugh." But there was a certain -quiver in Mrs. Ochterlony's voice which the Major could not and did not -mistake. - -"Oh yes, he is quite well," he would reply; "come and let me feel if you -have any flesh on your bones, old fellow. He is awfully thin, Mary. I -don't think he would weigh half so much as he did a year ago if you were -to try. I don't want to alarm you, my dear; but we must do it sooner or -later, and in a thing that is so important for the child, we must not -think of ourselves," said Major Ochterlony; and then again he laid his -hand with that doubting, experimenting look upon the boy's brow, to feel -"if there was any fever," as he said. - -"He is quite well," said Mary, who felt as if she were going distracted -while this pantomime went on. "You do frighten me, though you don't mean -it; but I _know_ he is quite well." - -"Oh yes," said Major Ochterlony, with a sigh; and he kissed his little -boy solemnly, and set him down as if things were in a very bad way; "he -is quite well. But I have seen when five or six hours have changed all -that," he added with a still more profound sigh, and got up as if he -could not bear further consideration of the subject, and went out and -strolled into somebody's quarters, where Mary did not see how -light-hearted he was half-and-hour after, quite naturally, because he -had poured out his uneasiness, and a little more, and got quite rid of -it, leaving her with the arrow sticking in her heart. No wonder that -Mrs. Kirkman, who came in as the Major went out, said that even a very -experienced Christian would have found it trying. As for Mary, when she -woke up in the middle of the night, which little peevish Wilfrid gave -her plenty of occasion to do, she used to steal off as soon as she had -quieted that baby-tyrant, and look at her eldest boy in his little bed, -and put her soft hand on his head, and stoop over him to listen to his -breathing. And sometimes she persuaded herself that his forehead _was_ -hot, which it was quite likely to be, and got no more sleep that night; -though as for the Major, he was a capital sleeper. And then somehow it -was not so easy as it had been to conclude that it was only his way; for -after his way had once brought about such consequences as in that -re-marriage which Mary felt a positive physical pain in remembering, it -was no longer to be taken lightly. The consequence was, that Mrs. -Ochterlony wound herself up, and summoned all her courage, and wrote to -Aunt Agatha, though she thought it best, until she had an answer, to say -nothing about it; and she began to look over all little Hugh's wardrobe, -to make and mend, and consider within herself what warm things she could -get him for the termination of that inevitable voyage, and to think what -might happen before she had these little things of his in her care -again--how they would wear out and be replenished, and his mother have -no hand in it--and how he would get on without her. She used to make -pictures of the little forlorn fellow on shipboard, and how he would cry -himself to sleep, till the tears came dropping on her needle and rusted -it; and then would try to think how good Aunt Agatha would be to him, -but was not to say comforted by that--not so much as she ought to have -been. There was nothing in the least remarkable in all this, but only -what a great many people have to go through, and what Mrs. Ochterlony no -doubt would go through with courage when the inevitable moment came. It -was the looking forward to and rehearsing it, and the Major's awful -suggestions, and the constant dread of feeling little Hugh's head hot, -or his tongue white, and thinking it was her fault--this was what made -it so hard on Mary; though Major Ochterlony never meant to alarm her, as -anybody might see. - -"I think he should certainly go home," Mrs. Kirkman said. "It is a -trial, but it is one of the trials that will work for good. I don't like -to blame you, Mary, but I have always thought your children were a -temptation to you; oh, take care!--if you were to make idols of -them----" - -"I don't make idols of them," said Mrs. Ochterlony, hastily; and then -she added, with an effort of self-control which stopped even the rising -colour on her cheek, "You know I don't agree with you about these -things." She did not agree with Mrs. Kirkman; and yet to tell the truth, -where so much is concerned, it is a little hard for a woman, however -convinced she may be of God's goodness, not to fail in her faith and -learn to think that, after all, the opinion which would make an end of -her best hopes and her surest confidence may be true. - -"I know you don't agree with me," said the Colonel's wife, sitting down -with a sigh. "Oh, Mary, if you only knew how much I would give to see -you taking these things to heart--to see you not almost, but altogether -such as I am," she added, with sudden pathos. "If you would but remember -that these blessings are only lent us--that we don't know what day or -hour they may be taken back again----" - -All this Mary listened to with a rising of nature in her heart against -it, and yet with that wavering behind,--What if it might be true? - -"Don't speak to me so," she said. "You always make me think that -something is going to happen. As if God grudged us our little happiness. -Don't talk of lending and taking back again. If _He_ is not a cheerful -giver, who can be?" For she was carried away by her feelings, and was -not quite sure what she was saying--and at the same time, it comes so -much easier to human nature to think that God grudges and takes back -again, and is not a cheerful giver. As for Mrs. Kirkman, she thought it -sinful so much as to imagine anything of the kind. - -"It grieves me to hear you speak in that loose sort of latitudinarian -way," she said; "oh, my dear Mary, if you could only see how much need -you have to be brought low. When one cross is not enough, another -comes--and I feel that you are not going to be let alone. This trial, if -you take it in a right spirit, may have the most blessed consequences. -It must be to keep you from making an idol of him, my dear--for if he -takes up your heart from better things----" - -What could Mary say? She stopped in her work to give her hands an -impatient wring together, by way of expressing somehow in secret to -herself the impatience with which she listened. Yet perhaps, after all, -it might be true. Perhaps God was not such a Father as He, the supreme -and all-loving, whom her own motherhood shadowed forth in Mary's heart, -but such a one as those old pedant fathers, who took away pleasures and -reclaimed gifts, for discipline's sake. Perhaps--for when a heart has -everything most dear to it at stake, it has such a miserable inclination -to believe the worst of Him who leaves his explanation to the end,--Mary -thought perhaps it might be true, and that God her Father might be lying -in wait for her somewhere to crush her to the ground for having too much -pleasure in his gift,--which was the state of mind which her friend, who -was at the bottom of her heart a good woman, would have liked to bring -about. - -"I think it is simply because we are in India," said Mrs. Ochterlony, -recovering herself; "it is one of the conditions of our lot. It is a -very hard condition, but of course we have to bear it. I think, for my -part, that God, instead of doing it to punish me, is sorry for me, and -that He would mend it and spare us if something else did not make it -necessary. But perhaps it is you who are right," she added, faltering -again, and wondering if it was wrong to believe that God, in a wonderful -supreme way, must be acting, somehow as in a blind ineffective way, she, -a mother, would do to her children. But happily her companion was not -aware of that profane thought. And then, Mrs. Hesketh had come in, who -looked at the question from entirely a different point of view. - -"We have all got to do it, you know," said that comfortable woman, -"whether we idolize them or not. I don't see what that has to do with -it; but then I never do understand _you_. The great thing is, if you -have somebody nice to send them to. One's mother is a great comfort for -that; but then, there is one's husband's friends to think about. I am -not sure, for my own part, that a good school is not the best. _That_ -can't offend anybody, you know; neither your own people, nor _his_; and -then they can go all round in the holidays. Mine have all got on -famously," said Mrs Hesketh; and nobody who looked at her could have -thought anything else. Though, indeed, Mrs. Hesketh's well-off-ness was -not nearly so disagreeable or offensive to other people as her -husband's, who had his balance at his banker's written on his face; -whereas in her case it was only evident that she was on the best of -terms with her milliner and her jeweller, and all her tradespeople, and -never had any trouble with her bills. Mary sat between the woman who had -no children, and who thought she made idols of her boys--and the woman -who had quantities of children, and saw no reason why anybody should be -much put out of their way about them; and neither the one nor the other -knew what she meant, any more than she perhaps knew exactly what they -meant, though, as was natural, the latter idea did not much strike her. -And the sole strengthening which Mrs. Ochterlony drew from this talk -was a resolution never to say anything more about it; to keep what she -was thinking of to herself, and shut another door in her heart, which, -after all, is a process which has to be pretty often repeated as one -goes through the world. - -"But Mary has no friends--no _female_ friends, poor thing. It is so sad -for a girl when that happens, and accounts for so many things," the -Colonel's wife said, dropping the lids over her eyes, and with an -imperceptible shake of her head, which brought the little chapel and the -scene of her second marriage in a moment before Mary's indignant eyes; -"but there is one good even in that, for it gives greater ground for -faith; when we have nothing and nobody to cling to----" - -"We were talking of the children," Mrs. Hesketh broke in calmly. "If I -were you I should keep Hugh until Islay was old enough to go with him. -They are such companions to each other, you know, and two children don't -cost much more than one. If I were you, Mary, I would send the two -together. I always did it with mine. And I am sure you have somebody -that will take care of them; one always has somebody in one's eye; and -as for female friends----" - -Mary stopped short the profanity which doubtless her comfortable visitor -was about to utter on the subject. "I have nothing but female friends," -she said, with a natural touch of sharpness in her voice. "I have an -aunt and a sister who are my nearest relatives--and it is there Hugh is -going," for the prick of offence had been good for her nerves, and -strung them up. - -"Then I can't see what you have to be anxious about," said Mrs. Hesketh; -"some people always make a fuss about things happening to children; why -should anything happen to them? mine have had everything, I think, that -children can have, and never been a bit the worse; and though it makes -one uncomfortable at the time to think of their being ill, and so far -away if anything should happen, still, if you know they are in good -hands, and that everything is done that can be done---- And then, one -never hears till the worst is over," said the well-off woman, drawing -her lace shawl round her. "Good-by, Mary, and don't fret; there is -nothing that is not made worse by fretting about it; I never do, for my -part." - -Mrs. Kirkman threw a glance of pathetic import out of the corners of her -down-dropped eyes at the large departing skirts of Mary's other visitor. -The Colonel's wife was one of the people who always stay last, and her -friends generally cut their visits short when they encountered her, with -a knowledge of this peculiarity, and at the same time an awful sense of -something that would be said when they had withdrawn. "Not that I care -for what she says," Mrs. Hesketh murmured to herself as she went out, -"and Mary ought to know better at least;" but at the same time, society -at the station, though it was quite used to it, did not like to think of -the sigh, and the tender, bitter lamentations which would be made over -them when they took their leave. Mrs. Hesketh was not sensitive, but she -could not help feeling a little aggrieved, and wondering what special -view of her evil ways her regimental superior would take this time--for -in so limited a community, everybody knew about everybody, and any -little faults one might have were not likely to be hid. - -Mrs. Kirkman had risen too, and when Mary came back from the door the -Colonel's wife came and sat down beside her on the sofa, and took Mrs. -Ochterlony's hand. "She would be very nice, if she only took a little -thought about the one thing needful," said Mrs. Kirkman, with the usual -sigh. "What does it matter about all the rest? Oh, Mary, if we could -only choose the good part which cannot be taken away from us!" - -"But surely, we all try a little after that," said Mary. "She is a kind -woman, and very good to the poor. And how can we tell what her thoughts -are? I don't think we ever understand each other's thoughts." - -"I never pretend to understand. I judge according to the Scripture -rule," said Mrs. Kirkman; "you are too charitable, Mary; and too often, -you know, charity only means laxness. Oh, I cannot tell you how those -people are all laid upon my soul! Colonel Kirkman being the principal -officer, you know, and so little real Christian work to be expected from -Mr. Churchill, the responsibility is terrible. I feel sometimes as if I -must die under it. If their blood should be demanded at my hands!" - -"But surely God must care a little about them Himself," said Mrs. -Ochterlony. "Don't you think so? I cannot think that He has left it all -upon you----" - -"Dear Mary, if you but give me the comfort of thinking I had been of use -to _you_," said Mrs. Kirkman, pressing Mary's hand. And when she went -away she believed that she had done her duty by Mrs. Ochterlony at -least; and felt that perhaps, as a brand snatched from the burning, this -woman, who was so wrapped up in regard for the world and idolatry of her -children, might still be brought into a better state. From this it will -be seen that the painful impression made by the marriage had a little -faded out of the mind of the station. It was there, waiting any chance -moment or circumstance that might bring the name of Madonna Mary into -question; but in the meantime, for the convenience of ordinary life, it -had been dropped. It was a nuisance to keep up a sort of shadowy censure -which never came to anything, and by tacit consent the thing had -dropped. For it was a very small community, and if any one had to be -tabooed, the taboo must have been complete and crushing, and nobody had -the courage for that. And so gradually the cloudiness passed away like a -breath on a mirror, and Mary to all appearance was among them as she had -been before. Only no sort of compromise could really obliterate the fact -from anybody's recollection, or above all from her own mind. - -And Mary went back to little Hugh's wardrobe when her visitors were -gone, with that sense of having shut another door in her heart which has -already been mentioned. It is so natural to open all the doors and leave -all the chambers open to the day; but when people walk up to the -threshold and look in and turn blank looks of surprise or sad looks of -disapproval upon you, what is to be done but to shut the door? Mrs. -Ochterlony thought as most people do, that it was almost incredible that -her neighbours did not understand what she meant; and she thought too, -like an inexperienced woman, that this was an accident of the station, -and that elsewhere other people knew better, which was a very fortunate -thought, and did her good. And so she continued to put her boy's things -in order, and felt half angry when she saw the Major come in, and knew -beforehand that he was going to resume his pantomime with little Hugh, -and to try if his head was hot and look at his tongue. If his tongue -turned out to be white and his head feverish, then Mary knew that he -would think it was her fault, and began to long for Aunt Agatha's -letter, which she had been fearing, and which might be looked for by the -next mail. - -As for the Major, he came home with the air of a man who has hit upon a -new trouble. His wife saw it before he had been five minutes in the -house. She saw it in his eyes, which sought her and retired from her in -their significant restless way, as if studying how to begin. In former -days Mrs. Ochterlony, when she saw this, used to help her husband out; -but recently she had had no heart for that, and he was left unaided to -make a beginning for himself. She took no notice of his fidgeting, nor -of the researches he made all about the room, and all the things he put -out of their places. She could wait until he informed her what it was. -But Mary felt a little nervous until such time as her husband had seated -himself opposite her, and began to pull her working things about, and to -take up little Hugh's linen blouses which she had been setting in order. -Then the Major heaved a demonstrative sigh. He meant to be asked what -it meant, and even gave a glance up at her from the corner of his eye to -see if she remarked it, but Mary was hard-hearted and would take no -notice. He had to take all the trouble himself. - -"He will want warmer things when he goes home," said the Major. "You -must write to Aunt Agatha about that, Mary. I have been thinking a great -deal about his going home. I don't know how I shall get on without him, -nor you either, my darling; but it is for his good. How old is Islay?" -Major Ochterlony added with a little abruptness: and then his wife knew -what it was. - -"Islay is not quite three," said Mary, quietly, as if the question was -of no importance; but for all that her heart began to jump and beat -against her breast. - -"Three! and so big for his age," said the guilty Major, labouring with -his secret meaning. "I don't want to vex you, Mary, my love, but I was -thinking perhaps when Hugh went; it comes to about the same thing, you -see--the little beggar would be dreadfully solitary by himself, and I -don't see it would make any difference to Aunt Agatha----" - -"It would make a difference to _me_," said Mary. "Oh, Hugh, don't be so -cruel to me. I cannot let him go so young. If Hugh must go, it may be -for _his_ good--but not for Islay's, who is only a baby. He would not -know us or have any recollection of us. Don't make me send both of my -boys away." - -"You would still have the baby," said the Major. "My darling, I am not -going to do anything without your consent. Islay looked dreadfully -feverish the other day, you know. I told you so; and as I was coming -home I met Mrs. Hesketh----" - -"You took _her_ advice about it," said Mary, with a little bitterness. -As for the Major, he set his Mary a whole heaven above such a woman as -Mrs. Hesketh, and yet he _had_ taken her advice about it, and it -irritated him a little to perceive his wife's tone of reproach. - -"If I listened to her advice it is because she is a very sensible -woman," said Major Ochterlony. "You are so heedless, my dear. When your -children's health is ruined, you know, that is not the time to send them -home. We ought to do it now, while they are quite well; though indeed I -thought Islay very feverish the other night," he added, getting up again -in his restless way. And then the Major was struck with compunction when -he saw Mary bending down over her work, and remembered how constantly -she was there, working for them, and how much more trouble those -children cost her than they ever could cost him. "My love," he said, -coming up to her and laying his hand caressingly upon her bent head, "my -bonnie Mary! you did not think I meant that you cared less for them, or -what was for their good, than I do? It will be a terrible trial; but -then, if it is for their good and our own peace of mind----" - -"God help me," said Mary, who was a little beside herself. "I don't -think you will leave me any peace of mind. You will drive me to do what -I think wrong, or, if I don't do it, you will make me think that -everything that happens is my fault. You don't mean it, but you are -cruel, Hugh." - -"I am sure I don't mean it," said the Major, who, as usual, had had his -say out; "and when you come to think--but we will say no more about it -to-night. Give me your book, and I will read to you for an hour or two. -It is a comfort to come in to you and get a little peace. And after all, -my love, Mrs. Hesketh means well, and she's a very sensible woman. I -don't like Hesketh, but there's not a word to say against her. They are -all very kind and friendly. We are in great luck in our regiment. Is -this your mark where you left off? Don't let us say anything more about -it, Mary, for to-night." - -"No," said Mrs. Ochterlony, with a sigh; but she knew in her heart that -the Major would begin to feel Islay's head, if it was hot, and look at -his tongue, as he had done to Hugh's, and drive her out of her senses; -and that, most likely, when she had come to an end of her powers, she -would be beaten and give in at last. But they said no more about it that -night; and the Major got so interested in the book that he sat all the -evening reading, and Mary got very well on with her work. Major -Ochterlony was so interested that he even forgot to look as if he -thought the children feverish when they came to say good-night, which -was the most wonderful relief to his wife. If thoughts came into her -head while she trimmed little Hugh's blouses, of another little -three-year-old traveller tottering by his brother's side, and going away -on the stormy dangerous sea, she kept them to herself. It did not seem -to her as if she could outlive the separation, nor how she could permit -a ship so richly freighted to sail away into the dark distance and the -terrible storms; and yet she knew that she must outlive it, and that it -must happen, if not now, yet at least some time. It is the condition of -existence for the English sojourners in India. And what was she more -than another, that any one should think there was any special hardship -in her case? - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - -The next mail was an important one in many ways. It was to bring Aunt -Agatha's letter about little Hugh, and it did bring something which had -still more effect upon the Ochterlony peace of mind. The Major, as has -been already said, was not a man to be greatly excited by the arrival of -the mail. All his close and pressing interests were at present -concentrated in the station. His married sisters wrote to him now and -then, and he was very glad to get their letters, and to hear when a new -niece or nephew arrived, which was the general burden of these epistles. -Sometimes it was a death, and Major Ochterlony was sorry; but neither -the joy nor the sorrow disturbed him much. For he was far away, and he -was tolerably happy himself, and could bear with equanimity the -vicissitudes in the lot of his friends. But this time the letter which -arrived was of a different description. It was from his brother, the -head of the house--who was a little of an invalid and a good deal of a -dilettante, and gave the Major no nephews or nieces, being indeed a -confirmed bachelor of the most hopeless kind. He was a man who never -wrote letters, so that the communication was a little startling. And yet -there was nothing very particular in it. Something had occurred to make -Mr. Ochterlony think of his brother, and the consequence was that he had -drawn his writing things to his hand and written a few kind words, with -a sense of having done something meritorious to himself and deeply -gratifying to Hugh. He sent his love to Mary, and hoped the little -fellow was all right who was, he supposed, to carry on the family -honours--"if there are any family honours," the Squire had said, not -without an agreeable sense that there was something in his last paper on -the "Coins of Agrippa," that the Numismatic Society would not willingly -let die. This was the innocent morsel of correspondence which had come -to the Major's hand. Mary was sitting by with the baby on her lap while -he read it, and busy with a very different kind of communication. She -was reading Aunt Agatha's letter which she had been dreading and wishing -for, and her heart was growing sick over the innocent flutter of -expectation and kindness and delight which was in it. Every assurance of -the joy she would feel in seeing little Hugh, and the care she would -take of him, which the simple-minded writer sent to be a comfort to -Mary, came upon the mother's unreasonable mind like a kind of injury. -To think that anybody could be happy about an occurrence that would be -so terrible to her; to think that anybody could have the bad taste to -say that they looked with impatience for the moment that to Mary would -be like dying! She was unhinged, and for the first time, perhaps, in her -life, her nerves were thoroughly out of order, and she was unreasonable -to the bottom of her heart; and when she came to her young sister's gay -announcement of what for _her_ part she would do for her little nephew's -education, and how she had been studying the subject ever since Mary's -letter arrived, Mrs. Ochterlony felt as if she could have beaten the -girl, and was ready to cry with wretchedness and irritation and despair. -All these details served somehow to fix it, though she knew it had been -fixed before. They told her the little room Hugh should have, and the -old maid who would take care of him; and how he should play in the -garden, and learn his lessons in Aunt Agatha's parlour, and all those -details which would be sweet to Mary when her boy was actually there. -But at present they made his going away so real, that they were very -bitter to her, and she had to draw the astonished child away from his -play, and take hold of him and keep him by her, to feel quite sure that -he was still here, and not in the little North-country cottage which she -knew so well. But this was an arrangement which did not please the baby, -who liked to have his mother all to himself, and pushed Hugh away, and -kicked and screamed at him lustily. Thus it was an agitated little group -upon which the Major looked down as he turned from his brother's -pleasant letter. He was in a very pleasant frame of mind himself, and -was excessively entertained by the self-assertion of little Wilfrid on -his mother's knee. - -"He is a plucky little soul, though he is so small," said Major -Ochterlony; "but Willie, my boy, there's precious little for you of the -grandeurs of the family. It is from Francis, my dear. It's very -surprising, you know, but still it's true. And he sends you his love. -You know I always said that there was a great deal of good in Francis; -he is not a demonstrative man--but still, when you get at it, he has a -warm heart. I am sure he would be a good friend to you, Mary, if -ever----" - -"I hope I shall never need him to be a good friend to me," said Mrs. -Ochterlony. "He is your brother, Hugh, but you know we never got on." It -was a perfectly correct statement of fact, but yet, perhaps, Mary would -not have made it, had she not been so much disturbed by Aunt Agatha's -letter. She was almost disposed to persuade herself for that moment that -she had not got on with Aunt Agatha, which was a moral impossibility. -As for the Major, he took no notice of his wife's little ill-tempered -un-enthusiastic speech. - -"You will be pleased when you read it," he said. "He talks of Hugh quite -plainly as the heir of Earlston. I can't help being pleased. I wonder -what kind of Squire the little beggar will make: but we shall not live -to see that--or, at least, _I_ shan't," the Major went on, and he looked -at his boy with a wistful look which Mary used to think of afterwards. -As for little Hugh, he was very indifferent, and not much more conscious -of the affection near home than of the inheritance far off. Major -Ochterlony stood by the side of Mary's chair, and he had it in his heart -to give her a little lesson upon her unbelief and want of confidence in -him, who was always acting for the best, and who thought much more of -her interests than of his own. - -"My darling," he said, in that coaxing tone which Mary knew so well, "I -don't mean to blame you. It was a hard thing to make you do; and you -might have thought me cruel and too precise. But only see now how -important it was to be exact about our marriage--_too_ exact even. If -Hugh should come into the estate----" - -Here Major Ochterlony stopped short all at once, without any apparent -reason. He had still his brother's letter in his hand, and was standing -by Mary's side; and nobody had come in, and nothing had happened. But -all at once, like a flash of lightning, something of which he had never -thought before had entered his mind. He stopped short, and said, "Good -God!" low to himself, though he was not a man who used profane -expressions. His face changed as a summer day changes when the wind -seizes it like a ghost, and covers its heavens with clouds. So great was -the shock he had received, that he made no attempt to hide it, but stood -gazing at Mary, appealing to her out of the midst of his sudden trouble. -"Good God!" he said. His eyes went in a piteous way from little Hugh, -who knew nothing about it, to his mother, who was at present the chief -sufferer. Was it possible that instead of helping he had done his best -to dishonour Hugh? It was so new an idea to him, that he looked -helplessly into Mary's eyes to see if it was true. And she, for her -part, had nothing to say to him. She gave a little tremulous cry which -did but echo his own exclamation, and pitifully held out her hand to her -husband. Yes; it was true. Between them they had sown thorns in their -boy's path, and thrown doubt on his name, and brought humiliation and -uncertainty into his future life. Major Ochterlony dropped into a chair -by his wife's side, and covered his face with her hand. He was struck -dumb by his discovery. It was only she who had seen it all long ago--to -whom no sudden revelation could come--who had been suffering, even -angrily and bitterly, but who was now altogether subdued and conscious -only of a common calamity; who was the only one capable of speech or -thought. - -"Hugh, it is done now," said Mary; "perhaps it may never do him any -harm. We are in India, a long way from all our friends. They know what -took place in Scotland, but they can't know what happened here." - -The Major only replied once more, "Good God!" Perhaps he was not -thinking so much of Hugh as of the failure he had himself made. To think -he should have landed in the most apparent folly by way of being -wise--that perhaps was the immediate sting. But as for Mrs. Ochterlony, -her heart was full of her little boy who was going away from her, and -her husband's horror and dismay seemed only natural. She had to withdraw -her hand from him, for the tyrant baby did not approve of any other -claim upon her attention, but she caressed his stooping head as she did -so. "Oh, Hugh, let us hope things will turn out better than we think," -she said, with her heart overflowing in her eyes; and the soft tears -fell on Wilfrid's little frock as she soothed and consoled him. Little -Hugh for his part had been startled in the midst of his play, and had -come forward to see what was going on. He was not particularly -interested, it is true, but still he rather wanted to know what it was -all about. And when the pugnacious baby saw his brother he returned to -the conflict. It was his baby efforts with hands and feet to thrust Hugh -away which roused the Major. He got up and took a walk about the room, -sighing heavily. "When you saw what was involved, why did you let me do -it, Mary?" he said, amid his sighs. That was all the advantage his wife -had from his discovery. He was still walking about the room and sighing, -when the baby went to sleep, and Hugh was taken away; and then to be -sure the father and mother were alone. - -"_That_ never came into my head," Major Ochterlony said, drawing a chair -again to Mary's side. "When you saw the danger why did you not tell me? -I thought it was only because you did not like it. And then, on the -other side, if anything happened to me----. Why did you let me do it -when you saw that?" said the Major, almost angrily. And he drew another -long impatient sigh. - -"Perhaps it will do no harm, after all," said Mary, who felt herself -suddenly put upon her defence. - -"Harm! it is sure to do harm," said the Major. "It is as good as saying -we were never married till now. Good heavens! to think you should have -seen all that, and yet let me do it. We may have ruined him, for all we -know. And the question is, what's to be done? Perhaps I should write to -Francis, and tell him that I thought it best for your sake, in case -anything happened to me---- and as it was merely a matter of form, I -don't see that Churchill could have any hesitation in striking it out of -the register----" - -"Oh, Hugh, let it alone now," said Mrs. Ochterlony. "It is done, and we -cannot undo it. Let us only be quiet and make no more commotion. People -may forget it, perhaps, if we forget it." - -"Forget it!" the Major said, and sighed. He shook his head, and at the -same time he looked with a certain tender patronage on Mary. "You may -forget it, my dear, and I hope you will," he said, with a magnanimous -pathos; "but it is too much to expect that I should forget what may have -such important results. I feel sure I ought to let Francis know. I -daresay he could advise us what would be best. It is a very kind -letter," said the Major; and he sighed, and gave Mary Mr. Ochterlony's -brief and unimportant note with an air of resigned yet hopeless -affliction, which half irritated her, and half awoke those possibilities -of laughter which come "when there is little laughing in one's head," as -we say in Scotland. She could have laughed, and she could have stormed -at him; and yet in the midst of all she felt a poignant sense of -contrast, and knew that it was she and not he who would really -suffer--as it was he and not she who was in fault. - -While Mary read Mr. Ochterlony's letter, lulling now and then with a -soft movement the baby on her knee, the Major at the other side got -attracted after a while by the pretty picture of the sleeping child, and -began at length to forego his sighing, and to smooth out the long white -drapery that lay over Mary's dress. He was thinking no harm, the -tender-hearted man. He looked at little Wilfrid's small waxen face -pillowed on his mother's arm--so much smaller and feebler than Hugh and -Islay had been, the great, gallant fellows--and his heart was touched by -his little child. "My little man! _you_ are all right, at least," said -the inconsiderate father. He said it to himself, and thought, if he -thought at all on the subject, that Mary, who was reading his brother's -letter, did not hear him. And when Mrs. Ochterlony gave that cry which -roused all the house and brought everybody trooping to the door, in the -full idea that it must be a cobra at least, the Major jumped up to his -feet as much startled as any of them, and looked down to the floor and -cried, "Where--what is it?" with as little an idea of what was the -matter as the ayah who grinned and gazed in the distance. When he saw -that instead of indicating somewhere a reptile intruder, Mary had -dropped the letter and fallen into a weak outburst of tears, the Major -was confounded. He sent the servants away, and took his wife into his -arms and held her fast. "What is it, my love?" said the Major. "Are you -ill? For Heaven's sake tell me what it is; my poor darling, my bonnie -Mary?" This was how he soothed her, without the most distant idea what -was the matter, or what had made her cry out. And when Mary came to -herself, she did not explain very clearly. She said to herself that it -was no use making him unhappy by the fantastical horror which had come -into her mind with his words, or indeed had been already lurking there. -And, poor soul, she was better when she had had her cry out, and had -given over little Wilfrid, woke up by the sound, to his nurse's hands. -She said, "Never mind me, Hugh; I am nervous, I suppose;" and cried on -his shoulder as he never remembered her to have cried, except for very -serious griefs. And when at last he had made her lie down, which was the -Major's favourite panacea for all female ills of body or mind, and had -covered her over, and patted and caressed and kissed her, Major -Ochterlony went out with a troubled mind. It could not be anything in -Francis's letter, which was a model of brotherly correctness, that had -vexed or excited her: and then he began to think that for some time past -her health had not been what it used to be. The idea disturbed him -greatly, as may be supposed; for the thought of Mary ailing and weakly, -or perhaps ill and in danger, was one which had never yet entered his -mind. The first thing he thought of was to go and have a talk with -Sorbette, who ought to know, if he was good for anything, what it was. - -"I am sure I don't know in the least what is the matter," the Major -said. "She is not ill, you know. This morning she looked as well as ever -she did, and then all at once gave a cry and burst into tears. It is so -unlike Mary." - -"It is very unlike her," said the doctor. "Perhaps you were saying -something that upset her nerves." - -"Nerves!" said the Major, with calm pride. "My dear fellow, you know -that Mary has no nerves; she never was one of that sort of women. To -tell the truth, I don't think she has ever been quite herself since that -stupid business, you know." - -"What stupid business?" said Mr. Sorbette. - -"Oh, you know--the marriage, to be sure. A man looks very silly -afterwards," said the Major with candour, "when he lets himself be -carried away by his feelings. She ought not to have consented when that -was her idea. I would give a hundred pounds I had not been so foolish. I -don't think she has ever been quite herself since." - -The doctor had opened _de grands yeux_. He looked at his companion as if -he could not believe his ears. "Of course you would never have taken -such an unusual step if there had not been good reason for it," he -ventured to say, which was rather a hazardous speech; for the Major -might have divined its actual meaning, and then things would have gone -badly with Mr. Sorbette. But, as it happened, Major Ochterlony was far -too much occupied to pay attention to anybody's meaning except his own. - -"Yes, there was good reason," he said. "She lost her marriage 'lines,' -you know; and all our witnesses are dead. I thought she might perhaps -find herself in a disagreeable position if anything happened to me." - -As he spoke, the doctor regarded him with surprise so profound as to be -half sublime--surprise and a perplexity and doubt wonderful to behold. -Was this a story the Major had made up, or was it perhaps after all the -certain truth? It was just what he had said at first; but the first time -it was stated with more warmth, and did not produce the same effect. Mr. -Sorbette respected Mrs. Ochterlony to the bottom of his heart; but still -he had shaken his head, and said, "There was no accounting for those -things." And now he did not know what to make of it: whether to believe -in the innocence of the couple, or to think the Major had made up a -story--which, to be sure, would be by much the greatest miracle of all. - -"If that was the case, I think it would have been better to let well -alone," said the doctor. "That is what I would have done had it been -me." - -"Then why did not you tell me so?" said Major Ochterlony. "I asked you -before; and what you all said to me was, 'If that's the case, best to -repeat it at once.' Good Lord! to think how little one can rely upon -one's friends when one asks their advice. But in the meantime the -question is about Mary. I wish you'd go and see her and give her -something--a tonic, you know, or something strengthening. I think I'll -step over and see Churchill, and get him to strike that unfortunate -piece of nonsense out of the register. As it was only a piece of form, I -should think he would do it; and if it is _that_ that ails her, it would -do her good." - -"If I were you, I'd let well alone," said the doctor; but he said it -low, and he was putting on his hat as he spoke, and went off immediately -to see his patient. Even if curiosity and surprise had not been in -operation, he would still probably have hastened to Madonna Mary. For -the regiment loved her in its heart, and the loss of her fair serene -presence would have made a terrible gap at the station. "We must not let -her be ill if we can help it," Mr. Sorbette said to himself; and then he -made a private reflection about that ass Ochterlony and his fidgets. But -yet, notwithstanding all his faults, the Major was not an ass. On -thinking it over again, he decided not to go to Churchill with that -little request about the register; and he felt more and more, the more -he reflected upon it, how hard it was that in a moment of real emergency -a man should be able to put so little dependence upon his friends. Even -Mary had let him do it, though she had seen how dangerous and impolitic -it was; and all the others had let him do it; for certainly it was not -without asking advice that he had taken what the doctor called so -unusual a step. Major Ochterlony felt as he took this into consideration -that he was an injured man. What was the good of being on intimate terms -with so many people if not one of them could give him the real counsel -of a friend when he wanted it? And even Mary had let him do it! The -thought of such a strange dereliction of duty on the part of everybody -connected with him, went to the Major's heart. - -As for Mary, it would be a little difficult to express her feelings. She -got up as soon as her husband was gone, and threw off the light covering -he had put over her so carefully, and went back to her work; for to lie -still in a darkened room was not a remedy in which she put any faith. -And to tell the truth, poor Mary's heart was eased a little, perhaps -physically, by her tears, which had done her good, and by the other -incidents of the evening, which had thrown down as it were the -separation between her and her husband, and taken away the one rankling -and aching wound she had. Now that he saw that he had done wrong--now -that he was aware that it was a wrong step he had taken--a certain -remnant of bitterness which had been lurking in a corner of Mary's heart -came all to nothing and died down in a moment. As soon as he was himself -awakened to it, Mary forgot her own wound and every evil thought she had -ever had, in her sorrow for him. She remembered his look of dismay, his -dead silence, his unusual exclamation; and she said, "poor Hugh!" in her -heart, and was ready to condone his worst faults. _Otherwise_, as Mrs. -Ochterlony said to herself, he had scarcely a fault that anybody could -point out. He was the kindest, the most true and tender! Everybody -acknowledged that he was the best husband in the regiment, and which of -them could stand beside him, even in an inferior place? Not Colonel -Kirkman, who might have been a petrified Colonel out of the Drift (if -there were Colonels in those days), for any particular internal evidence -to the contrary; nor Captain Hesketh, who was so well off; nor any half -dozen of the other officers. This was the state of mind in which Mrs. -Ochterlony was when the doctor called. And he found her quite well, and -thought her an unaccountable woman, and shrugged his shoulders, and -wondered what the Major would take into his head next. "He said it was -on the nerves, as the poor women call it," said the doctor, transferring -his own suggestion to Major Ochterlony. "I should like to know what he -means by making game of people--as if I had as much time to talk -nonsense as he has: but I thought, to be sure, when he said that, that -it was a cock-and-bull story. I ought to know something about your -nerves." - -"He was quite right," said Mrs. Ochterlony; and she smiled and took hold -of the great trouble that was approaching her and made a buckler of it -for her husband. "My nerves were very much upset. You know we have to -make up our minds to send Hugh home." - -And as she spoke she looked up at Mr. Sorbette with eyes brimming over -with two great tears--real tears, Heaven knows, which came but too -readily to back up her sacred plea. The doctor recoiled before them as -if somebody had levelled a pistol at him; for he was a man that could -not bear to see women crying, as he said, or to see anybody in distress, -which was the true statement of the case. - -"There--there," he said, "don't excite yourself. What is the good of -thinking about it? Everybody has to do it, and the monkeys get on as -well as possible. Look here, pack up all this work and trash, and amuse -yourself. Why don't you go out more, and take a little relaxation? You -had better send over to my sister for a novel; or if there's nothing -else for it, get the baby. Don't sit working and driving yourself crazy -here." - -So that was all Mr. Sorbette could do in the case; and a wonderfully -puzzled doctor he was as he went back to his quarters, and took the -first opportunity of telling his sister that she was all wrong about the -Ochterlonys, and he always knew she was. "As if a man could know -anything about it," Miss Sorbette said. And in the meantime the Major -went home, and was very tender of Mary, and petted and watched over her -as if she had had a real illness. Though, after all, the question why -she had let him do so, was often nearly on his lips, as it was always in -his heart. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - -What Mrs. Ochterlony had to do after this was to write to Aunt Agatha, -settling everything about little Hugh, which was by no means an easy -thing to do, especially since the matter had been complicated by that -most unnecessary suggestion about Islay, which Mrs. Hesketh had thought -proper to make; as if she, who had a grown-up daughter to be her -companion, and swarms of children, so many as almost to pass the bounds -of possible recollection, could know anything about how it felt to send -off one's entire family, leaving only a baby behind; but then that is so -often the way with those well-off people, who have never had anything -happen to them. Mary had to write that if all was well, and they could -find "an opportunity," probably Hugh would be sent by the next mail but -one; for she succeeded in persuading herself and the Major that sooner -than that it would be impossible to have his things ready. "You do not -say anything about Islay, my dear," said the Major, when he read the -letter, "and you must see that for the child's sake----" - -"Oh, Hugh, what difference can it make?" said Mrs. Ochterlony, with -conscious sophistry. "If she can take one child, she can take two. It is -not like a man----" But whether it was Islay or Aunt Agatha who was not -like a man, Mary did not explain; and she went on with her preparations -with a desperate trust in circumstances, such as women are often driven -to. Something might happen to preserve to her yet for a little while -longer her three-year-old boy. Hugh was past hoping for, but it seemed -to her now that she would accept with gratitude, as a mitigated -calamity, the separation from one which had seemed so terrible to her at -first. As for the Major, he adhered to the idea with a tenacity unusual -to him. He even came, and superintended her at the work-table, and asked -continually, How about Islay? if all these things were for Hugh?--which -was a question that called forth all the power of sophistry and -equivocation which Mrs. Ochterlony possessed to answer. But still she -put a certain trust in circumstances that something might still happen -to save Islay--and indeed something did happen, though far, very far, -from being as Mary wished. - -The Major in the meantime had done his best to shake himself free from -the alarm and dismay indirectly produced in his mind by his brother's -letter. He had gone to Mr. Churchill after all, but found it -impracticable to get the entry blotted out of the register, -notwithstanding his assurance that it was simply a matter of form. Mr. -Churchill had no doubt on that point, but he could not alter the record, -though he condoled with the sufferer. "I cannot think how you all could -let me do it," the Major said. "A man may be excused for taking the -alarm, if he is persuaded that his wife will get into trouble when he is -gone, for want of a formality; but how all of you, with cool heads and -no excitement to take away your judgment----" - -"Who persuaded you?" said the clergyman, with a little dismay. - -"Well, you know Kirkman said things looked very bad in Scotland when the -marriage lines were lost. How could I tell? he is Scotch, and he ought -to know. And then to think of Mary in trouble, and perhaps losing her -little provision if anything happened to me. It was enough to make a man -do anything foolish; but how all of you who know better should have let -me do it----" - -"My dear Major," said Mr. Churchill mildly, "I don't think you are a man -to be kept from doing anything when your heart is set upon it;--and then -you were in such a hurry----" - -"Ah, yes," said Major Ochterlony with a deep sigh; "and nobody, that I -can remember, ever suggested to me to wait a little. That's what it is, -Churchill; to have so many friends, and not one among them who would -take the trouble to tell a man he was wrong." - -"Major Ochterlony," said the clergyman, a little stiffly, "you forget -that I said everything I could say to convince you. Of course I did not -know all the circumstances--but I hope I shall always have courage -enough, when I think so, to tell any man he is in the wrong." - -"My dear fellow, I did not mean you," said the Major, with another sigh; -and perhaps it was with a similar statement that the conversation always -concluded when Major Ochterlony confided to any special individual of -his daily associates, this general condemnation of his friends, of which -he made as little a secret as he had made of his re-marriage. The -station knew as well after that, that Major Ochterlony was greatly -disturbed about the "unusual step" he had taken, and was afraid it might -be bad for little Hugh's future prospects, as it had been aware -beforehand of the wonderful event itself. And naturally there was a -great deal of discussion on the subject. There were some people who -contented themselves with thinking, like the doctor, that Ochterlony was -an ass with his fidgets; while there were others who thought he was -"deep," and was trying, as they said, to do away with the bad -impression. The former class were men, and the latter were women; but it -was by no means all the women who thought so. Not to speak of the -younger class, like poor little Mrs. Askell, there were at least two of -the most important voices at the station which did not declare -themselves. Mrs. Kirkman shook her head, and hoped that however it -turned out it might be for all their good, and above all might convince -Mary of the error of her ways; and Mrs. Hesketh thought everybody made a -great deal too much fuss about it, and begged the public in general to -let the Ochterlonys alone. But the fact was, that so far as the ordinary -members of society were concerned, the Major's new agitation revived the -gossip that had nearly died out, and set it all afloat again. It had -been dying away under the mingled influences of time, and the non-action -of the leading ladies, and Mrs. Ochterlony's serene demeanour, which -forbade the idea of evil. But when it was thus started again the second -time, it was less likely to be made an end of. Mary, however, was as -unconscious of the renewed commotion as if she had been a thousand miles -away. The bitterness had gone out of her heart, and she had half begun -to think as the Major did, that he was an injured man, and that it was -her fault and his friends' fault; and then she was occupied with -something still more important, and could not go back to the old pain, -from which she had suffered enough. Thus it was with her in those -troubled, but yet, as she afterwards thought, happy days; when she was -very miserable sometimes and very glad--when she had a great deal, as -people said, to put up with, a great deal to forgive, and many a thing -of which she did not herself approve, to excuse and justify to others. -This was her condition, and she had at the same time before her the -dreadful probability of separation from both of her children, the -certainty of a separation, and a long, dangerous voyage for one of them, -and sat and worked to this end day after day, with a sense of what at -the moment seemed exquisite wretchedness. But yet, thinking over it -afterwards, and looking back upon it, it seemed to Mary as if those were -happy days. - -The time was coming very near when Hugh (as Mrs. Ochterlony said), or -the children (as the Major was accustomed to say) were going home; when -all at once, without any preparation, very startling news came to the -station. One of the little local rebellions that are always taking place -in India had broken out somewhere, and a strong detachment of the -regiment was to be sent immediately to quell it. Major Ochterlony came -home that day a little excited by the news, and still more by the -certainty that it was he who must take the command. He was excited -because he was a soldier at heart, and liked, kind man as he was, to see -something doing; and because active service was more hopeful, and -exhilarating, and profitable, than reposing at the station, where there -was no danger, and very little to do. "I don't venture to hope that the -rogues will show fight," he said cheerfully; "so there is no need to be -anxious, Mary; and you can keep the boys with you till I come back--that -is only fair," he said, in his exultation. As for Mary, the announcement -took all the colour out of her cheeks, and drove both Hugh and Islay out -of her mind. He had seen service enough, it is true, since they were -married, to habituate her to that sort of thing; and she had made, on -the whole, a very good soldier's wife, bearing her anxiety in silence, -and keeping a brave front to the world. But perhaps Mr. Sorbette was -right when he thought her nerves were upset. So many things all coming -together may have been too much for her. When she heard of this she -broke down altogether, and felt a cold thrill of terror go through her -from her head to her heart, or from her heart to her head, which perhaps -would be the most just expression; but she dared not say a word to her -husband to deter or discourage him. When he saw the two tears that -sprang into her eyes, and the sudden paleness that came over her face, -he kissed her, all flushed and smiling as he was, and said: "Now, don't -be silly, Mary. Don't forget you are a soldier's wife." There was not a -touch of despondency or foreboding about him; and what could she say who -knew, had there been ever so much foreboding, that his duty was the -thing to be thought of, and not anybody's feelings? Her cheek did not -regain its colour all that day, but she kept it to herself, and forgot -even about little Hugh's reprieve. The children were dear, but their -father was dearer, or at least so it seemed at that moment. Perhaps if -the lives of the little ones had been threatened, the Major's expedition -might have bulked smaller--for the heart can hold only one overwhelming -emotion at a time. But the affair was urgent, and Mary did not have very -much time left to her to think of it. Almost before she had realized -what it was, the drums had beat, and the brisk music of the band--that -music that people called exhilarating--had roused all the station, and -the measured march of the men had sounded past, as if they were all -treading upon her heart. The Major kissed his little boys in their beds, -for it was, to be sure, unnaturally early, as everything is in India; -and he had made his wife promise to go and lie down, and take care of -herself, when he was gone. "Have the baby, and don't think any more of -me than you can help, and take care of my boys. We shall be back sooner -than you want us," the Major had said, as he took tender leave of his -"bonnie Mary." And for her part, she stood as long as she could see -them, with her two white lips pressed tight together, waving her hand to -her soldier till he was gone out of sight. And then she obeyed him, and -lay down and covered her head, and sobbed to herself in the growing -light, as the big blazing sun began to touch the horizon. She was sick -with pain and terror, and she could not tell why. She had watched him go -away before, and had hailed him coming back again, and had known him in -hotter conflict than this could be, and wounded, and yet he had taken no -great harm. But all that did her little good now; perhaps because her -nerves were weaker than usual, from the repeated shocks she had had to -bear. - -And it was to be expected that Mrs. Kirkman would come to see her, to -console her that morning, and put the worst thoughts into her head, But -before even Mrs. Kirkman, little Emma Askell came rushing in, with her -baby and a bundle, and threw herself at Mary's feet. The Ensign had gone -to the wars, and it was the first experience of such a kind that had -fallen to the lot of his little baby-wife; and naturally her anxiety -told more distinctly upon her than it did upon Mary's ripe soul and -frame. The poor little thing was white and cold and shivering, -notwithstanding the blazing Indian day that began to lift itself over -their heads. She fell down at Mary's feet, forgetting all about the -beetles and scorpions which were the horror of her ordinary existence, -and clasped her knees, and held Mrs. Ochterlony fast, grasping the -bundle and the little waxen baby at the same time in the other arm. - -"Do you think they will ever come back?" said poor little Emma. "Oh, -Mrs. Ochterlony, tell me. I can bear it if you will tell me the worst. -If anything were to happen to Charlie, and me not with him! I never, -never, never can live until the news comes. Oh, tell me, do you think -they will ever come back?" - -"If I did not think they would come back, do you think I could take it -so quietly?" said Mary, and she smiled as best she could, and lifted up -the poor little girl, and took from her the baby and the bundle, which -seemed all one, so closely were they held. Mrs. Ochterlony had deep -eyes, which did not show when she had been crying; and she was not young -enough to cry in thunder showers, as Emma Askell at eighteen might still -be permitted to do; and the very sight of her soothed the young -creature's heart. "You know you are a soldier's wife," Mary said; "I -think I was as bad as you are the first time the Major left me--but we -all get used to it after a few years." - -"And he came back?" said Emma, doing all she could to choke a sob. - -"He must have come back, or I should not have parted with him this -morning," said Mrs. Ochterlony, who had need of all her own strength -just at that moment. "Let us see in the meantime what this bundle is, -and why you have brought poor baby out in her night-gown. And what a -jewel she is to sleep! When my little Willy gets disturbed," said Mary, -with a sigh, "he gives none of us any rest. I will make up a bed for her -here on the sofa; and now tell me what this bundle is for, and why you -have rushed out half dressed. We'll talk about _them_ presently. Tell me -first about yourself." - -Upon which Emma hung down her pretty little head, and began to fold a -hem upon her damp handkerchief, and did not know how to explain herself. -"Don't be angry with me," she said. "Oh, my Madonna, let me come and -stay with you!--that was what I meant; I can't stay there by myself--and -I will nurse Willy, and do your hair and help sewing. I don't mind what -I do. Oh, Mrs. Ochterlony, don't send me away! I should die if I were -alone. And as for baby, she never troubles anybody. She is so good. I -will be your little servant, and wait upon you like a slave, if you will -only let me stay." - -It would be vain to say that Mrs. Ochterlony was pleased by this appeal, -for she was herself in a very critical state of mind, full of fears that -she could give no reason for, and a hundred fantastic pains which she -would fain have hidden from human sight. She had been taking a little -comfort in the thought of the solitude, the freedom from visitors and -disturbance, that she might safely reckon on, and in which she thought -her mind might perhaps recover a little; and this young creature's -society was not specially agreeable to her. But she was touched by the -looks of the forlorn girl, and could no more have sent her away than she -could repress the little movement of impatience and half disgust that -rose in her heart. She was not capable of giving her an effusive -welcome; but she kissed poor little Emma, and put the bundle beside the -baby on the sofa, and accepted her visitor without saying anything about -it. Perhaps it did her no harm: though she felt by moments as if her -impatient longing to be alone and silent, free to think her own -thoughts, would break out in spite of all her self-control. But little -Mrs. Askell never suspected the existence of any such emotions. She -thought, on the contrary, that it was because Mary was used to it that -she took it so quietly, and wondered whether _she_ would ever get used -to it. Perhaps, on the whole, Emma hoped not. She thought to herself -that Mrs. Ochterlony, who was so little disturbed by the parting, would -not feel the joy of the return half so much as she should; and on these -terms she preferred to take the despair along with the joy. But under -the shadow of Mary's matronly presence the little thing cheered up, and -got back her courage. After she had been comforted with tea, and had -fully realized her position as Mrs. Ochterlony's visitor, Emma's spirits -rose. She was half or quarter Irish, as has been already mentioned, and -behaved herself accordingly. She recollected her despair, it is true, in -the midst of a game with Hugh and Islay, and cried a little, but soon -comforted herself with the thought that at that moment her Charlie could -be in no danger. "They'll be stopping somewhere for breakfast by a well, -and camping all about, and they can't get any harm there," said Emma; -and thus she kept chattering all day. If she had chattered only, and -been content with chattering, it would have been comparatively easy -work; but then she was one of those people who require answers, and will -be spoken to. And Mary had to listen and reply, and give her opinion -where they would be now, and when, at the very earliest, they might be -expected back. With such a discipline to undergo, it may be thought a -supererogation to bring Mrs. Kirkman in upon her that same morning with -her handkerchief in her hand, prepared, if it were necessary, to weep -with Mary. But still it is the case that Mrs. Kirkman did come, as might -have been expected; and to pass over conversation so edifying as hers, -would, under such circumstances, be almost a crime. - -"My dear Mary," Mrs. Kirkman said when she came in, "I am so glad to see -you up and making an effort; it is so much better than giving way. We -must accept these trials as something sent for our good. I am sure the -Major has all our prayers for his safe return. Oh, Mary, do you not -remember what I said to you--that God, I was sure, was not going to let -you alone?" - -"I never thought He would leave me alone," said Mrs. Ochterlony; but -certainly, though it was a right enough sentiment, it was not uttered in -a right tone of voice. - -"He will not rest till you see your duty more clearly," said her -visitor; "if it were not for that, why should He have sent you so many -things one after another? It is far better and more blessed than if He -had made you happy and comfortable as the carnal heart desires. But I -did not see you had any one with you," said Mrs. Kirkman, stopping short -at the sight of Emma, who had just come into the room. - -"Poor child, she was frightened and unhappy, and came to me this -morning," said Mary. "She will stay with me--till--they come home." - -"Let us say _if_ they come home," said Mrs. Kirkman, solemnly. "I never -like to be too certain. We know when they go forth, but who can tell -when they will come back. That is in God's hands." - -At this speech Emma fell trembling and shivering again, and begged Mrs. -Kirkman to tell her the worst, and cried out that she could bear it. She -thought of nothing but her Charlie, as was natural, and that the -Colonel's wife had already heard some bad news. And Mrs. Kirkman thought -of nothing but improving the occasion; and both of them were equally -indifferent, and indeed unaware of the cold shudder which went through -Mary, and the awful foreboding that closed down upon her, putting out -the sunshine. It was a little safeguard to her to support the shivering -girl who already half believed herself a widow, and to take up the -challenge of the spiritual teacher who felt herself responsible for -their souls. - -"Do not make Emma think something is wrong," she said. "It is so easy to -make a young creature wretched with a word. If the Colonel had been with -them, it might have been different. But it is easy just now for you to -frighten us. I am sure you do not mean it." And then Mary had to whisper -in the young wife's ear, "She knows nothing about them--it is only her -way," which was a thing very easily said to Emma, but very difficult to -establish herself upon in her own heart. - -And then Mrs. Hesketh came in to join the party. - -"So they are gone," the new-comer said. "What a way little Emma is in, -to be sure. Is it the first time he has ever left you, my dear? and I -daresay they have been saying something dreadful to frighten you. It is -a great shame to let girls marry so young. I have been reckoning," said -the easy-minded woman, whose husband was also of the party, "how long -they are likely to be. If they get to Amberabad, say to-morrow, and if -there is nothing very serious, and all goes well, you know, they might -be back here on Saturday--and we had an engagement for Saturday," Mrs. -Hesketh said. Her voice was quite easy and pleasant, as it always was; -but nevertheless, Mary knew that if she had not felt excited, she would -not have paid such an early morning visit, and that even her confident -calculation about the return proved she was in a little anxiety about -it. The fact was, that none of them were quite at their ease, except -Mrs. Kirkman, who, having no personal interest in the matter, was quite -equal to taking a very gloomy view of affairs. - -"How can any one think of such vanities at such a moment?" Mrs. Kirkman -said. "Oh, if I could only convince you, my dear friends. None of us can -tell what sort of engagement they may have before next Saturday--perhaps -the most solemn engagement ever given to man. Don't let misfortune find -you in this unprepared state of mind. There is nothing on earth so -solemn as seeing soldiers go away. You may think of the band and all -that, but for me, I always seem to hear a voice saying, 'Prepare to meet -your God.'" - -To be sure the Colonel was in command of the station and was safe at -home, and his wife could speculate calmly upon the probable fate of the -detachment. But as for the three women who were listening to her, it was -not so easy for them. There was a dreadful pause, for nobody could -contradict such a speech; and poor little Emma dropped down sobbing on -the floor; and the colour forsook even Mrs. Hesketh's comely cheek; and -as for Mary, though she could not well be paler, her heart seemed to -contract and shrink within her; and none of them had the courage to say -anything. Naturally Mrs. Hesketh, with whom it was a principle not to -fret, was the first to recover her voice. - -"After all, though it's always an anxious time, I don't see any -particular reason we have to be uneasy," she said. "Hesketh told me he -felt sure they would give in at once. It may be very true all you say, -but at the same time we may be reasonable, you know, and not take fright -when there is no cause for it. Don't cry, Emma, you little goose; you'll -have him back again in two or three days, all right." - -And after awhile the anxious little assembly broke up, and Mrs. Hesketh, -who though she was very liberal in her way, was not much given to -personal charities, went to see some of the soldiers' wives, who, poor -souls, would have been just as anxious if they had had the time for it, -and gave them the best advice about their children, and promised tea -and sugar if they would come to fetch it, and old frocks, in which she -was always rich; and these women were so ungrateful as to like her visit -better than that of the Colonel's wife, who carried them always on her -heart and did them a great deal of good, and never confined herself to -kindness of impulse. And little Emma Askell cried herself to sleep -sitting on the floor, notwithstanding the beetles, reposing her pretty -face flushed with weeping and her swollen eyes upon the sofa, where Mary -sat and watched over her. Mrs. Hesketh got a little ease out of her -visit to the soldiers' wives, and Emma forgot her troubles in sleep; but -no sort of relief came to Mary, who reasoned with herself all day long -without being able to deliver herself from the pressure of the deadly -cold hand that seemed to have been laid upon her heart. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - - -And Mary's forebodings came true. Though it was so unlikely, and indeed -seemed so unreasonable to everybody who knew about such expeditions, -instead of bringing back his men victorious, it was the men, all -drooping and discouraged, who carried back the brave and tender Major, -covered over with the flag he had died for. The whole station was -overcast with mourning when that melancholy procession came back. Mr. -Churchill, who met them coming in, hurried back with his heart swelling -up into his throat to prepare Mrs. Ochterlony for what was coming; but -Mary was the only creature at the station who did not need to be -prepared. She knew it was going to be so when she saw him go away. She -felt in her heart that this was to be the end of it from the moment when -he first told her of the expedition on which he was ordered. And when -she saw poor Mr. Churchill's face, from which he had vainly tried to -banish the traces of the horrible shock he had just received, she saw -that the blow had fallen. She came up to him and took hold of his hands, -and said, "I know what it is;" and almost felt, in the strange and -terrible excitement of the moment, as if she were sorry for him who felt -it so much. - -This was how it was, and all the station was struck with mourning. A -chance bullet, which most likely had been fired without any purpose at -all, had done its appointed office in Major Ochterlony's brave, tender, -honest bosom. Though he had been foolish enough by times, nobody now -thought of that to his disadvantage. Rather, if anything, it surrounded -him with a more affectionate regret. A dozen wise men might have -perished and not left such a gap behind them as the Major did, who had -been good to everybody in his restless way, and given a great deal of -trouble, and made up for it, as only a man with a good heart and natural -gift of friendliness could do. He had worried his men many a time as the -Colonel never did, for example; but then, to Major Ochterlony they were -men and fine fellows, while they were only machines, like himself, to -Colonel Kirkman; and more than one critic in regimentals was known to -say with a sigh, "If it had only been the Colonel." But it was only the -fated man who had been so over-careful about his wife's fate in case -anything happened to him. Young Askell came by stealth like a robber to -take his little wife out of the house where Mary was not capable any -longer of her society; and Captain Hesketh too had come back all -safe--all of them except the one: and the women in their minds stood -round Mary in a kind of hushed circle, looking with an awful -fellow-feeling and almost self-reproach at the widowhood which might -have, but had not, fallen upon themselves. It was no fault of theirs -that she had to bear the cross for all of them as it were; and yet their -hearts ached over her, as if somehow they had purchased their own -exemption at her expense. When the first dark moment, during which -nobody saw Madonna Mary--a sweet title which had come back to all their -lips in the hour of trouble--was over, they took turns to be with her, -those grieved and compunctious women--compunctious not so much because -at one time in thought they had done her wrong, as because now they were -happy and she was sorrowful. And thus passed over a time that cannot be -described in a book, or at least in such a book as this. Mary had to -separate herself, with still the bloom of her life unimpaired, from all -the fair company of matrons round her; to put the widow's veil over the -golden reflections in her hair, and the faint colour that came faintly -back to her cheek by imprescriptible right of her health and comparative -youth, and to go away out of the high-road of life where she had been -wayfaring in trouble and in happiness, to one of those humble by-ways -where the feeble and broken take shelter. Heaven knows she did not think -of that. All that she thought of was her dead soldier who had gone away -in the bloom of _his_ days to the unknown darkness which God alone knows -the secrets of, who had left all his comrades uninjured and at peace -behind him, and had himself been the only one to answer for that -enterprise with his life. It is strange to see this wonderful selection -going on in the world, even when one has no immediate part in it; but -stranger, far stranger, to wake up from one's musings and feel all at -once that it is one's self whom God has laid his hand upon for this -stern purpose. The wounded creature may writhe upon the sword, but it is -of no use; and again as ever, those who are not wounded--those perhaps -for whose instruction the spectacle is made--draw round in a hushed -circle and look on. Mary Ochterlony was a dutiful woman, obedient and -submissive to God's will; and she gave no occasion to that circle of -spectators to break up the hush and awe of natural sympathy and -criticise her how she bore it. But after a while she came to perceive, -what everybody comes to perceive who has been in such a position, that -the sympathy had changed its character. That was natural too. How a man -bears death and suffering of body, has long been one of the favourite -objects of primitive human curiosity; and to see how anguish and sorrow -affect the mind is a study as exciting and still more interesting. It -was this that roused Mrs. Ochterlony out of her first stupor, and made -her decide so soon as she did upon her journey home. - -All these events had passed in so short a time, that there were many -people who on waking up in the morning, and recollecting that Mary and -her children were going next day, could scarcely realize that the fact -was possible, or that it could be true about the Major, who had so fully -intended sending his little boys home by that same mail. But it is, on -the whole, astonishing how soon and how calmly a death is accepted by -the general community; and even the people who asked themselves could -this change really have happened in so short a time, took pains an hour -or two after to make up little parcels for friends at home, which Mary -was to carry; bits of Oriental embroidery and filagree ornaments, and -little portraits of the children, and other trifles that were not -important enough to warrant an Overland parcel, or big enough to go by -the Cape. Mary was very kind in that way, they all said. She accepted -all kinds of commissions, perhaps without knowing very well what she was -doing, and promised to go and see people whom she had no likelihood of -ever going to see; the truth was, that she heard and saw and understood -only partially, sometimes rousing up for a moment and catching one word -or one little incident with the intensest distinctness, and then -relapsing back again into herself. She did not quite make out what Emma -Askell was saying the last time her little friend came to see her. Mary -was packing her boys' things at the moment, and much occupied with a -host of cares, and what she heard was only a stream of talk, broken with -the occasional burden which came in like a chorus "when you see mamma." - -"When I see mamma?" said Mary, with a little surprise. - -"Dear Mrs. Ochterlony, you said you would perhaps go to see her--in St. -John's Wood," said Emma, with tears of vexation in her eyes; "you know I -told you all about it. The Laburnums, Acacia-road. And she will be so -glad to see you. I explained it all, and you said you would go. I told -her how kind you had been to me, and how you let me stay with you when I -was so anxious about Charlie. Oh, dear Mrs. Ochterlony, forgive me! I -did not mean to bring it back to your mind." - -"No," said Mary, with a kind of forlorn amusement. It seemed so strange, -almost droll, that they should think any of their poor little passing -words would bring that back to her which was never once out of her mind, -nor other than the centre of all her thoughts. "I must have been -dreaming when I said so, Emma: but if I have promised, I will try to -go--I have nothing to do in London, you know--I am going to the -North-country, among my own people," which was an easier form of -expression than to say, as they all did, that she was going home. - -"But everybody goes to London," insisted Emma; and it was only when Mr. -Churchill came in, also with a little packet, that the ensign's wife was -silenced. Mr. Churchill's parcel was for his mother who lived in -Yorkshire, naturally, as Mrs. Ochterlony was going to the North, quite -in her way. But the clergyman, for his part, had something more -important to say. When Mrs. Askell was gone, he stopped Mary in her -packing to speak to her seriously as he said, "You will forgive me and -feel for me, I know," he said. "It is about your second marriage, Mrs. -Ochterlony." - -"Don't speak of it--oh, don't speak of it," Mary said, with an imploring -tone that went to his heart. - -"But I ought to speak of it--if you can bear it," said Mr. Churchill, -"and I know for the boys' sake that you can bear everything. I have -brought an extract from the register, if you would like to have it; and -I have added below----" - -"Mr. Churchill, you are very kind, but I don't want ever to think of -that," said Mrs. Ochterlony. "I don't want to recollect now that such a -thing ever took place--I wish all record of it would disappear from the -face of the earth. Afterwards he thought the same," she said, hurriedly. -Meanwhile Mr. Churchill stood with the paper half drawn from his -pocket-book, watching the changes of her face. - -"It shall be as you like," he said, slowly, "but only as I have written -below---- If you change your mind, you have only to write to me, my dear -Mrs. Ochterlony--if I stay here--and I am sure I don't know if I shall -stay here; but in case I don't, you can always learn where I am, from my -mother at that address." - -"Do you think you will not stay here?" said Mary, whose heart was not so -much absorbed in her own sorrows that she could not feel for the -dismayed, desponding mind that made itself apparent in the poor -clergyman's voice. - -"I don't know," he said, in the dreary tones of a man who has little -choice, "with our large family, and my wife's poor health. I shall miss -you dreadfully--both of you: you can't think how cheery and hearty he -always was--and that to a down-hearted man like me----" - -And then Mary sat down and cried. It went to her heart and dispersed all -her heaviness and stupor, and opened the great sealed fountains. And Mr. -Churchill once more felt the climbing sorrow in his throat, and said in -broken words, "Don't cry--God will take care of you. He knows why He has -done it, though we don't; and He has given his own word to be a father -to the boys." - -That was all the poor priest could find it in his heart to say--but it -was better than a sermon--and he went away with the extract from the -register still in his pocket-book and tears in his eyes; while for her -part Mary finished her packing with a heart relieved by her tears. Ah, -how cheery and hearty he had been, how kind to the down-hearted man; how -different the stagnant quietness now from that cheerful commotion he -used to make, and all the restless life about him; and then his -favourite words seemed to come up about and surround her, flitting in -the air with a sensation between acute torture and a dull happiness. His -bonnie Mary! It was not any vanity on Mary's part that made her think -above all of that name. Thus she did her packing and got ready for her -voyage, and took the good people's commissions without knowing very well -to what it was that she pledged herself; and it was the same mail--"the -mail after next"--by which she had written to Aunt Agatha that Hugh was -to be sent home. - -They would all have come to see her off if they could have ventured to -do it that last morning; but the men prevented it, who are good for -something now and then in such cases. As it was, however, Mrs. Kirkman -and Mrs. Hesketh and Emma Askell were there, and poor sick Mrs. -Churchill, who had stolen from her bed in her dressing-gown to kiss Mary -for the last time. - -"Oh, my dear, if it had been me--oh, if it had only been me!--and you -would all have been so good to the poor children," sobbed the poor -clergyman's ailing wife. Yet it was not her, but the strong, brave, -cheery Major, the prop and pillar of a house. As for Mrs. Kirkman, there -never was a better proof that she was, as we have so often said, in -spite of her talk, a good woman, than the fact that she could only cry -helplessly over Mary, and had not a word to say. She had thought and -prayed that God would not leave her friend alone, but she had not meant -Him to go so far as this; and her heart ached and fluttered at the -terrible notion that perhaps _she_ had something to do with the striking -of this blow. Mrs. Hesketh for her part packed every sort of dainties -for the children in a basket, and strapped on a bundle of portable toys -to amuse them on the journey, to one of Mrs. Ochterlony's boxes. "You -will be glad of them before you get there," said the experienced woman, -who had once made the journey with half-a-dozen, as she said, and knew -what it was. And then one or two of the men were walking about outside -in an accidental sort of way, to have a last look of Mary. It was -considered a very great thing among them all when the doctor, who hated -to see people in trouble, and disapproved of crying on principle, made -up his mind to go in and shake hands with Mrs. Ochterlony; but it was -not _that_ he went for, but to look at the baby, and give Mary a little -case "with some sal volatile and so forth, and the quantities marked," -he said, "not that you are one to want sal volatile. The little shaver -there will be all right as soon as you get to England. Good-bye. Take -care of yourself." And he wrung her hand and bolted out again like a -flash of lightning. He said afterwards that the only sensible thing he -knew of his sister, was that she did not go; and that the sight of all -those women crying was enough to give a man a sunstroke, not to speak of -the servants and the soldiers' wives who were howling at the back of the -house. - -Oh, what a change it was in so short a time, to go out of the Indian -home, which had been a true home, with Mr. Churchill to take care of her -and her poor babies, and set her face to the cold far-away world of her -youth which she had forgotten, and which everybody called home by a kind -of mockery; and where was Hugh, who had always taken such care of his -own? Mary did not cry as people call crying, but now and then, two great -big hot tears rolled out of the bitter fountain that was full to -overflowing, and fell scalding on her hands, and gave her a momentary -sense of physical relief. Almost all the ladies of the station were ill -after it all the day; but Mary could not afford to be ill; and Mr. -Churchill was very kind, and went with her through all the first part of -her journey over the cross roads, until she had come into the trunk -road, where there was no more difficulty. He was very, very kind, and -she was very grateful; but yet perhaps when you have had some one of -your very own to do everything for you, who was not kind but did it by -nature, it is better to take to doing it yourself _after_, than have -even the best of friends to do it for kindness' sake. This was what Mary -felt when the good man had gone sadly back to his sick wife and his -uncertain lot. It was a kind of relief to her to be all alone, entirely -alone with her children, for the ayah, to be sure, did not count--and to -have everything to do; and this was how they came down mournfully to the -sea-board, and to the big town which filled Hugh and Islay with childish -excitement, and Mary bade an everlasting farewell to her life, to all -that she had actually known as life--and got to sea, to go, as they -said, home. - -It would be quite useless for our purpose to go over the details of the -voyage, which was like other voyages, bad and good by turns. When she -was at sea, Mrs. Ochterlony had a little leisure, and felt ill and weak -and overworn, and was the better for it after. It took her mind for the -moment off that unmeasured contemplation of her sorrow which is the soul -of grief, and her spirit got a little strength in the interval of -repose. She had been twelve years in India, and from eighteen to thirty -is a wonderful leap in a life. She did not know how she was to find the -things and the people of whom she had a girl's innocent recollection; -nor how they, who had not changed, would appear to her changed eyes. Her -own people were very kind, like everybody. Mary found a letter at -Gibraltar from her brother-in-law, Francis, full of sympathy and -friendly offers. He asked her to come to Earlston with her boys to see -if they could not get on together. "Perhaps it might not do, but it -would be worth a trial," Mr. Ochterlony sensibly said; and there was -even a chance that Aunt Agatha, who was to have met with Hugh at -Southampton, would come to meet her widowed niece, who might be supposed -to stand still more in need of her good offices. Though indeed this was -rather an addition to Mary's cares; for she thought the moment of -landing would be bitter enough of itself, without the pain of meeting -with some one who belonged to her, and yet did not belong to her, and -who had doubtless grown as much out of the Aunt Agatha of old as she had -grown out of the little Mary. When Mrs. Ochterlony left the -North-country, Aunt Agatha had been a middle-aged maiden lady, still -pretty, though a little faded, with light hair growing grey, which makes -a woman's countenance, already on the decline, more faded still, and -does not bring out the tints as dark hair in the same powdery condition -sometimes does. And at that time she was still occupied by a thought of -possibilities which people who knew Agatha Seton from the time she was -sixteen, had decided at that early period to be impossible. No doubt -twelve years had changed this--and it must have made a still greater -change upon the little sister whom Mary had known only at six years old, -and who was now eighteen, the age she had herself been when she married; -a grown-up young woman, and of a character more decided than Mary's had -ever been. - -A little stir of reviving life awoke in her and moved her, when the -weary journey was over, and the steam-boat at length had reached -Southampton, to go up to the deck and look from beneath the heavy -pent-house of her widow's veil at the strangers who were coming--to see, -as she said to herself, with a throb at her heart, if there was anybody -she knew. Aunt Agatha was not rich, and it was a long journey, and -perhaps she had not come. Mary stood on the crowded deck, a little -apart, with Hugh and Islay on each side of her, and the baby in his -nurse's arms--a group such as is often seen on these decks--all clad -with loss and mourning, coming "home" to a country in which perhaps they -have no longer any home. Nobody came to claim Mrs. Ochterlony as she -stood among her little children. She thought she would have been glad of -that, but when it came to the moment--when she saw the cold unknown -shore and the strange country, and not a Christian soul to say welcome, -poor Mary's heart sank. She sat down, for her strength was failing her, -and drew Hugh and Islay close to her, to keep her from breaking down -altogether. And it was just at that moment that the brightest of young -faces peered down under her veil and looked doubtfully, anxiously at -her, and called out impatiently, "Aunt Agatha!" to some one at the other -side, without speaking to Mary. Mrs. Ochterlony did not hear this -new-comer's equally impatient demand: "Is it Mary? Are those the -children?" for she had dropped her sick head upon a soft old breast, and -had an old fresh sweet faded face bent down upon her, lovely with love -and age, and a pure heart. "Cry, my dear love, cry, it will do you -good," was all that Aunt Agatha said. And she cried, too, with good -will, and yet did not know whether it was for sorrow or joy. This was -how Mary, coming back to a fashion of existence which she knew not, was -taken home. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - - -Aunt Agatha had grown into a sweet old lady: not so old, perhaps, but -that she might have made up still into that elderly aspirant after -youth, for whose special use the name "old maid" must have been -invented. And yet there is a sweetness in the name, and it was not -inapplicable to the fair old woman, who received Mary Ochterlony into -her kind arms. There was a sort of tender misty consciousness upon her -age, just as there is a tender unconsciousness in youth, of so many -things that cannot but come to the knowledge of people who have eaten of -the tree in the middle of the garden. She was surrounded by the unknown -as was seemly to such a maiden soul. And yet she was old, and gleams of -experience, and dim knowledge at second hand, had come to her from those -misty tracts. Though she had not, and never could have, half the vigour -or force in her which Mary had even in her subdued and broken state, -still she had strength of affection and goodness enough to take the -management of all affairs into her hands for the moment, and to set -herself at the head of the little party. She took Mary and the children -from the ship, and brought them to the inn at which she had stayed the -night before; and, what was a still greater achievement, she repressed -Winnie, and kept her in a semi-subordinate and silent state--which was -an effort which taxed all Aunt Agatha's powers. Though it may seem -strange to say it, Mary and her young sister did not, as people say, -take to each other at that first meeting. It was twelve years since they -had met, and the eighteen-year-old young woman, accustomed to be a -sovereign among her own people, and have all her whims attended to, did -not, somehow, commend herself to Mary, who was broken, and joyless, and -feeble, and little capable of glitter and motion. Aunt Agatha took the -traveller to a cool room, where comparative quiet was to be had, and -took off her heavy bonnet and cloak, and made her lie down, and came and -sat by her. The children were in the next room, where the sound of their -voices could reach their mother to keep her heart; and then Aunt Agatha -took Mary's hand in both of hers, and said, "Tell me about it, my dear -love." It was a way she had of speaking, but yet such words are sweet; -especially to a forlorn creature who has supposed that there is nobody -left in the world to address her so. And then Mary told her sad story -with all the details that women love, and cried till the fountain of -tears was for the time exhausted, and grief itself by its very vehemence -had got calm; which was, as Aunt Agatha knew by instinct, the best way -to receive a poor woman who was a widow, and had just set her solitary -feet for the first time upon the shores which she left as a bride. - -And so they rested and slept that first night on English soil. There are -moments when sorrow feels sacramental, and as if it never could be -disturbed again by the pettier emotions of life. Mrs. Ochterlony had -gone to sleep in this calm, and it was with something of the same -feeling that she awoke. As if life, as she thought, being over, its -cares were in some sense over too, and that now nothing could move her -further; unless, indeed, it might be any harm to the children, which, -thank God, there was no appearance of. In this state of mind she rose up -and said her prayers, mingling them with some of those great tears which -gather one by one as the heart fills, and which seem to give a certain -physical relief when they brim over; and then she went to join her aunt -and sister at breakfast, where they had not expected to see her. "My -love, I would have brought you your tea," said Aunt Agatha, with a -certain reproach; and when Mary smiled and said there was no need, even -Winnie's heart was touched,--wilful Winnie in her black muslin gown, who -was a little piqued to feel herself in the company of one more -interesting than even she was, and hated herself for it, and yet could -not help feeling as if Mary had come in like the prodigal, to be feasted -and tended, while they never even killed a kid for her who had always -been at home. - -Winnie was eighteen, and she was not like her sister. She was tall, but -not like Mary's tallness--a long slight slip of a girl, still full of -corners. She had corners at her elbows, and almost at her shoulders, and -a great many corners in her mind. She was not so much a pretty girl as a -girl who would, or might be, a beautiful woman. Her eyebrows were -arched, and so were her delicate nostrils, and her upper lip--all curved -and moveable, and ready to quiver and speak when it was needful. When -you saw her face in profile, that outline seemed to cut itself out, as -in some warm marble against the background. It was not the _beauté du -diable_, the bewildering charm of youth, and freshness, and smiles, and -rose tints. She had something of all this, and to boot she had -features--_beaux traits_. But as for this part of her power, Winnie, to -do her justice, thought nothing of it; perhaps, to have understood that -people minded what she said, and noticed what she did because she was -very handsome, would have conveyed something like an insult and affront -to the young lady. She did not care much, nor mind much at the present -moment, whether she was pretty or not. She had no rivals, and beauty was -a weapon the importance of which had not occurred to her. But she did -care a good deal for being Winifred Seton, and as such, mistress of all -she surveyed; and though she could have beaten herself for it, it galled -her involuntarily to find herself thus all at once in the presence of a -person whom Providence seemed to have set, somehow, in a higher -position, and who was more interesting than herself. It was a wicked -thought, and she did it battle. If it had been left to her, how she -could have petted and cared for Mary, how she would have borne her -triumphantly over all the fatigues of the journey, and thought nothing -to take the tickets, and mind the luggage, and struggle with the railway -porters for Mary's sake! But to have Mary come in and absorb Aunt -Agatha's and everybody's first look, their first appeal and principal -regard, was trying to Winnie; and she had never learned yet to banish -altogether from her eyes what she thought. - -"It does not matter, aunt," said Mary; "I cannot make a recluse of -myself--I must go among strangers--and it is well to be able to practise -a little with Winnie and you." - -"You must not mind Winnie and me, my darling," said Aunt Agatha, who had -a way of missing the arrow, as it were, and catching some of the -feathers of it as it flew past. - -"What do you mean about going among strangers?" said the keener Winnie. -"I hope you don't think we are strangers; and there is no need for you -to go into society that I can see--not now at least; or at all events -not unless you like," she continued with a suspicion of sharpness in her -tone, not displeased, perhaps, on the whole that Mary was turning out -delusive, and was thinking already of society--for which notwithstanding -she scorned her sister, as was natural to a young woman at the -experienced age of eighteen. - -"Society is not what I was thinking of," said Mary, who in her turn did -not like her young sister's criticism; and she took her seat and her cup -of tea with an uncomfortable sense of opposition. She had thought that -she could not be annoyed any more by petty matters, and was incapable of -feeling the little cares and complications of life, and yet it was -astonishing how Winnie's little, sharp, half-sarcastic tone brought back -the faculty of being annoyed. - -"The little we have at Kirtell will be a comfort to you, my love," said -the soothing voice of Aunt Agatha; "all old friends. The vicar you know, -Mary, and the doctor, and poor Sir Edward. There are some new people, -but I do not make much account of them; and our little visiting would -harm nobody," the old lady said, though with a slight tone of apology, -not quite satisfied in herself that the widow should be even able to -think of society so soon. - -Upon which a little pucker of vexation came to Mary's brow. As if she -cared or could care for their little visiting, and the vicar, and the -doctor, and Sir Edward! she to whom going among strangers meant -something so real and so hard to bear. - -"Dear Aunt Agatha," she said, "I am afraid you will not be pleased; but -I have not been looking forward to anything so pleasant as going to -Kirtell. The first thing I have to think of is the boys and their -interests. And Francis Ochterlony has asked us to go to Earlston." These -words came all confused from Mary's lips. She broke down, seeing what -was coming; for this was something that she never had calculated on, or -thought of having to bear. - -A dead pause ensued; Aunt Agatha started and flushed all over, and gave -an agitated exclamation, and then a sudden blank came upon her sweet old -face. Mary did not look at her, but she saw without looking how her aunt -stiffened into resentment, and offence, and mortification. She changed -in an instant, as if Mrs. Ochterlony's confused statement had been a -spell, and drew herself up and sat motionless, a picture of surprised -affection and wounded pride. Poor Mary saw it, and was grieved to the -heart, and yet could not but resent such a want of understanding of her -position and sympathy for herself. She lifted her cup to her lips with a -trembling hand, and her tea did not refresh her. And it was the only -near relative she had in the world, the tenderest-hearted creature in -existence, a woman who could be cruel to nobody, who thus shut up her -heart against her. Thus the three women sat together round their -breakfast-table, and helped each other, and said nothing for one stern -moment, which was a cruel moment for one of them at least. - -"Earlston!" said Aunt Agatha at last, with a quiver in her voice. -"Indeed it never occurred to me--I had not supposed that Francis -Ochterlony had been so much to---- But never mind; if that is what you -think best for yourself, Mary----" - -"There is nothing best for myself," said Mrs. Ochterlony, with the -sharpness of despair. "I think it is my duty--and--and Hugh, I know, -would have thought so. Our boy is his uncle's heir. They are the--the -only Ochterlonys left now. It is what I must--what I ought to do." - -And then there was another pause. Aunt Agatha for her part would have -liked to cry, but then she had her side of the family to maintain, and -though every pulse in her was beating with disappointment and mortified -affection, she was not going to show that. "You must know best," she -said, taking up her little air of dignity; "I am sure you must know -best; I would never try to force my way of thinking on you, Mary. No -doubt you have been more in the world than I have; but I did think when -a woman was in trouble that to go among her own friends----" - -"Yes," said Mary, who was overwhelmed, and did not feel able to bear it, -"but her friends might understand her and have a little pity for her, -aunt, when she had hard things to do that wrung her heart----" - -"My dear," said Aunt Agatha, with, on her side, the bitterness of -unappreciated exertion, "if you will think how far I have come, and what -an unusual journey I have made, I think you will perceive that to accuse -me of want of pity----" - -"Don't worry her, Aunt Agatha," said Winnie, "she is not accusing you of -want of pity. I think it a very strange sort of thing, myself; but let -Mary have justice, that was not what she meant." - -"I should like to know what she did mean," said Aunt Agatha, who was -trembling with vexation, and with those tears which she wanted so much -to shed: and then two or three of them dropped on the broad-brimmed -cambric cuff which she was wearing solely on Mary's account. For, to be -sure, Major Ochterlony was not to say a relation of hers that she should -have worn such deep mourning for him. "I am sure I don't want to -interfere, if she prefers Francis Ochterlony to her own friends," she -added, with tremulous haste. She was the very same Aunt Agatha who had -taken Mary to her arms the day before, and sat by her bed, listening to -all the sad story of her widowhood. She had wept for Hugh, and she would -have shared her cottage and her garden and all she had with Mary, with -goodwill and bounty, eagerly--but Francis Ochterlony was a different -matter; and it was not in human nature to bear the preference of a -husband's brother to "her own friends." "They may be the last -Ochterlonys," said Aunt Agatha, "but I never understood that a woman was -to give up her own family entirely; and your sister was born a Seton -like you and me, Winnie;--I don't understand it, for my part." - -Aunt Agatha broke down when she had said this, and cried more bitterly, -more effusively, so long as it lasted, than she had cried last night -over Hugh Ochterlony's sudden ending: and Mary could not but feel that; -and as for Winnie, she sat silent, and if she did not make things worse, -at least she made no effort to make them better. On the whole, it was -not much wonder. They had made great changes in the cottage for Mary's -sake. Aunt Agatha had given up her parlour, her own pretty room that she -loved, for a nursery, and they had made up their minds that the best -chamber was to be Mary's, with a sort of sense that the fresh chintz and -the pictures on the walls--it was the only bed-room that had any -pictures--would make up to her if anything could. And now to find all -the time that it was Francis Ochterlony, and not her own friends, that -she was going to! Winnie sat quite still, with her fine profile cut out -sternly against the dark green wall, looking immovable and unfeeling, as -only a profile can under such circumstances. This was what came of -Mary's placid morning, and the dear union of family support and love -into which she thought she had come. It was harder upon Mrs. Ochterlony -than if Aunt Agatha had not come to meet her. She had to sit blank and -silent like a criminal, and see the old lady cry and the young lady lift -up the stern delicacy of that profile against her. They were -disappointed in Mary; and not only were they disappointed, but -mortified--wounded in their best feelings and embarrassed in secondary -matters as well; for naturally Aunt Agatha had told everybody that she -was going to bring her niece, Mrs. Ochterlony, and the poor dear -children home. - -Thus it will be seen that the first breakfast in England was a very -unsatisfactory meal for Mary. She took refuge with her children when it -was over, and shut up, as she had been forced to do in other days, -another door in her heart; and Aunt Agatha and Winnie, on the other -hand, withdrew to their apartment and talked it over, and kindled each -other's indignation. "If you knew the kind of man he was, Winnie!" Aunt -Agatha said, with a severity which was not entirely on Mary's account; -"not the sort of man I would trust those poor dear children with. I -don't believe he has any religious principles. Dear, dear, to think how -Mary should have changed! I never could have thought she would have -preferred Francis Ochterlony, and turned against her own friends." - -"I don't know anything about Francis Ochterlony," said Winnie, "but I -know what a lot of bother we have had at home making all those changes; -and your parlour that you had given up, Aunt Agatha--I must say when I -think of that----" - -"That is nothing, my love," said Aunt Agatha; "I was not thinking of -what I have done, I hope--as if the sacrifice was anything." But -nevertheless the tears came into her eyes at the thought. It is hard -when one has made a sacrifice with a liberal heart, to have it thrown -back, and to feel that it is useless. This is hard, and Aunt Agatha was -only human. If she had been alone, probably after the first moment of -annoyance she would have gone to Mary, and the two would have cried -together, and after little Hugh's prospects had been discussed, Miss -Seton would have consented that it was best for her niece to go to -Earlston; but then Winnie was there to talk it over and keep up Aunt -Agatha's indignation. And Mary was wounded, and had retired and shut -herself up among her children. And it was thus that the most trifling -and uncalled-for of cares came, with little pricks of vexation and -disappointment, to disturb at its very outset the new chapter of life -which Mrs. Ochterlony had imagined herself to be entering upon in such a -calm of tranquillising grief. - -They were to go to London that day, and to continue their journey to the -North by the night train: but it was no longer a journey in which any of -the party could take any pleasure. As for Mary, in the great revulsion -of her disappointment, it seemed to her as if there was no comfort for -her anywhere. She had to go to Earlston to accept a home from Francis -Ochterlony, whom she had never "taken to," even in her young days. And -it had occurred to her that her aunt and sister would understand why, -and would be sorry for her, and console her under this painful effort. -When, on the contrary, they proved to be affronted and indignant, Mary's -heart shut close, and retreated within itself. She could take her -children into her arms, and press them against her heart, as if that -would do it some good; but she could not talk to the little things, nor -consult them, nor share anything with them except such smiles as were -practicable. To a woman who has been used to talk all her concerns over -with some one, it is terrible to feel her yearnings for counsel and -sympathy turned back upon her own soul, and to be struck dumb, and feel -that no ear is open to her, and that in all the world there is no one -living to whom her affairs are more than the affairs of a stranger. Some -poor women there are who must have fellowship somehow, and who will be -content with pity if sympathy is not to be had. But Mary was not of this -kind of women. She shut her doors. She went in, into herself in the -silence and solitude, and felt her instinctive yearning to be helped and -understood come pouring back upon her like a bitter flood. And then she -looked at her little boys in their play, who had need of all from her, -and could give her back but their childish fondness, and no help, or -stay, or counsel. It is hard upon a woman, but yet it is a thing which -every woman must confront and make up her mind to, whom God places in -such circumstances. I do not know if it is easier work for a man in the -same position. Mary had felt the prop of expected sympathy and -encouragement and affection rudely driven from under her, and when she -came in among her innocent helpless children she faced her lot, and did -not deceive herself any more. To judge for herself, and do the best that -in her lay, and take all the responsibilities upon her own head, -whatever might follow; to know that nobody now in all the world was for -her, or stood by her, except in a very secondary way, after his or her -concerns and intentions and feelings had been carefully provided for in -the first place. This was how her position appeared to her. And, indeed, -such _was_ her position, without any exaggeration. It was very kind of -Francis Ochterlony to be willing to take her in, and very kind of Aunt -Agatha to have made preparations for her; and kindness is sweet, and yet -it is bitter, and hard, and cold, and killing to meet with. It made Mary -sick to her heart, and filled her with a longing to take up her babes -and rush away into some solitary corner, where nobody would ever see her -again or hear of her. I do not say that she was right, or that it was a -proper state of mind to be in. And Mary was too right-minded a woman to -indulge in it long; but that was the feeling that momentarily took -possession of her as she put the doors to in her heart, and realized -that she really was alone there, and that her concerns were hers alone, -and belonged to nobody else in the world. - -And, on the other hand, it was very natural for Aunt Agatha and Winnie. -They knew the exertions they had made, and the flutter of generous -excitement in which they had been, and their readiness to give up their -best for the solace of the widow. And naturally the feeling that all -their sacrifices were unnecessary and their preparations made in vain, -turned the honey into gall for the moment. It was not their part to take -Mary's duty into consideration, in the first place; and they did not -know beforehand of Francis Ochterlony's letter, nor the poor Major's -confidence that his brother would be a friend to his widow. And then -Aunt Agatha's parlour, which was all metamorphosed, and the changes that -had been made through the whole house! The result was, that Aunt Agatha, -offended, did not so much as offer to her niece the little -breathing-time Mary had hoped for. When they got to London, she -re-opened the subject, but it was in an unanswerable way. - -"I suppose your brother-in-law expects you?" she said. "I think it will -be better to wait till to-morrow before you start, that he may send the -carriage to the station for you. I don't ask you to come to me for the -night, for it would be a pity to derange the children for so short a -time." - -"Very well, aunt," said Mary, sadly. And she wrote to Mr. Ochterlony, -and slept that night in town--her strength almost failing her at the -thought that, in her feebleness and excitement, she had to throw herself -immediately on Francis Ochterlony's tender mercies. She even paused for -a moment to think, might she not really do as her heart suggested--find -out some corner of refuge for herself with which nobody could -intermeddle, and keep apart from them all? But Mary had come "home to -her friends," as everybody said at the station; and she had a woman's -prejudices, and it seemed unnatural to her to begin, without any -interposition of the people belonging to her, that strange and solitary -life of independence or self-dependence which was what she must decide -upon some time. And then there was always Mr. Ochterlony's letter, which -was so kind. Thus it was fixed by a few words, and could not be changed. -Aunt Agatha had a terrible compunction afterwards, and could not get -Mary's look out of her head, as she owned to Winnie, and would have got -up out of her bed in the middle of the night, and gone to Mary and -begged her to come to the cottage first, if it had not been that Winnie -might have woke up, and that she would have to cross a passage to Mary's -room; and in an hotel where "gentlemen" were continually about, and who -could tell whom she might meet? So they all slept, or pretended to -sleep, and said nothing about it; and the next day set off with no -further explanations, on their way "home." - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - -Earlston is a house which lies in a little green valley among the grey -folds of the Shap Fells. It is not an inviting country, though the -people love it as people do love everything that belongs to them; and it -has a very different aspect from the wooded dell a little farther north, -where strays the romantic little Kirtell, and where Aunt Agatha's -cottage smiled upon a tufted slope, with the music of the cheery river -in its ears day and night. The rivers about Earlston were shallow, and -ran dry in summer, though it was not because of any want of rain; and -the greyness of the hills made a kind of mist in the air to unaccustomed -eyes. Everybody, who has ever gone to the north that way, knows the deep -cuttings about Shap, where the railway plunges through between two humid -living limestone walls, where the cottages, and the fences, and the -farm-houses all lead up in level tones of grey to the vast greyness of -the piebald hills, and where the line of pale sky above is grey too in -most cases. It was at one of the little stations in this monotonous -district that Mrs. Ochterlony and her children and her ayah were -deposited--Aunt Agatha, with an aspect of sternness, but a heart that -smote her, and eyes that kept filling with tears she was too proud to -shed, looking on the while. Winnie looked on too without the -compunction, feeling very affronted and angry. They were going further -on, and the thought of home was overcast to both these ladies by the -fact that everybody would ask for Mary, and that the excitement of the -past few weeks would collapse in the dreariest and suddenest way when -they were seen to return alone. As for Mary, she looked grey like the -landscape, under her heavy veil--grey, silent, in a kind of dull -despair, persuading herself that the best thing of all was to say -nothing about it, and shut only more closely the doors of that heart -where nobody now had any desire to come in. She lifted her little boys -out, and did not care even to look if the carriage was waiting for -her--and then she came to the window to bid her aunt and sister -good-bye. She was so disappointed and sick-hearted, and felt for the -moment that the small amount of affection and comprehension which they -were capable of giving her was so little worth the trouble of seeking -for, that Mary did not even ask to be written to. She put up her pale -face, and said good-bye in a dreary unexpectant tone that doubled the -compunction in Aunt Agatha's bosom. "Oh, Mary, if you had but been -coming with us!" cried that inconsistent woman, on the spur of the -moment. "It is too late to speak of it now," said Mary, and kissed her -and turned away; and the heartless train dashed off, and carried off -Aunt Agatha with that picture in her eyes of the forlorn little group on -the platform of the railway station--the two little boys clinging close -to their mother, and she standing alone among strangers, with the -widow's veil hanging over her colourless face. "Can you see the -carriage, Winnie?--look out and tell me if you can see it," said Aunt -Agatha. But the engine that carried them on was too quick for Winnie, -and had already swept out of sight. And they pursued their journey, -feeling guilty and wretched, as indeed, to a certain extent, they -deserved to feel. A two months' widow, with a baby and two helpless -little boys--and at the best it could only be a servant who had come to -meet her, and she would have everything to do for herself, and to face -her brother-in-law without any support or helper. When Aunt Agatha -thought of this, she sank back in her corner and sobbed. To think that -she should have been the one to take offence and be affronted at Mary's -first word, and desert her thus: when she might have taken her home and -comforted her, and then, if it must have ended so, conveyed her to -Earlston: Aunt Agatha cried, and deserved to cry, and even Winnie felt a -twinge at her heart; and they got rather angry with each other before -they reached home, and felt disposed to accuse each other, and trembled -both of them before the idea of meeting Peggy, Miss Seton's domestic -tyrant, who would rush to the door with her heart in her mouth to -receive "our Miss Mary and the puir dear fatherless bairns." Mary might -be silent about it, and never complain of unkindness; but it was not to -be expected that Peggy would have the same scruples; and these two -guilty and miserable travellers trembled at the thought of her as they -made their wretched way home. - -When the train had disappeared, Mary tried to take a kind of cold -comfort to herself. She stood all alone, a stranger, with the few rustic -passengers and rustic railway officials staring at her as if she had -dropped from the skies, and no apparent sign anywhere that her coming -had been looked for, or that there was any resting-place for her in this -grey country. And she said to herself that it was natural, and must -always be so henceforth, and that it was best at once to accustom -herself to her lot. The carriage had not come, nor any message from -Earlston to say she was expected, and all that she could do was to go -into the rude little waiting-room, and wait there with the tired -children till some conveyance could be got to take her to her -brother-in-law's house. Her thoughts would not be pleasant to put down -on paper, could it be done; and yet they were not so painful as they had -been the day before, when Aunt Agatha failed her, or seemed to fail. Now -that disappointed craving for help and love and fellowship was over for -the moment, and she had nothing but her own duty and Francis Ochterlony -to encounter, who was not a man to give any occasion for vain hopes. -Mary did not expect fellowship or love from her brother-in-law. If he -was kind and tolerant of the children, and moderately considerate to -herself, it was all she looked for from him. Perhaps, though he had -invited her, he had not been prepared to have her thrown on his hands so -soon; and it might be that the domestic arrangements of Earlston were -not such as to admit of the unlooked-for invasion of a lady and a -nursery on such very short notice. But the most prominent feeling in -Mrs. Ochterlony's mind was weariness, and that longing to escape -anywhere, which is the most universal of all sentiments when the spirit -is worn out and sick to death. Oh, that she had wings like a -dove!--though Mary had nowhere to flee to, nobody to seek consolation -from; and instead of having a home anywhere on earth awaiting her, was -herself the home, the only shelter they understood, of the little pale -fatherless children who clustered round her. If she could but have taken -possession of one of those small cottages, grey and homely as they -looked, and put the little ones to bed in it, and drawn a wooden chair -to the fire, and been where she had a right to be! It was July, but the -weather was cold at Shap, and Mary had that instinct common to wounded -creatures of creeping to the fire, as if there was a kind of comfort in -its warmth. She could have borne her burden bravely, or at least she -thought so, if this had been what awaited her. But it was Earlston and -Francis Ochterlony that awaited her--a stranger and a stranger's house. -All these thoughts, and many more, were passing through her mind, as she -sat in the little waiting-room with her baby in her arms, and her two -elder boys pressing close to her. The children clung and appealed to -her, and the helpless Hindoo woman crouched at her mistress's side; but -as for Mary, there was nobody to give her any support or countenance. It -was a hard opening to the stern way which had henceforward to be trodden -alone. - -Francis Ochterlony, however, though he had a certain superb indifference -to the going-out and coming-in of trains, and had forgotten the precise -hour, was not a wretch nor a brute, and had not forgotten his visitors. -While Mary sat and waited, and while the master of the little station -made slow but persevering search after some possible means of conveyance -for her, a heavy rumbling of wheels became audible, and the carriage -from Earlston made its tardy appearance. It was an old-fashioned -vehicle, drawn by two horses, which betrayed their ordinary avocations -much in the same way as the coachman did, who, though dressed, as they -were, for the occasion, carried a breath of the fields about him, which -was more convincing than any conventionalism of garments. But such as it -was, the Earlston carriage was not without consideration in the -country-side. All the people about turned out in a leisurely way to -lift the children into it, and shoulder the boxes into such corners as -could be found for them--which was an affair that demanded many -counsellors--and at length the vehicle got under way. Twilight began to -come on as they mounted up into the grey country, by the winding grey -roads fenced in with limestone walls. Everything grew greyer in the -waning light. The very trees, of which there were so few, dropped into -the gathering shadows, and deepened them without giving any livelier -tint of colour to the scene. The children dropped asleep, and the ayah -crooned and nodded over the baby; but Mary, who had no temptation to -sleep, looked out with steady eyes, and, though she saw nothing -distinctly, took in unawares all the comfortless chill and monotony of -the landscape. It went to her heart, and made her shiver. Or perhaps it -was only the idea of meeting Francis Ochterlony that made her shiver. If -the children, any one of them, had only been old enough to understand it -a little, to clasp her hand or her neck with the exuberance of childish -sympathy! But they did not understand, and dropped asleep, or asked with -timid, quivering little voices, how long it would be before they got -home. Home! no wonder Mrs. Ochterlony was cold, and felt the chill go to -her heart. Thus they went on for six or seven weary miles, taking as -many hours, as Mary thought. Aunt Agatha had arrived at her cottage, -though it was nearly thirty miles further on, while the comfortless -party were still jogging along in the Earlston carriage; but Mary did -not think particularly of that. She did not think at all, poor soul. She -saw the grey hill-side gliding past her, and in a vague way, at the same -moment, seemed to see herself, a bride, going gaily past on the same -road, and rehearsed all the past over again with a dull pain, and -shivered, and felt cold--cold to her heart. This was partly perhaps -because it is chilly in Cumberland, when one has just come from India; -and partly because there was something that affected a woman's fanciful -imagination in the misty monotony of the limestone country, and the grey -waste of the hills. - -Earlston, too, was grey, as was to be expected; and the trees which -surrounded it had lost colour in the night. The hall was but dimly -lighted, when the door was opened--as is but too common in country -houses of so retired a kind--and there was nobody ready at the instant -to open the door or to receive the strangers. To be sure, people were -called and came--the housekeeper first, in a silk gown, which rustled -excessively, and with a certain air of patronizing affability; and then -Mr. Ochterlony, who had been sitting, as he usually did, in his -dressing-gown, and who had to get into his coat so hurriedly that he had -not recovered from it when he shook hands with his sister-in-law; and -then by degrees servants appeared, and lifted out the sleepy, startled -children, who, between waking and sleeping, worn out, frightened, and -excited, were precisely in the condition which it is most difficult to -manage. And the ayah, who could hold no Christian communication with -anybody around her, was worse than useless to her poor mistress. When -Mr. Ochterlony led the way into the great, solemn, dark, -dining-room--which was the nearest room at hand--the children, instead -of consenting to be led upstairs, clung with one unanimous accord to -their mother. Little Wilfrid got to her arms, notwithstanding all -remonstrances, and Hugh and Islay each seized silently a handful of her -black dress, crushing the crape beyond all remedy. It was thus she -entered Earlston, which had been her husband's birthplace, and was to be -her son's inheritance--or so at least Mary thought. - -"I hope you have had a pleasant journey," Mr. Ochterlony said, shaking -hands with her again. "I daresay they are tired, poor little things--but -you have had good weather, I hope." This he said after he had indicated -to Mary a large easy-chair in carved oak, which stood by the side of the -fire-place, and into which, with little Wilfrid clinging to her, and -Islay and Hugh holding fast by her dress, it was not so easy to get. The -master of the house did not sit down himself, for it was dreary and -dark, and he was a man of fine perceptions; but he walked to the window -and looked out, and then came back again to his sister-in-law. "I am -glad you have had such good weather--but I am sure you must all be -tired," he said. - -"Yes," said Mary, who would have liked to cry, "very tired; but I hope -we did not come too soon. Your letter was so kind that I thought----" - -"Oh don't speak of it," said Mr. Ochterlony; and then he stood before -her on the dark hearth, and did not know what more to say. The twilight -was still lingering, and there were no lights in the room, and it was -fitted up with the strictest regard to propriety, and just as a -dining-room ought to be. Weird gleams of dull reflection out of the -depths of old mahogany lay low towards the floor, bewildering the -visitor; and there was not even the light of a fire, which, for merely -conventional motives, because it was July, did not occupy its usual -place; though Mary, fresh from India, and shivering with the chill of -excitement and nervous grief, would have given anything to be within -reach of one. Neither did she know what to say to her almost unknown -brother-in-law, whose face even she could see very imperfectly; and the -children grasped her with that tight hold which is in itself a warning, -and shows that everything is possible in the way of childish fright and -passion. But still it was indispensable that she should find something -to say. - -"My poor little boys are so young," she said, faltering. "It was very -good of you to ask us, and I hope they won't be troublesome. I think I -will ask the housekeeper to show us where we are to be. The railway -tires them more than the ship did. This is Hugh," said Mary, swallowing -as best she could the gasp in her throat, and detaching poor little -Hugh's hand from her crape. But she had tears in her voice, and Mr. -Ochterlony had a wholesome dread of crying. He gave his nephew a hurried -pat on the head without looking at him, and called for Mrs. Gilsland, -who was at hand among the shadows rustling with her silk gown. - -"Oh!" he said hurriedly. "A fine little fellow I am sure;--but you are -quite right, and they must be tired, and I will not detain you. Dinner -is at seven," said Mr. Ochterlony. What could he say? He could not even -see the faces of the woman and children whom it was his dread but -evident duty to receive. When they went away under Mrs. Gilsland's -charge, he followed them to the foot of the stairs, and stood looking -after them as the procession mounted, guided by the rustle of the -housekeeper's gown. The poor man looked at them in a bewildered way, and -then went off to his library, where his own shaded lamp was lit, and -where everything was cosy and familiar. Arrived there, he threw himself -into his own chair with a sigh. He was not a brute, nor a wretch, as we -have said, and the least thing he could do when he heard of his poor -brother's death was to offer a shelter--temporarily at least--to the -widow and her children; but perhaps a lurking hope that something might -turn up to prevent the invasion had been in his mind up to this day. Now -she was here, and what was he to do with her? Now _they_ were here, -which was still more serious--three boys (even though one of them was a -baby) in a house full of everything that was daintiest and rarest and -most delicate! No wonder Mr. Ochterlony was momentarily stupefied by -their arrival; and then he had not even seen their faces to know what -they were like. He remembered Mary of old in her bride-days, but then -she was too young, too fresh, too unsubdued to please him. If she were -as full of vigour and energy now, what was to become of a quiet man -who, above all things, loved tranquillity and leisure? This was what -Francis Ochterlony was thinking as his visitors went upstairs. - -Mrs. Ochterlony was inducted into the best rooms in the house. Her -brother-in-law was not an effusive or sympathetic man by nature, but -still he knew what was his duty under the circumstances. Two great rooms -gleaming once more with ebon gleams out of big wardrobes and -half-visible mirrors, with beds that looked a little like hearses, and -heavy solemn hangings. Mrs. Gilsland's silk gown rustled about -everywhere, pointing out a thousand conveniences unknown at the station; -but all Mary was thinking about was one of those grey cottages on the -road, with the fire burning brightly, and its little homely walls -lighted up with the fitful, cheerful radiance. If she could but have had -a fire, and crept up to it, and knelt on the hearth and held herself to -the comforting warmth! There are times when a poor creature feels all -body, just as there are times when she feels all soul. And then, to -think that dinner was at seven! just as it had been when she came there -with Hugh, a girl all confident of happiness and life. No doubt Mr. -Ochterlony would have forgiven his sister-in-law, and probably indeed -would have been as much relieved as she, if she had but sent an apology -and stayed in her room all the evening. But Mary was not the kind of -woman to do this. It did not occur to her to depart from the natural -routine, or make so much talk about her own feelings or sentiments as -would be necessary even to excuse her. What did it matter? If it had to -be done, it had to be done, and there was nothing more to be said. This -was the view her mind took of most matters; and she had always been -well, and never had any pretext to get out of things she did not like, -as women do who have headaches and handy little illnesses. She could -always do what was needful, and did always do it without stopping to -make any questions; which is a serviceable kind of temperament in life, -and yet subjects people to many little martyrdoms which otherwise they -might escape from. Though her heart was sick, she put on her best gown -all covered with crape, and her widow's cap, and went down to dine with -Francis Ochterlony in the great dining-room, leaving her children -behind, and longing unspeakably for that cottage with the fire. - -It was not such an unbecoming dress after all, notwithstanding what -people say. Mary was worn and sad, but she was not faded; and the dead -white of the cap that encircled her face, and the dead black of her -dress, did not do so much harm as perhaps they ought to have done to -that sweet and stedfast grace, which had made the regiment recognise -and adopt young Stafford's fanciful title. She was still Madonna Mary -under that disfigurement; and on the whole she was _not_ disfigured by -her dress. Francis Ochterlony lifted his eyes with equal surprise and -satisfaction to take a second look at poor Hugh's widow. He felt by -instinct that Phidias himself could not have filled a corner in his -drawing-room, which was so full of fine things, with a figure more fair -or half so appropriate as that of the serene woman who now took her seat -there, abstracted a little into the separation and remoteness of sorrow, -but with no discord in her face. He liked her better so than with the -group of children, who made her look as if she was a Charity, and the -heavy veil hanging half over her face, which had a conventual and -uncomfortable effect; and he was very courteous and attentive to his -sister-in-law. "I hope you had good weather," he said in his deferential -way; "and I trust, when you have been a few days at Earlston, the -fatigue will wear off. You will find everything quiet here." - -"I hope so," said Mary; "but it is the children I am thinking of. I -trust our rooms are a long distance off, and that we will not disturb -you." - -"That is quite a secondary matter," said Mr. Ochterlony. "The question -is, are you comfortable? I hope you will let Mrs. Gilsland know if -anything is wanted. We are not--not quite used to these sort of things, -you know; but I am sure, if anything is wanted----" - -"You are very kind," said Mary; "I am sure we shall be very -comfortable." And yet as she said so her thoughts went off with a leap -to that little cottage interior, and the cheerful light that shone out -of the window, and the fire that crackled and blazed within. Ah, if she -were but there! not dining with Mr. Ochterlony in solemn grandeur, but -putting her little boys to bed, and preparing their supper for them, and -cheating away heavy thoughts by that dear common work for the comfort -and service of her own which a woman loves. But this was not a sort of -longing to give expression to at Earlston, where in the evening Mr. -Ochterlony was very kind to his sister-in-law, and showed her a great -many priceless things which Mary regarded with trembling, thinking of -two small barbarians about to be let loose among them, not to speak of -little Wilfrid, who was old enough to dash an Etruscan vase to the -earth, or upset the rarest piece of china, though he was still only a -baby. She could not tell how they were so much as to walk through that -drawing-room without doing some harm, and her heart sank within her as -she listened to all those loving lingering descriptions which only a -virtuoso can make. Mr. Ochterlony retired that evening with a sense -always agreeable to a man, that in doing a kind thing he had not done a -foolish one, and that the children of such a fair and gracious woman -could not be the graceless imps who had been haunting his dreams ever -since he knew they were coming home; but Mary for her part took no such -flattering unction to her soul. She sighed as she went upstairs sad and -weary to the great sombre room, in which a couple of candles burned like -tiny stars in a world of darkness, and looked at her sleeping boys, and -wondered what they were to do in this collection of curiosities and -beauties. She was an ignorant woman, and did not, alas! care anything at -all for the Venus Anadyomene. But she thought of little Hugh tilting -that marble lady and her pedestal over, and shook and trembled at the -idea. She trembled too with cold and nervous agitation, and the chill of -sorrow in her heart. In the lack of other human sources of consolation, -oh! to go to that cottage hearth, and kneel down and feel to one's very -soul the comfort of the warm consoling fire. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - - -It had need to be a mind which has reached the last stage of human -sentiment which can altogether resist the influence of a lovely summer -morning, all made of warmth, and light, and softened sounds, and far-off -odours. Mrs. Ochterlony had not reached this last stage; she was still -young, and she was only at the beginning of her loneliness, and her -heart had not sickened at life, as hearts do sometimes which have made a -great many repeated efforts to live, and have to give in again and -again. When she saw the sunshine lying in a supreme peacefulness upon -those grey hills, and all the pale sky and blue depths of air beaming -softly with that daylight which comes from God, her courage came back to -her in spite of herself. She began the morning by the shedding of those -silent tears which are all the apology one can make to one's dead, for -having the heart to begin another day without them; and when that moment -was over, and the children had lifted all their daylight faces in a -flutter of curiosity and excitement about this new "home" they had come -to, after so long talking of it and looking forward to it, things did -not seem so dark to Mary as on the previous evening. For one thing, the -sun was warm and shone in at her windows, which made a great difference; -and with her children's voices in her ears, and their faces fresh in the -morning light, what woman could be altogether without courage? "So long -as they are well," she said to herself--and went down stairs a little -consoled, to pour out Mr. Ochterlony's coffee for him, thanking heaven -in her heart that her boys were to have a meal which had nothing calm -nor classical about it, in the old nursery where their father had once -eaten his breakfasts, and which had been hurriedly prepared for them. -"The little dears must go down after dinner; but master, ma'am--well, -he's an old bachelor, you know," said Mrs. Gilsland, while explaining -this arrangement. "Oh, thank you; I hope you will help me to keep them -from disturbing him," Mary had said; and thus it was with a lighter -heart that she went down stairs. - -Mr. Ochterlony came down too at the same time in an amiable frame of -mind. Notwithstanding that he had to put himself into a morning coat, -and abjured his dressing-gown, which was somewhat of a trial for a man -of fixed habits, nothing could exceed the graciousness of his looks. A -certain horrible notion common to his class, that children scream all -night long, and hold an entire household liable to be called up at any -moment, had taken possession of his mind. But his tired little guests -had been swallowed up in the silence of the house, and had neither -screamed, nor shouted, nor done anything to disturb its habitual quiet; -and the wonderful satisfaction of having done his duty, and not having -suffered for it, had entered Mr. Ochterlony's mind. It is in such -circumstances that the sweet sense of well-doing, which is generally -supposed the best reward of virtue, settles upon a good man's spirits. -The Squire might be premature in his self-congratulations, but then his -sense of relief was exquisite. If nothing worse was to come of it than -the presence of a fair woman, whose figure was always in drawing, and -who never put herself into an awkward attitude--whose voice was soft, -and her movements tranquil, Mr. Ochterlony felt that self-sacrifice -after all was practicable. The boys could be sent to school as all boys -were, and at intervals might be endured when there was nothing else for -it. Thus he came down in a benign condition, willing to be pleased. As -for Mary, the first thing that disturbed her calm, was the fact that she -was herself of no use at her brother-in-law's breakfast-table. He made -his coffee himself, and then he went into general conversation in the -kindest way, to put her at her ease. - -"That is the Farnese Hercules," he said; "I saw it caught your eye last -night. It is from a cast I had made for the purpose, and is considered -very perfect; and that you know is the new Pallas, the Pallas that was -found in the Sestina Villa; you recollect, perhaps?" - -"I am afraid not," said Mary, faltering; and she looked at them, poor -soul, with wistful eyes, and tried to feel a little interest. "I have -been so long out of the way of everything----" - -"To be sure," said the Squire, encouragingly, "and my poor brother Hugh, -I remember, knew very little about it. He went early to India, and had -few advantages, poor fellow." All this Mr. Ochterlony said while he was -concocting his coffee; and Mary had nothing to do but to sit and listen -to him with her face fully open to his inspection if he liked, and no -kindly urn before her to hide the sudden rush of tears and indignation. -A man who spent his life having casts made, and collecting what Mary in -her heart with secret rage called "pretty things!"--that he should make -a complacent contrast between himself and his brother! The suggestion -filled Mrs. Ochterlony with a certain speechless fury which was born of -her grief. - -"He knew well how to do his duty," she said, as soon as she could speak; -and she would not let her tears fall, but opened her burning eyes wide, -and absorbed them somehow out of pride for Hugh. - -"Poor fellow!" said his brother, daintily pouring out the fragrant -coffee. "I don't know if he ever could have had much appreciation of -Art; but I am sure he made a good soldier, as you say. I was very much -moved and shocked when I heard--but do not let us talk of such painful -subjects; another time, perhaps----" - -And Mary sat still with her heart beating, and said no more--thinking -through all the gentle flow of conversation that followed of the -inconceivable conceit that could for a moment class Francis Ochterlony's -dilettante life with that of her dead Hugh, who had played a man's part -in the world, and had the heart to die for his duty's sake. And this -useless Squire could speak of the few advantages he had! It was -unreasonable, for, to tell the truth, the Squire was much more -accomplished, much better instructed than the Major. The Numismatic -Society and the Society of Antiquaries, and even, on certain subjects, -the British Association, would have listened to Francis Ochterlony as if -he had been a messenger from heaven. Whereas Hugh the soldier would -never have got a hearing nor dared to open his lips in any learned -presence. But then that did not matter to his wife, who, notwithstanding -her many high qualities, was not a perfectly reasonable woman. Those -"few advantages" stood terribly in Mary's way for that first morning. -They irritated her far more than Mr. Ochterlony could have had the least -conception or understanding of. If anybody had given him a glass to look -into her heart with, the Squire would have been utterly confounded by -what he saw there. What had he done? And indeed he had done nothing that -anybody (in his senses) could have found fault with; he had but turned -Mary's thoughts once more with a violent longing to the roadside -cottage, where at least, if she and her children were but safely housed, -her soldier's memory would be shrined, and his sword hung up upon the -homely wall, and his name turned into a holy thing. Whereas he was only -a younger brother who had gone away to India, and had few advantages, in -the Earlston way of thinking. This was the uppermost thought in Mrs. -Ochterlony's mind as her brother-in-law exhibited all his collections to -her. The drawing-room, which she had but imperfectly seen in her -weariness and preoccupation the previous night, was a perfect museum of -things rich and rare. There were delicate marbles, tiny but priceless, -standing out white and ethereal against the soft, carefully chosen, -toned crimson of the curtains; and bronzes that were worth half a year's -income of the lands of Earlston; and Etruscan vases and Pompeian relics; -and hideous dishes with lizards on them, besides plaques of dainty -porcelain with Raphael's designs; the very chairs were fantastic with -inlaying and gilding--curious articles, some of them worth their weight -in gold; and if you but innocently looked at an old cup and saucer on a -dainty table wondering what it did there, it turned out to be the ware -of Henri II., and priceless. To see Mary going over all this with her -attention preoccupied and wandering, and yet a wistful interest in her -eyes, was a strange sight. All that she had in the world was her -children, and the tiny little income of a soldier's widow--and you may -suppose perhaps that she was thinking what a help to her and the still -more valuable little human souls she had to care for, would have been -the money's-worth of some of these fragile beauties. But that was not -what was in Mrs. Ochterlony's mind. What occupied her, on the contrary, -was an indignant wonder within herself how a man who spent his existence -upon such trifles (they looked trifles to her, from her point of view, -and in this of course she was still unreasonable) could venture to look -down with complacency upon the real life, so honestly lived and so -bravely ended, of his brother Hugh--poor Hugh, as he ventured to call -him. Mr. Ochterlony might die a dozen times over, and what would his -marble Venus care, that he was so proud of? But it was Hugh who had -died; and it was a kind of comfort to feel that _he_ at least, though -they said he had few advantages, had left one faithful woman behind him -to keep his grave green for ever. - -The morning passed, however, though it was a long morning; and Mary -looked into all the cabinets of coins and precious engraved gems, and -rare things of all sorts, with a most divided attention and wandering -mind--thinking where were the children? were they out-of-doors? were -they in any trouble? for the unearthly quietness in the house seemed to -her experienced mother's ear to bode harm of some kind--either illness -or mischief, and most likely the last. As for Mr. Ochterlony, it never -occurred to him that his sister-in-law, while he was showing her his -collections, should not be as indifferent as he was to any vulgar -outside influence. "We shall not be disturbed," he said, with a calm -reassuring smile, when he saw her glance at the door; "Mrs. Gilsland -knows better," and he drew out another drawer of coins as he spoke. Poor -Mary began to tremble, but the same sense of duty which made her husband -stand to be shot at, kept her at her post. She went through with it like -a martyr, without flinching, though longing, yearning, dying to get -free. If she were but in that cottage, looking after her little boys' -dinner, and hearing their voices as they played at the door--their -servant and her own mistress, instead of the helpless slave of courtesy, -and interest, and her position, looking at Francis Ochterlony's -curiosities! When she escaped at last, Mary found that indeed her fears -had not been without foundation. There had been some small breakages, -and some small quarrels in the nursery, where Hugh and Islay had been -engaged in single combat, and where baby Wilfrid had joined in with -impartial kicks and scratches, to the confusion of both combatants: all -which alarming events the frightened ayah had been too weak-minded and -helpless to prevent. And, by way of keeping them quiet, that bewildered -woman had taken down a beautiful Indian canoe, which stood on a bracket -in the corridor, and the boys, as was natural, with true scientific -inquisitiveness had made researches into its constitution, such as -horrified their mother. Mary was so cowardly as to put the boat together -again with her own hands, and put it back on its bracket, and say -nothing about it, with devout hopes that nobody would find it -out--which, to be sure, was a terrible example to set before children. -She breathed freely for the first time when she got them out--out of -Earlston--out of Earlston grounds--to the hill-side, where, though -everything was grey, the turf had a certain greenness, and the sky a -certain blueness, and the sun shone warm, and nameless little English -wild flowers were to be found among the grass; nameless things, too -insignificant for anything but a botanist to classify, and Mrs. -Ochterlony was no botanist. She put down Wilfrid on the grass, and sat -by him, and watched for a little the three joyful unthinking creatures, -harmonized without knowing it by their mother's presence, rolling about -in an unaccustomed ecstacy upon the English grass; and then Mary went -back, without being quite aware of it, into the darker world of her own -mind, and leant her head upon her hands and began to think. - -She had a great deal to think about. She had come home obeying the first -impulse, which suggested that a woman left alone in the world should put -herself under the guidance and protection of "her friends:" and, in the -first stupor of grief, it was a kind of consolation to think that she -had still somebody belonging to her, and could put off those final -arrangements for herself and by herself which one time or other must be -made. When she decided upon this, Mary did not realize the idea of -giving offence to Aunt Agatha by accepting Francis Ochterlony's -invitation, nor of finding herself at Earlston in the strange -nondescript position--something less than a member of the family, -something more than a visitor--which she at present occupied. Her -brother-in-law was very kind, but he did not know what to do with her; -and her brother-in-law's household was very doubtful and uneasy, with a -certain alarmed and suspicious sense that it might be a new and -permanent mistress who had thus come in upon them--an idea which it was -not to be expected that Mrs. Gilsland, who had been in authority so -long, should take kindly to. And then it was hard for Mary to live in a -house where her children were simply tolerated, and in constant danger -of doing inestimable mischief. She sat upon the grey hill-side, and -thought over it till her head ached. Oh, for that wayside cottage with -the blazing fire! but Mrs. Ochterlony had no such refuge. She had come -to Earlston of her own will, and she could not fly away again at once to -affront and offend the only relation who might be of service to her -boys--which was, no doubt, a sadly mercenary view to take of the -subject. She stayed beside her children all day, feeling like a -prisoner, afraid to move or to do anything, afraid to let the boys play -or give scope to their limbs and voice. And then Hugh, though he was not -old enough to sympathize with her, was old enough to put terrible -questions. "Why shouldn't we make a noise?" the child said; "is my uncle -a king, mamma, that we must not disturb him? Papa never used to mind." -Mary sent her boy back to his play when he said this, with a sharp -impatience which he could not understand. Ah, how different it was! and -how stinging the pain that went to her heart at that suggestion. But -then little Hugh, thank heaven, knew no better. Even the Hindoo woman, -who had been a faithful woman in her way, but who was going back again -with another family bound for India, began to make preparations for her -departure; and, after that, Mrs. Ochterlony's position would be still -more difficult. This was how the first day at Earlston--the first day at -home as the children said--passed over Mary. It was, perhaps, of all -other trials, the one most calculated to take from her any strength she -might have left. And after all this she had to dress at seven o'clock, -and leave her little boys in the big dark nursery, to go down to keep -her brother-in-law company at dinner, to hear him talk of the Farnese -Hercules, and of his collections, and travels, and, perhaps, of the "few -advantages" his poor brother had had: which for a woman of high spirit -and independent character, and profound loyal love for the dead, was a -very hard ordeal to bear. - -The dinner, however, went over very fairly. Mr. Ochterlony was the soul -of politeness, and, besides, he was pleased with his sister-in-law. She -knew nothing about Art; but then, she had been long in India, and was a -woman, and it was not to be wondered at. He meant no harm when he spoke -about poor Hugh's few advantages. He knew that he had a sensible woman -to deal with, and of course grief and that sort of thing cannot last for -ever; and, on the whole, Mr. Ochterlony saw no reason why he should not -speak quite freely of his brother Hugh; and lament his want of proper -training. _She_ must have known that as well as he did. And, to tell the -truth, he had forgotten about the children. He made himself very -agreeable, and even went so far as to say that it was very pleasant to -be able to talk over these matters with somebody who understood him. -Mary sat waiting with a mixture of fright and expectation for the -appearance of the children, who the housekeeper said were to come down -to dessert; but they did not come, and nothing was said about them; and -Mr. Ochterlony was fond of foreign habits, and took very little wine, -and accompanied his sister-in-law upstairs when she left the table. He -came with her in that troublesome French way with which Mary was not -even acquainted, and made it impossible for her to hurry through the -long passages to the nursery, and see what her forlorn little boys were -about. What could they be doing all this time, lost at the other end of -the great house where she could not even hear their voices, nor that -soft habitual nursery hum which was a necessary accompaniment to her -life? She had to sit down in a kind of despair and talk to Mr. -Ochterlony, who took a seat beside her, and was very friendly. The -summer evening had begun to decline, and it was at this meditative -moment that the master of Earlston liked to sit and contemplate his -Psyche and his Venus, and call a stranger's attention to their beauties, -and tell pleasant anecdotes about how he picked them up. Mrs. Ochterlony -sat by her brother-in-law's side, and listened to his talk about Art -with her ear strained to the most intense attention, prepared at any -moment to hear a shriek from the outraged housekeeper, or a howl of -unanimous woe from three culpable and terrified voices. There was -something comic in the situation, but Mary's attention was not -sufficiently disengaged to be amused. - -"I have long wished to have some information about Indian Art," said Mr. -Ochterlony. "I should be glad to know what an intelligent observer like -yourself, with some practical knowledge, thought of my theory. My idea -is---- But I am afraid you have a headache? I hope you have all the -attention you require, and are comfortable? It would give me great pain -to think that you were not perfectly comfortable. You must not feel the -least hesitation in telling me----" - -"Oh no, we have everything," said Mary. She thought she heard something -outside like little steps and distant voices, and her heart began to -beat. But as for her companion, he was not thinking about such -extraneous things. - -"I hope so," said Mr. Ochterlony; and then he looked at his Psyche with -the lingering look of a connoisseur, dwelling lovingly upon her marble -beauty. "You must have that practical acquaintance which, after all, is -the only thing of any use," he continued. "My idea is----" - -And it was at this moment that the door was thrown open, and they all -rushed in--all, beginning with little Wilfrid, who had just commenced to -walk, and who came with a tottering dash, striking against a pedestal in -his way, and making its precious burden tremble. Outside at the open -door appeared for an instant the ayah as she had set down her charge, -and Mrs. Gilsland, gracious but formidable, in her rustling gown, who -had headed the procession. Poor woman, she meant no harm, but it was not -in the heart of woman to believe that in the genial hour after dinner, -when all the inner and the outer man was mollified and comforted, the -sight of three such "bonnie boys," all curled, brushed, and shining for -the occasion, could disturb Mr. Ochterlony. Baby Wilfrid dashed across -the room in a straight line with "flicherin' noise and glee" to get to -his mother, and the others followed, not, however, without stoppages on -the way. They were bonnie boys--brave, little, erect, clear-eyed -creatures, who had never known anything but love in their lives, and -feared not the face of man; and to Mary, though she quaked and trembled, -their sudden appearance changed the face of everything, and made the -Earlston drawing-room glorious. But the effect was different upon Mr. -Ochterlony, as might be supposed. - -"How do you do, my little man," said the discomfited uncle. "Oh, this is -Hugh, is it? I think he is like his father. I suppose you intend to send -them to school. Good heavens! my little fellow, take care!" cried Mr. -Ochterlony. The cause of this sudden animation was, that Hugh, naturally -facing his uncle when he was addressed by him, had leant upon the pillar -on which Psyche stood with her immortal lover. He had put his arm round -it with a vague sense of admiration, and as he stood was, as Mary -thought, a prettier sight than even the group above; but Mr. Ochterlony -could not be expected to be of Mary's mind. - -"Come here, Hugh," said his mother, anxiously. "You must not touch -anything; your uncle will kindly let you look at them, but you must not -touch. It was so different, you know, in our Indian house--and then on -board ship," said Mary, faltering. Islay, with his big head thrown back -a little, and his hands in his little trousers pockets, was roving about -all the while in a manly way, inspecting everything, looking, as his -mother thought, for the most favourable opening for mischief. What was -she to do? They might do more damage in ten minutes than ten years of -her little income could set right. As for Mr. Ochterlony, though he -groaned in spirit, nothing could overcome his politeness; he turned his -back upon little Hugh, so that at least he might not see what was going -on, and resumed the conversation with all the composure that he could -assume. - -"You will send them to school of course," he said; "we must inquire for -a good school for them. I don't myself think that children can begin -their education too soon. I don't speak of the baby," said Mr. -Ochterlony, with a sigh. The baby evidently was inevitable. Mary had set -him down at her feet, and he sat there in a peaceable way, making no -assault upon anything, which was consolatory at least. - -"They are so young," said Mary, tremulously. - -"Yes, they are young, and it is all the better," said the uncle. His eye -was upon Islay, who had sprung upon a chair, and was riding and spurring -it with delightful energy. Naturally, it was a unique rococo chair of -the daintiest and most fantastic workmanship, and the unhappy owner -expected to see it fall into sudden destruction before his eyes; but he -was benumbed by politeness and despair, and took no notice. "There is -nothing," said the poor man with distracted attention, his eye upon -Islay, his face turned to his sister-in-law, and horror in his heart, -"like good training begun early. For my part----" - -"Oh, mamma, look here. How funny this is!" cried little Hugh. When Mary -turned sharply round in despair, she found her boy standing behind her -with a priceless Etruscan vase in his hand. He had just taken it from -the top of a low, carved bookcase, where the companion vase still stood, -and held it tilted up as he might have held a drinking mug in the -nursery. "It's a fight," cried Hugh; "look, mamma, how that fellow is -putting his lance into him. Isn't it jolly? Why don't _we_ have some -brown sort of jugs with battles on them, like this?" - -"What is it? Let _me_ see," cried Islay, and he gave a flying leap, and -brought the rococo chair down on its back, where he remounted leisurely -after he had cast a glance at the brown sort of jug. "I don't think it's -worth looking at," said the four-year-old hero. Mrs. Ochterlony heard -her brother-in-law say, "Good heavens!" again, and heard him groan as he -turned away his head. He could not forget that they were his guests and -his dead brother's children, and he could not turn them out of the room -or the house, as he was tempted to do; but at the same time he turned -away that at least he might not see the full extent of the ruin. As for -Mary, she felt her own hand tremble as she took the vase out of Hugh's -careless grasp. She was terrified to touch its brittle beauty, though -she was not so enthusiastic about it as, perhaps, she ought to have -been. And it was with a sudden impulse of desperation that she caught up -her baby, and lifted Islay off the prostrate chair. - -"I hope you will excuse them," she said, all flushed and trembling. -"They are so little, and they know no better. But they must not stay -here," and with that poor Mary swept them out with her, making her way -painfully over the dangerous path, where snares and perils lay on every -side. She gave the astonished Islay an involuntary "shake" as she -dropped him in the sombre corridor outside, and hurried along towards -the darkling nursery. The little flock of wicked black sheep trotted by -her side full of questions and surprise. "Why are we coming away? What -have we done?" said Hugh. "Mamma! mamma! tell me!" and Islay pulled at -her dress, and made more demonstratively the same demand. What had they -done? If Mr. Ochterlony, left by himself in the drawing-room, could but -have answered the question! He was on his knees beside his injured -chair, examining its wounds, and as full of tribulation as if those -fantastic bits of tortured wood had been flesh and blood. And to tell -the truth, the misfortune was greater than if it had been flesh and -blood. If Islay Ochterlony's sturdy little legs had been broken, there -was a doctor in the parish qualified to a certain extent to mend them. -But who was there among the Shap Fells, or within a hundred miles of -Earlston, who was qualified to touch the delicate members of a rococo -chair? He groaned over it as it lay prostrate, and would not be -comforted. Children! imps! come to be the torture of his life, as, no -doubt, they had been of poor Hugh's. What could Providence be thinking -of to send such reckless, heedless, irresponsible creatures into the -world? A vague notion that their mother would whip them all round as -soon as she got them into the shelter of the nursery, gave Mr. -Ochterlony a certain consolation; but even that judicial act, though a -relief to injured feeling, would do nothing for the fractured chair. - -Mary, we regret to say, did not whip the boys when she got into her own -apartments. They deserved it, no doubt, but she was only a weak woman. -Instead of that, she put her arms round the three, who were much excited -and full of wonder, and very restless in her clasp, and cried--not much, -but suddenly, in an outburst of misery and desolation. After all, what -was the vase or the Psyche in comparison with the living creatures thus -banished to make place for them? which was a reflection which some -people may be far from acquiescing in, but that came natural to her, -being their mother, and not in any special way interested in art. She -cried, but she only hugged her boys and kissed them, and put them to -bed, lingering that she might not have to go downstairs again till the -last moment. When she went at last, and made Mr. Ochterlony's tea for -him, that magnanimous man did not say a word, and even accepted her -apologies with a feeble deprecation. He had put the wounded article -away, and made a sublime resolution to take no further notice. "Poor -thing, it is not her fault," he said to himself; and, indeed, had begun -to be sorry for Mary, and to think what a pity it was that a woman so -unobjectionable should have three such imps to keep her in hot water. -But he looked sad, as was natural. He swallowed his tea with a sigh, and -made mournful cadences to every sentence he uttered. A man does not -easily get over such a shock;--it is different with a frivolous and -volatile woman, who may forget or may dissimulate, and look as if she -does not care; but a man is not so lightly moved or mended. If it had -been Islay's legs, as has been said, there was a doctor within reach; -but who in the north country could be trusted so much as to look at the -delicate limbs of a rococo chair? - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - - -The experience of this evening, though it was only the second of her -stay at Earlston, proved to Mary that the visit she was paying to her -brother-in-law must be made as short as possible. She could not get up -and run away because Hugh had put an Etruscan vase in danger, and Islay -had broken his uncle's chair. It was Mr. Ochterlony who was the injured -party, and he was magnanimously silent, saying nothing, and even giving -no intimation that the presence of these objectionable little visitors -was not to be desired in the drawing-room; and Mary had to stay and keep -her boys out of sight, and live consciously upon sufferance, in the -nursery and her bedroom, until she could feel warranted in taking leave -of her brother-in-law, who, without doubt, meant to be kind. It was a -strange sort of position, and strangely out of accord with her character -and habits. She had never been rich, nor lived in such a great house, -but she had always up to this time been her own mistress--mistress of -her actions, free to do what she thought best, and to manage her -children according to her own wishes. Now she had, to a certain extent, -to submit to the housekeeper, who changed their hours, and interfered -with their habits at her pleasure. The poor ayah went weeping away, and -nobody was to be had to replace her except one of the Earlston maids, -who naturally was more under Mrs. Gilsland's authority than Mrs. -Ochterlony's; and to this girl Mary had to leave them when she went down -to the inevitable dinner which had always to be eaten downstairs. She -made several attempts to consult her brother-in-law upon her future, but -Mr. Ochterlony, though very polite, was not a sympathetic listener. He -had received the few details which she had been moved at first, with -restrained tears, to give him about the Major, with a certain -restlessness which chilled Mary. He was sorry for his brother; but he -was one of those men who do not care to talk about dead people, and who -think it best not to revive and recall sorrow--which would be very true -and just if true sorrow had any occasion to be revived and recalled; and -her own arrangements were all more or less connected with this (as Mr. -Ochterlony called it) painful subject. And thus it was that her -hesitating efforts to make her position clear to him, and to get any -advice which he could give, was generally put aside or swallowed up in -some communication from the Numismatic Society, or questions which she -could not answer about Indian art. - -"We must leave Earlston soon," Mrs. Ochterlony took courage to say one -day, when the housekeeper, and the continued exclusion of the children, -and her own curious life on sufferance, had been too much for her. "If -you are at leisure, would you let me speak to you about it? I have so -little experience of anything but India--and I want to do what is best -for my boys." - -"Oh--ah--yes," said Mr. Ochterlony, "you must send them to school. We -must try and hear of some good school for them. It is the only thing you -can do----" - -"But they are so young," said Mary. "At their age they are surely best -with their mother. Hugh is only seven. If you could advise me where it -would be best to go----" - -"Where it would be best to go!" said Mr. Ochterlony. He was a little -surprised, and not quite pleased for the moment. "I hope you do not find -yourself uncomfortable here?" - -"Oh, no," said Mary, faltering; "but--they are very young and -troublesome, and--I am sure they must worry you. Such little children -are best by themselves," she said, trying to smile--and thus, by chance, -touched a chord of pity in her brother-in law's heart. - -"Ah," he said, shaking his head, "I assure you I feel the painfulness of -your position. If you had been unencumbered, you might have looked -forward to so different a life; but with such a burden as these -children, and you so young still----" - -"Burden?" said Mary; and it may be supposed how her eyes woke up, and -what a colour came to her cheek, and how her heart took to beating under -her crape. "You can't really think _my_ children are a burden to me? Ah! -you don't know---- I would not care to live another day if I had not my -boys." - -And here, her nerves being weak with all she had come through, she would -have liked to cry--but did not, the moment being unsuitable, and only -sat facing the virtuoso, all lighted up and glowing, brightened by -indignation, and surprise, and sudden excitement, to something more like -the former Mary than ever yet had been seen underneath her widow's cap. - -"Oh!" said Mr. Ochterlony. He could have understood the excitement had -it been about a Roman camp or a newly-discovered statue; but boys did -not commend themselves in the same way to his imagination. He liked his -sister-in-law, however, in his way. She was a good listener, and -pleasant to look at, and even when she was unintelligible was never -without grace, or out of drawing, and he felt disposed even to take a -little trouble for her. "You _must_ send them to school," he said. -"There is nothing else to be done. I will write to a friend of mine who -knows about such matters; and I am sure, for my part, I shall be very -glad if you can make yourself comfortable at Earlston--you and--and the -baby, of course," Mr. Ochterlony said, with a slightly wry face. The -innocent man had not an idea of the longing she had for that cottage -with the fire in it. It was a notion which never could have been made -intelligible to him, even had he been told in words. - -"Thank you," said Mary, faltering more and more; indeed she made a dead -pause, and he thought she had accepted his decision, and that there was -to be no more about it--which was comforting and satisfactory. He had -just risen up to leave the room, breakfast being over, when she put out -her hand to stop him. "I will not detain you a minute," she said, "it is -so desolate to have no one to tell me what to do. Indeed, we cannot stay -here--though it is so good of you; they are too young to leave me, and I -care for nothing else in life," Mrs. Ochterlony said, yielding for an -instant to her emotion; but she soon recovered herself. "There are good -schools all over England, I have heard; in places where we could live -cheaply. That is what I want to do. Near one of the good grammar -schools. I am quite free; it does not matter where I live. If you would -give me your advice," she added, timidly. Mr. Ochterlony, for his part, -was taken so much by surprise that he stood between the table and the -door, with one foot raised to go on, and not believing his ears. He had -behaved like an angel, to his own conviction, and had never said a word -about the chair, though it had to be sent to town to be repaired. He had -continued to afford shelter to the little ruffian who did it, and had -carefully abstained from all expression of his feelings. What could the -woman want more?--and what should he know about grammar-schools, and -places where people could live cheaply? A woman, too, whom he liked, and -had explained his theory of ancient art more fully to than he had ever -done to any one. And she wanted to leave Earlston and his society, and -the Psyches and Venuses, to settle down in some half-pay neighbourhood, -where people with large families lived for the sake of education. No -wonder Mr. Ochterlony turned round, struck dumb with wonder, and came -slowly back before giving his opinion, which, but for an unexpected -circumstance, would no doubt have been such an opinion as to overwhelm -his companion with confusion, and put an instant stop to her foolish -plans. - -But circumstances come wildly in the way of the best intentions, and cut -off the wisest speech sometimes on a man's very lips. At this moment the -door opened softly, and a new interlocutor presented herself. The -apparition was one which took not only the words but the very breath -from the lips of the master of Earlston. Aunt Agatha was twenty years -older than her niece, but so was Francis Ochterlony; and such a thing -was once possible as that the soft ancient maiden and the elderly -solitary dilettante might have made a cheerful human household at -Earlston. They had not met for years, not since the time when Miss Seton -was holding on by her lingering youth, and looking forward to the loss -of it with an anxious and care-worn countenance. She was twenty times -prettier now than she had been in those days--prettier perhaps, if the -truth were told, than she ever had been in her life. She was penitent, -too, and tearful in her white-haired sweetness, though Mr. Ochterlony -did not know why--with a soft colour coming and going on her checks, and -a wistful look in her dewy eyes. She had left her home at least two -hours before, and came carrying all the freshness and odours of the -morning, surrounded with sunshine and sweet air, and everything that -seems to belong to the young. Francis Ochterlony was so bewildered by -the sight that he stepped back out of her way, and could not have told -whether she was eighteen or fifty. Perhaps the sight of him had in some -degree the same effect upon Aunt Agatha. She made a little rush at Mary, -who had risen to meet her, and threw herself, soft little woman as she -was, upon her niece's taller form. "Oh, my dear love, I have been a -silly old woman--forgive me!" said Aunt Agatha. She had put up with the -estrangement as long as ever it was in human nature to put up with it. -She had borne Peggy's sneers, and Winnie's heartless suggestions that it -was her own doing. How was Winnie to know what made it so difficult for -her to have any communications with Earlston? But finally Aunt Agatha's -heart had conquered everything else. She had made such pictures to -herself of Mary, solitary and friendless ("for what is a Man? no company -when one is unhappy" Miss Seton had said to herself with unconscious -eloquence), until instinct and impulse drove her to this decided step. -The hall door at Earlston had been standing open, and there was nobody -to announce her. And this was how Aunt Agatha arrived just at the -critical moment, cutting off Mr. Ochterlony's utterance when he was on -the very point of speech. - -The poor man, for his part, did not know what to do; after the first -moment of amaze he stood dumb and humble, with his hand stretched out, -waiting to greet his unexpected visitor. But the truth was, that the two -women as they clung together were both so dreadfully disposed to cry -that they dared not face Mr. Ochterlony. The sudden touch of love and -unlooked-for sympathy had this effect upon Mary, who had been agitated -and disturbed before; and as for Aunt Agatha, she was not an old maid by -conviction, and perhaps would not have objected to this house or its -master, and the revival of these old associations was hard upon her. She -clasped Mary tight, as if it was all for Mary's sake; but perhaps there -was also a little personal feeling involved. Mr. Ochterlony stood -speechless for a moment, and then he heard a faint sob, and fled in -consternation. If that was coming, it was high time for him to go. He -went away and took refuge in his library, in a confused and -uncomfortable state of mind. This was the result of having a woman in -the house; a man who had nothing to do in his own person with the -opposite half of humanity became subject to the invasion of other women, -and still worse, to the invasion of recollections and feelings which he -had no wish to have recalled. What did Agatha Seton mean by looking so -fresh and fair at her age? and yet she had white hair too, and called -herself an old woman. These thoughts came dreadfully in his way when he -sat down to work. He was writing a monograph upon Icelandic art, and -naturally had been much interested in a subject so characteristic and -exciting; but somehow after that glimpse of his old love his mind would -not stick to his theme. The two women clinging together, though one of -them had a bonnet on, made a pretty "subject." He was not mediæval, to -speak of, but rather classical in his tastes; yet it did strike him that -a painter might have taken an idea for a Visitation out of that embrace. -And so that was how Agatha Seton looked when she was an old woman! This -idea fluttered in and out before his mind's eye, and threw such -reflections upon his paper as came dreadfully in the way of his -monograph. He lost his notes and forgot his researches in the -bewilderment produced by it; for, to tell the truth, Agatha Seton was in -a very much finer state of preservation, not to say fairer to look upon, -than most of the existing monuments of Icelandic art. - -"He has gone away," said Aunt Agatha, who was aware of that fact sooner -than Mary was, though Mrs. Ochterlony's face was towards her -brother-in-law; and she gave Mary a sudden hug and subsided into that -good cry, which is such a relief and comfort to the mind; Mary's tears -came too, but they were fewer and not by any means so satisfactory as -Aunt Agatha's, who was crying for nothing particular. "Oh, my dear love, -don't think me a wretch," the old lady said. "I have never been able to -get you out of my head, standing there on the platform all by yourself -with the dear children; and I, like an old monster, taking offence and -going away and leaving you! If it is any comfort to you, Mary, my -darling, I have been wretched ever since. I tried to write, but I could -not write. So now I've come to ask you to forgive me; and where are my -dear, dear, darling boys?" - -The poor little boys! Mary's heart gave a little leap to hear some one -once more talk of those poor children as if they were not in the way. -"Mr. Ochterlony is very kind," she said, not answering directly; "but we -must not stay, Aunt Agatha, we cannot stay. He is not used to children, -you know, and they worry him. Oh, if I had but any little place of my -own!" - -"You shall come to me, my darling love," said Aunt Agatha in triumph. -"You should have come to me from the first. I am not saying anything -against Francis Ochterlony. I never did; people might think he did not -quite behave as was expected; but I am sure I never said a word against -him. But how can a Man understand? or what can you look for from them? -My dearest Mary, you must come to me!" - -"Thank you, Aunt Agatha," said Mary, doubtfully. "You are very kind--you -are all very kind"--and then she repeated, under her breath, that -longing aspiration, "Oh, that I had but any little place of my very -own!" - -"Yes, my love, that is what we must do," said Aunt Agatha. "I would take -you with me if I could, or I would take the dear boys with me. Nobody -will be worried by them at the cottage. Oh, Mary, my darling, I never -would say anything against poor dear Hugh, or encourage you to keep his -relations at a distance; but just at this moment, my dear love, I did -think it was most natural that you should go to your own friends." - -"I think when one has little children one should be by one's-self," said -Mary, "it is more natural. If I could get a little cottage near you, -Aunt Agatha----" - -"My love, mine is a little cottage," said Miss Seton; "it is not half -nor quarter so big as Earlston--have you forgotten? and we are all a set -of women together, and the dear boys will rule over us. Ah, Mary, you -must come to me!" said the soft old lady. And after that she went up to -the dim Earlston nursery, and kissed and hugged the tabooed children, -whom it was the object of Mary's life to keep out of the way. But there -was a struggle in Aunt Agatha's gentle bosom when she heard of the -Etruscan vase and the rococo chair. Her heart yearned a little over the -pretty things thus put in peril, for she had a few pretty things herself -which were dear to her. Her alarm, however, was swallowed up by a -stronger emotion. It was natural for a woman to take thought for such -things, but it went to her heart to think of "poor Francis," once her -hero, in such a connection. "You see he has nothing else to care for," -she said--and the fair old maiden paused and gave a furtive sigh over -the poor old bachelor, who might have been so different. "It was his own -fault," she added to herself, softly; but still the idea of Francis -Ochterlony "wrapped up," as Miss Seton expressed it, in chairs and -vases, gave a shock to her gentle spirit. It was righteous retribution, -but still Aunt Agatha was a woman, and pitiful. She was still more moved -when Mary took her into the drawing-room, where there were so many -beautiful things. She looked upon them with silent and reverent -admiration, but still not without a personal reference. "So that is all -he cares for, now-a-days," she said with a sigh; and it was just at the -same moment that Mr. Ochterlony, in his study, disturbed by visions of -two women in his peaceable house, gave up his monograph on Icelandic art -in despair. - -This, it may be said, was how Mrs. Ochterlony's first experiment -terminated. She did not leave Earlston at once, but she did so shortly -after--without any particular resistance on the part of her -brother-in-law. After Aunt Agatha's visit, Mr. Ochterlony's thoughts -took a different turn. He was very civil to her before she left, as -indeed it was his nature to be to all women, and showed her his -collections, and paid her a certain alarmed and respectful deference. -But after that he did not do anything to detain Mary in his house. Where -one woman was, other women were pretty sure to come, and nobody could -tell what unseen visitants might enter along with them, to disturb a -man in his occupations, and startle him out of his tranquillity. He -never had the heart to resume that monograph on Icelandic art--which was -a great loss to the Society of Antiquaries and the æsthetic world in -general; and though he had no advice in particular to give to his -sister-in-law as to her future movements, he did not say anything -further to deter her from leaving Earlston. "I hope you will let me know -what your movements are, and where you decide upon settling," he said, -as he shook hands with her very gravely at the carriage door, "and if I -can be of any use." And this was how the first experiment came to an -end. - -Then Mrs. Ochterlony kissed her boys when they were fairly out of the -grey shadow of their uncle's house, and shed a few tears over them. "Now -at least I shall not have to keep my bonnie boys out of the way any -more," said Mary. But she caught sight again of the cheery cottage, with -the fire burning within, and the hospitable door open, as she drove down -to the railway; and her heart longed to alight and take possession, and -find herself at home. When should she be at home? or was there no such -place in the world? But happily she had no maid, and no time to think or -calculate probabilities--and thus she set out upon her second venture, -among "her own friends." - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - - -Aunt Agatha's cottage was very different from Earlston. It was a woman's -house, and bore that character written all over it. The Psyche and the -Venus would have been dreadfully out of place in it, it is true, but yet -there was not a spot left vacant where an ornament could be; little -fanciful shelves nestled in all the corners--which it was a great -comfort to Mary's mind to see were just above her boys' range--bearing -little vases, and old teacups and curiosities of all kinds, not valuable -like Francis Ochterlony's, nor chosen with such refined taste, but yet -dear to Aunt Agatha's heart. Nothing so precious as the ware of Henri -II. had ever come in Miss Seton's way; but she had one or two trifling -articles that were real Wedgewood, and she had some bits of genuine -Sèvres, and a great deal of pretty rubbish, which answered the purpose -quite as well as if it had been worth countless sums of money; and then -there were flowers, wherever flowers could find a place. The rooms all -opened out with liberal windows upon the garden, and the doors stood -open, and sun and air, sound and fragrance, went through and through the -little house. It was the same house as that in which Mary had felt the -English leaves rustling, and the English breezes blowing, as she read -Aunt Agatha's letter in India, ages ago, before any of those great -events had happened which had thrown such a shadow on her life. The two -ladies of the cottage went to the railway to meet their visitors, and it -was Peggy, the real head of the establishment, who stood in her best -cap, in a flutter of black ribbons and white apron, to receive "Miss -Mary." And the glowing colour of the flowers, and the sunshine and the -open house, and the flutter of womanish welcome, made the difference -still more marked. When Mrs. Ochterlony was placed in the easiest chair -in the brightest corner in that atmosphere of sunshine and sweetness, -and saw her forlorn little boys take their place in the foreground of -the picture, elected autocrats over the household in general, the sense -of relief and difference was so sweet to her that she no longer felt -that yearning for some place of her own. The greatest infidel, the most -hard-hearted cynic could not have felt otherwise than at home under such -circumstances. The children were taken out of Mary's hands on the -instant, she whose time had been entirely devoted to keeping them -invisible and inaudible, and out of the way--and Peggy took possession -of the baby, and pretty Winnie flashed away into the garden with the two -boys, with floating curls and flying ribbons, and all the gay freedom of -a country girl, taking the hearts of her little companions by storm. Her -sister, who had not "taken to her" at first, sat in Aunt Agatha's chair, -in the first moment of conscious repose she had known in England, and -looked out at the fair young figure moving about among the flowers, and -began to be in love with Winnie. Here she was safe at last, she and her -fatherless children. Life might be over for her in its fullest -sense--but still she was here at peace among her own people, and again -some meaning seemed to come back to the word home. She was lingering -upon this thought in the unusual repose of the moment, and wiping some -quiet tears from her cheeks, when Aunt Agatha came and sat down beside -her and took Mary's hand. She had been partially incoherent with -satisfaction and delight until now, but by this time any little tendency -to hysterics which might be in Aunt Agatha's nature, had been calmed -down by the awe-inspiring presence of Peggy, and the comfort of -perceiving nothing but satisfaction in that difficult woman's -countenance. The baby had behaved himself like an angel, and had made -no objections whatever to the cap or features of his new guardian; and -Peggy, too, was visible from the open windows walking up and down the -garden with little Wilfrid in her arms, in all the glory of content. -This sight brought Miss Seton's comfort to a climax, as it did Mary's. -She came and took her niece's hand, and sat down beside her with a -tearful joy. - -"Ah, Mary, this is what ought to have been from the very first," she -said; "this is different from Francis Ochterlony and his dreary house. -The dear children will be happy here." - -"Yes, it is very different," said Mary, returning the pressure of the -soft little white hand; but her heart was full, and she could not find -much more to say. - -"And you, too, my dear love," Aunt Agatha went on, who was not a wise -woman, looking into the new-comer's face--"you, too Mary, my -darling--you will try to be happy in your old home? Well, dear, never -mind answering me--I ought to know it is not the same for you as for us. -I can't help feeling so happy to have you and the dear children. Look at -Winnie, how delighted she is--she is so fond of children, though you -would not think so just at first. Doesn't it make you feel the -difference, Mary, to think you left her a baby, as one may say, and find -her grown up into such a great girl?" - -"I have so many things to make me feel the difference," said Mary--for -Miss Seton was not one of those people who can do without an answer; and -then Aunt Agatha was very sorry, and kissed her, with tears in her eyes. - -"Yes, my love--yes, my dear love;" she said, as if she were soothing a -child. "It was very foolish of me to use that expression; but you must -try not to mind me, Mary. Cry, my dear, or don't answer me, or do just -as you please. I never mean to say anything to recall---- Look at the -dear boys, how delighted they are. I know they will be fond of -Winnie--she has such a nice way with children. Don't you think she has a -very nice way?" - -"She is very handsome," said Mary, looking out wistfully upon the young -imperious creature, whose stage of existence seemed the very antipodes -of her own. - -"My dear love, she is beautiful," said Aunt Agatha. "Sir Edward told me -he had never, even at court--and you know he was a great deal about the -court in his young days--seen any one that promised to be such a -beautiful woman. And to think she should just be our Winnie all the -same! And so simple and sweet--such a perfect child with it all! You -may wonder how I have kept her so long," continued Winnie's adoring -guardian, "when you were married, Mary, before you were her age." - -Mrs. Ochterlony tried hard to look up with the look of inquiry and -interest which was expected of her in Aunt Agatha's face; but she could -not. It was difficult enough to struggle with the recollections that -hung about this place, without having them thrust continually in her -face in this affectionately heartless way. Thus the wheel turned softly -round again, and the reality of the situation crept out in bare outline -from under the cloak of flowers and tenderness, as hard and clear as at -Earlston. Mary's grief was her own concern, and not of very much -consequence to anybody else in the world. She had no right to forget -that fact, and yet she did forget it, not being used yet to stand alone. -While Aunt Agatha, on her side, could not but think it was rather -hard-hearted of Mary to show so little interest in her own sister, and -such a sister as Winnie. - -"It is not because she is not appreciated," Miss Seton went on, feeling -all the more bound to celebrate her favourite's praises, "but I am so -anxious she should make a good choice. She is not a girl that could -marry anybody, you know. She has her own little ways, and such a great -deal of character. I cannot tell you what a comfort it is to me, Mary, -my dear love, to think that now we shall have your experience to guide -us," Aunt Agatha added, melting into tenderness again. - -"I am afraid experience is good for very little in such cases," said -Mary, "but I hope there will be no guidance needed--she seems very happy -now." - -"To tell the truth, there is somebody at the Hall----" said Aunt Agatha, -"and I want to have your opinion, my dear. Oh, Mary, you must not talk -of no guidance being needed. I have watched over her ever since she was -born. The wind has never blown roughly on her; and if my darling was to -marry just an ordinary man, and be unhappy, perhaps--or no happier than -the rest of us----" said Aunt Agatha, with a sigh. This last touch of -nature went to Mary's heart. - -"She is rich in having such love, whatever may happen to her," said Mrs. -Ochterlony, "and she looks as if, after all, she might yet have the -perfect life. She is very, very handsome--and good, I am sure, and -sweet--or she would not be your child, Aunt Agatha; but we must not be -too ready with our guidance. She would not be happy if her choice did -not come spontaneously, and of itself." - -"But oh, my dear love, the risk of marrying!" said Miss Seton, with a -little sob--and she gave again a nervous pressure to Mary's hand, and -did not restrain her tears. They sat thus in the twilight together, -looking out upon the young little creatures for whom life was all -brightly uncertain--one of them regarding with a pitiful flutter of -dread and anxiety the world she had never ventured to enter into for -herself. Perhaps a vision of Francis Ochterlony mingled with Miss -Seton's thoughts, and a wistful backward glance at the life which might -have been, but had not. The other sat very still, holding Aunt Agatha's -soft little fluttering hand in her own, which was steady, and did not -tremble, with a strange pang of anguish and pity in her heart. Mary -looked at life through no such fanciful mists--she knew, as she thought, -its deepest depth and profoundest calamity; but the fountain of her -tears was all sealed up and closed, because nobody but herself had any -longer anything to do with it. And she, too, yearned over the young -creature whose existence was all to come, and felt that it was had to -think that she might be "no happier than the rest of us." It was these -words which had arrested Mary, who, perhaps, might have otherwise -thought that her own unquestionable sorrows demanded more sympathy than -Winnie's problematical future. Thus the two elder ladies sat, until -Winnie and the children came in, bring life and commotion with them. The -blackbird was still singing in the bushes, the soft northern twilight -lingering, and the dew falling, and all the sweet evening odours coming -in. As for Aunt Agatha, her heart, though it was old, fluttered with all -the agitation and disturbance of a girl's--while Mary, in the calm and -silence of her loneliness, felt herself put back as it were into -history, along with Ruth and Rachel, and her own mother, and all the -women whose lives had been and were over. This was how it felt to her in -the presence of Aunt Agatha's soft agitation--so that she half smiled at -herself sitting there composed and tranquil, and soothing her companion -into her usual calm. - -"Mary agrees with me that this is better than Earlston, Winnie," said -Aunt Agatha, when the children were all disposed of for the night, and -the three who were so near to each other in blood, and who were -henceforward to be close companions, yet who knew so little of each -other in deed and truth, were left alone. The lamp was lighted, but the -windows were still open, and the twilight still lingered, and a wistful -blue-green sky looked in and put itself in swift comparison with the -yellow lamplight. Winnie stood in one of the open windows, half in and -half out, looking across the garden, as if expecting some one, and with -a little contraction in her forehead that marred her fine profile -slightly--giving a kind of careless half-attention to what was said. - -"Does she?" she answered, indifferently; "I should have thought Earlston -was a much handsomer house." - -"It was not of handsome houses we were thinking, my darling," said Aunt -Agatha, with soft reproof; "it was of love and welcome like what we are -so glad as to give her here." - -"Wasn't Mr. Ochterlony kind?" said Winnie, with half contempt. "Perhaps -he does not fancy children. I don't wonder so very much at that. If they -were not my own nephews, very likely I should think them dreadful little -wretches. I suppose Mary won't mind me saying what I think. I always -have been brought up to speak out." - -"They are dear children," said poor Aunt Agatha, promptly. "I wish you -would come in, my love. It is a great deal too late now to go out." - -And at that moment Mary, who was the spectator, and could observe what -was going on, had her attention attracted by a little jar and rattle of -the window at which Winnie was standing. It was the girl's impatient -movement which had done it; and whether it was in obedience to Miss -Seton's mild command, or something more urgent, Winnie came in instantly -with a lowering brow, and shut the window with some noise and sharpness. -Probably Aunt Agatha was used to it, for she took no notice; but even -her patient spirit seemed moved to astonishment by the sudden clang of -the shutters, which the hasty young woman began to close. - -"Leave that to Peggy, my darling," she said; "besides, it was nice to -have the air, and you know how I like the last of the gloaming. That is -the window where one can always see poor Sir Edward's light when he is -at home. I suppose they are sure to be at home, since they have not come -here to-night." - -"Shall I open the window again, and let you look at the light, since you -like it so much?" said the undutiful Winnie. "I closed it for that. I -don't like to have anybody staring down at us in that superior sort of -way--as if we cared; and I am sure nobody here was looking for them -to-night." - -"No, my dear, of course not," said Miss Seton. "Sir Edward is far too -much of a gentleman to think of coming the night that Mary was expected -home." - -And then Winnie involuntarily turned half-round, and darted upon Mary an -inquiring defiant look out of her stormy eyes. The look seemed to say, -"So it was you who were the cause of it!" and then she swept past her -sister with her streaming ribbons, and pulled out an embroidery frame -which stood in a corner, and sat down to it in an irritated restless -way. In that pretty room, in the soft evening atmosphere, beside the -gentle old aunt, who was folding her soft hands in the sweet leisure -that became her age, and the fair, mature, but saddened presence of the -elder sister, who was resting in the calm of her exhaustion, a beautiful -girl bending over an embroidery frame was just the last touch of -perfection needed by the scene; but nobody would have thought so to see -how Winnie threw herself down to her work, and dashed at it, all because -of the innocent light that had been lighted in Sir Edward's window. Aunt -Agatha did her best, by impressive looks and coughs, and little -gestures, and transparently significant words, to subdue the spoilt -child into good behaviour; and then, in despair, she thought herself -called upon to explain. - -"Sir Edward very often walks over of an evening," she said, edging -herself as it were between Mary and her sister. "We are always glad to -see him you know. It is a little change; and then he has some nice young -friends who stay with him occasionally," said the deceitful woman. "But -to be sure, he has too much feeling to think of making his appearance on -the night of your coming home." - -"I hope you will make no difference for me," said Mary. - -"My love, I hope I know what is proper," said Aunt Agatha, with her -little air of decision. And once more Winnie gave her sister a defiant -accusing glance. "It is I that will be the sufferer, and it is all on -your account," this look said, and the beautiful profile marked itself -out upon the wall with that contraction across the forehead which took -away half its loveliness. And then an uncomfortable silence ensued. Mrs. -Ochterlony could say nothing more in a matter of which she knew so -little, and Aunt Agatha, though she was the most yielding of guardians, -still came to a point of propriety now and then on which she would not -give way. This was how Mary discovered that instead of the Arcadian calm -and retirement of which the cottage seemed an ideal resting place, she -had come into another little centre of agitated human life, where her -presence made a jar and discord without any fault of hers. - -But it would have been worse than ungrateful, it would have been -heartless and unkind, to have expressed such a feeling. So she, who was -the stranger, had to put force on herself, and talk and lead her two -companions back, so far as that was possible, from their pre-occupation; -but at the best it was an unsatisfactory and forced conversation, and -Mrs. Ochterlony was but too glad to own herself tired, and to leave her -aunt and sister to themselves. They had given her their best room, with -the fresh chintz and the pictures. They had made every arrangement for -her comfort that affection and thoughtful care could suggest. What they -had not been able to do was to let her come into their life without -disturbing it, without introducing forced restrictions and new rules, -without, in short, making her, all innocently and unwittingly on both -sides, the discord in the house. Thus Mary found that, without changing -her position, she had simply changed the scene; and the thought made her -heart sick. - -When Mrs. Ochterlony had retired, the two ladies of the cottage said -nothing to each other for some time. Winnie continued her work in the -same restless way as she had begun, and poor Aunt Agatha took up a book, -which trembled in her hand. The impetuous girl had thrown open the -window when she was reproved for closing it, and the light in Sir -Edward's window shone far off on the tree tops, shedding an irritating -influence upon Winnie when she looked up; and at the same time she could -see the book shaking in Aunt Agatha's hand. Winnie was very fond of the -guardian of her youth, and would have indignantly declared herself -incapable of doing anything to vex her; but at the same time there could -be no doubt that Aunt Agatha's nervousness gave a certain satisfaction -to the young tyrant who ruled over her. Winnie saw that she was -suffering, and could not help feeling pleased, for had not she too -suffered all the evening? And she made no attempt to speak, or to take -any initiative, so that it was only after Miss Seton had borne it as -long as she was capable of bearing it, that the silence was broken at -last. - -"Dear Winnie," said Aunt Agatha, with a faltering voice, "I think, when -you think of it, that you will not think you have been quite considerate -in making poor Mary uncomfortable the first night." - -"Mary feel uncomfortable?" cried Winnie. "Good gracious, Aunt Agatha, is -one never to hear of anything but Mary? What has anybody done? I have -been sitting working all the evening, like--like a dressmaker or poor -needlewoman; does she object to that, I wonder?" and the young rebel put -her frame back into its corner, and rose to the fray. Sir Edward's -window still threw its distant light over the tree tops, and the sight -of it made her smouldering passion blaze. - -"Oh, my dear, you know that was not what I meant," said the disturbed -and agitated aunt. - -"I wish then, please, you would say what you mean," said Winnie. "She -would not come with us at first, when we were all ready for her, and -then she would not stay at Earlston after going there of her own free -will. I dare say she made Mr. Ochterlony's life wretched with her -trouble and widow's cap. Why didn't she be burnt with her Major, and be -done with it?" said Winnie. "I am sure it would be by far the most -comfortable way." - -"Oh, Winnie, I thought you would have had a little sympathy for your -sister," said Aunt Agatha, with tears. - -"Everybody has sympathy for my sister," said Winnie, "from Peggy up to -Sir Edward. I don't see why she should have it all. Hasn't she had her -day? Nobody came in upon her, when she was my age, to put the house in -mourning, and banish all one's friends. I hate injustice," cried the -young revolutionary. "It is the injustice that makes me angry. I tell -you, Aunt Agatha, she has had her day." - -"Oh, Winnie," cried Miss Seton, weeping--"Oh, my darling child! don't be -so hard upon poor Mary. When she was your age she had not half nor -quarter the pleasures you have; and it was I that said she ought to come -among her own friends." - -"I am sure she would be a great deal better in some place of her own," -said Winnie, with a little violence. "I wonder how she can go to other -people's houses with all that lot of little children. If I should ever -come home a widow from India, or anywhere else----" - -"Winnie!" cried Aunt Agatha, with a little scream, "for Heaven's sake, -don't say such things. Sorrow comes soon enough, without going to meet -it; and if we can give her a little repose, poor dear---- And what do a -few pleasant evenings signify to you at your time of life?" - -"A few pleasant evenings!" said Winnie; and she gave a kind of gasp, and -threw herself into a chair, and cried too, for passion, and vexation, -and disgust--perhaps, a little, too, out of self-disgust, though she -would not acknowledge it. "As if that were all! And nobody thinks how -the days are flying, and how it may all come to an end!" cried the -passionate girl. After having given vent to such words, shame and -remorse seized upon Winnie. Her cheeks blazed so that the scorching heat -dried up her tears, and she sprang up again and flew at the shutters, on -which her feelings had already expended themselves more than once, and -brought down the bar with a clang that startled the whole house. As for -Aunt Agatha, she sat aghast, and gazed, and could not believe her eyes -or ears. What were the days that were flying, or the things that might -come to an end? Could this wild exclamation have anything to do with -the fact that Captain Percival was only on a visit at the Hall, and that -his days were, so to speak, numbered? Miss Seton was not so old as to -have forgotten what it was to be thus on the eve of losing sight of some -one who had, as she would herself have said, "interested you." But Aunt -Agatha had never in her life been guilty of violence or passion, and the -idea of committing such a sin against all propriety and good taste as to -have her usual visitors while the family was in affliction, was -something which she could not take into her mind. It looked a breach of -morals to Miss Seton; and for the moment it actually seemed as if -Winnie, for the first time in her life, was not to have her way. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - - -"Everybody has sympathy with my sister," was what Winnie had said; and -perhaps that was the hardest thing of all to bear. She was like the -respectable son who came in disgusted into the midst of a merry-making -all consecrated to the return of his disreputable prodigal brother. What -did the fellow mean by coming home? Why did not he stay where he was, -and fill his belly with the husks? If Mary had but been left to her -young sister's sympathy, Winnie would (or thought she would) have -lavished tenderness upon her. But the fact was, that it was very very -hard to think how the days were passing by, and how perhaps all the -precious evenings which remained might be cut off for ever, and its -fairest prospect taken from her life, by Aunt Agatha's complaisance to -Mary. It was true that it was Captain Percival's visit that Winnie was -thinking of. Perhaps it was a little unmaidenly of her to own as much -even to herself. It was a thing which Aunt Agatha would have died sooner -than do, and which even Mary could not have been guilty of; but then -girls now are brought up so differently. He might find himself shut out -from the house, and might think the "family affliction" only a pretence, -and might go away and make an end of it for ever--and Winnie was -self-willed and passionate, and felt she must move heaven and earth -sooner than let this be so. It seemed to her as if the happiness of her -life hung upon it, and she could not but think, being young and fond of -poetry, of the many instances in books in which the magical moment was -thus lost, and two lives made miserable. And how could it harm Mary to -see a strange face or two about; she who had had the fortitude to come -home all the way from India, and had survived, and was in sufficiently -good health after her grief, which of itself was a thing for which the -critic of eighteen was disposed to despise a woman? - -As she brooded over this at night in her own room with the window open, -and her long hair streaming over her shoulders like a romantic heroine, -and the young moonlight whitening over the trees, turrets, and windows -of the Hall, a wild impatience of all the restrictions which were at -that moment pressing upon her came upon Winnie. She had been very bright -and pleasant with the little boys in the garden; which was partly -because her heart melted towards the helpless children who were her own -flesh and blood, and partly because at that time nothing had occurred to -thwart or vex her; but from the moment when she had seen Sir Edward's -window suddenly gleam into the twilight matters had changed. Then Winnie -had perceived that the event which had been the central point of her -daily life for some time back, the visit of Sir Edward and his "young -friend," was not going to happen. It was the first time it had occurred -to her that Mary's arrival was in any way to limit or transform her own -existence; and her pride, her independence, her self-love and self-will -were all immediately in arms. She, who had a little scorned her sister -for the faculty of surviving, and for the steadiness with which she bore -her burden, now asked herself indignantly, if Mary wanted to devote -herself to her grief why she did not go into some seclusion to do it, -instead of imposing penance upon other people? And what harm could it -possibly have done Mary to see some one wandering in the garden by -Winnie's side whose presence made the world complete, and left no more -to be desired in it? or to look at poor Sir Edward talking to Aunt -Agatha, who took an innocent pleasure in his talk? what harm could all -this do to the ogress in the widow's cap who had come to trample on the -happiness of the cottage? What pleasure could it be to her to turn the -innocent old man, and the charming young one, away from the little -flowery bower which they were so fond of?--for to be sure it did not -occur to Winnie that Mrs. Ochterlony had nothing to do with it, and that -it was of his own will and pleasure that Sir Edward had stayed away. -Such were the thoughts which ran riot in the girl's mind while she stood -in the moonlight at the open window. There was no balcony to go forth -upon, and these were not sweet musings like Juliet's, but fiery -discontented thoughts. Winnie did not mean to let her happiness slip -by. She thought it was her happiness, and she was imperious and -self-willed, and determined not to let her chance be stolen from her, as -so many people do. As for Mary she had had her day. Let her be twenty -times a widow, she had once been wooed, and had tasted all the delights -of youth, and nobody had interfered with her--and Winnie too had made up -her mind to have her day. Such a process of thinking could never, as has -been already said, have gone through the minds of either of the other -women in the cottage; but Winnie was a girl of the nineteenth century, -in which young ladies are brought up differently--and she meant to have -her rights, and the day of her delight, and all the privileges of her -youth, whatever anybody might say. - -As for Aunt Agatha on the other side, she too was making up her mind. -She would have cut herself up in little pieces to please her darling, -but she could not relinquish those rules of propriety which were dearer -than herself--she was making up her mind to the struggle with tears and -a kind of despair. It was a heartrending prospect, and she did not know -how she could live without the light of her pretty Winnie's countenance, -and see her looking sulky and miserable as she had done that night. But -still in consideration of what was _right_, Miss Seton felt that she -must and could bear anything. To expect a family in mourning, and who -had just received a widow into their house, to see visitors, was an -inhuman idea; and Aunt Agatha would have felt herself deeply humiliated -could she really have supposed that anybody thought her capable of such -a dereliction of duty. But she cried a little as she considered the -awful results of her decision. Winnie, disappointed, sullen, and -wretched, roused to rebellion, and taking no pleasure in her life, was a -terrible picture to contemplate. Aunt Agatha felt that all the pleasure -of her own existence was over, and cried a few salt tears over the -sacrifice; but she knew her duty, and at least there was, or ought to -be, a certain comfort in that. - -Sir Edward came next day to pay a solemn visit at the cottage, and it -gave her a momentary gleam of comfort to feel that this was the course -of conduct which he at least expected of her. He came, and his "young -friend" came with him, and for the moment smiles and contentment came -back to the household. Sir Edward entered the drawing-room and shook -hands tenderly with Mrs. Ochterlony, and sat down beside her, and began -to talk as only an old friend could; but the young friend stayed in the -garden with Winnie, and the sound of their voices came in now and then -along with the songs of the birds and the fragrance of the flowers--all -nature conspiring as usual to throw a charm about the young creatures, -who apart from this charm did not make the loveliest feature in the -social landscape. Sir Edward, on the other hand, sat down as a man sits -down in a room where there is a seat which is known as his, and where he -is in the way of doing a great deal of pleasant talk most days of his -life. This was a special occasion, and he behaved himself accordingly. -He patted Mary's hand softly with one of his, and held it in the other, -and looked at her with that tender curiosity and inquiry which comes -natural after a long absence. "She is changed, but I can see our old -Mary still in her face," said the old man, patting her hand; and then he -asked about the journey, and if he should see the children; and then the -ordinary talk began. - -"We did not come last evening, knowing you expected Mary," Sir Edward -said, "and a most unpleasant companion I had all the night in -consequence. Young people will be young people, you know--indeed, I -never can help remembering, that just the other day I was young myself." - -"Yes," said Aunt Agatha, faltering; "but you see under the -circumstances, Sir Edward, Winnie could not expect that her sister----" - -"Dear aunt," said Mary, "I have already begged you to make no difference -for me." - -"I am sure, my love, you are very kind," said Aunt Agatha; "you always -were the most unselfish---- But I hope I know my duty, whatever your -good heart may induce you to say." - -"And _I_ hope, after a while," said Sir Edward, "that Mary too will be -pleased to see her friends. We are all friends here, and everybody I -know will be glad to welcome her home." - -Most likely it was those very words that made Mary feel faint and ill, -and unable to reply. But though she did not say anything, she at least -made no sort of objection to the hope; and immediately the pleasant -little stream of talk gushed up and ran past her as she knew it would. -The two old people talked of the two young ones who were so interesting -to them, and all that was special in Sir Edward's visit came to a close. - -"Young Percival is to leave me next week," Sir Edward said. "I shall -miss him sadly, and I am afraid it will cost him a heartache to go." - -Aunt Agatha knew so well what her friend meant that she felt herself -called upon to look as if she did not know. "Ah," she said, "I don't -wonder. It is not often that he will find such a friend as you have -been, Sir Edward: and to leave you, who are always such pleasant -company----" - -"My dear Miss Seton," said Sir Edward, with a gentle laugh, "you don't -suppose that I expect him to have a heartache for love of me? He is a -nice young fellow, and I am sorry to lose him; but if it were only _my_ -pleasant company----" - -Then Aunt Agatha blushed as if it had been herself who was young -Percival's attraction. "We shall all miss him, I am sure," she said. "He -is so delicate and considerate. He has not come in, thinking no doubt -that Mary is not equal to seeing strangers; but I am so anxious that -Mary should see him--that is, I like her to know our friends," said the -imprudent woman, correcting herself, and once more blushing crimson, as -if young Percival had been a lover of her very own. - -"He is a very nice fellow," said Sir Edward; "most people like him; but -I don't know that I should have thought of describing him as considerate -or delicate. Mary must not form too high an idea. He is just a young man -like other young men," said the impartial baronet, "and likes his own -way, and is not without a proper regard for his own interest. He is not -in the least a hero of romance." - -"I don't think he is at all mercenary, Sir Edward, if that is what you -mean," said Aunt Agatha, blushing no longer, but growing seriously red. - -"Mercenary!" said Sir Edward. "I don't think I ever dreamt of that. He -is like other young men, you know. I don't want Mary to form too high an -idea. But one thing I am sure of is that he is very sorry to go away." - -And then a little pause happened, which was trying to Aunt Agatha, and -in the interval the voices of the two young people in the garden sounded -pleasantly from outside. Sitting thus within hearing of them, it was -difficult to turn to any other subject; but yet Miss Seton would not -confess that she could by any possibility understand what her old -neighbour meant; and by way of escaping from that embarrassment plunged -without thought into another in which she floundered helplessly after -the first dash. - -"Mary has just come from Earlston," she said. "It has grown quite a -museum, do you know?--every sort of beautiful thing, and all so nicely -arranged. Francis--Mr. Ochterlony," said Aunt Agatha, in confusion, "had -always a great deal of taste---- Perhaps you may remember----" - -"Oh, yes, I remember," said Sir Edward--"such things are not easily -forgotten--but I hope you don't mean to suppose that Percival----" - -"I was thinking nothing about Captain Percival," Miss Seton said, -feeling ready to cry--"What I meant was, I thought--I supposed you -might have some interest--I thought you might like to know----" - -"Oh, if that is all," said Sir Edward, "of course I take a great -interest--but I thought you meant something of the same kind might be -going on here. You must never think of that. I would never forgive -myself if I were twice to be the occasion----" - -"I was thinking nothing about Captain Percival," said Aunt Agatha, with -tears of vexation in her eyes; "nor--nor anything else--I was talking -for the sake of conversation: I was thinking perhaps you might like to -hear----" - -"May I show you my boys, Sir Edward?" said Mary, ringing the bell--"I -should like you to see them; and I am going to ask you, by-and-by, what -I must do with them. My brother-in-law is very much a recluse--I should -be glad to have the advice of somebody who knows more of the world." - -"Ah, yes, let us see the boys," said Sir Edward. "_All_ boys are -they?--that's a pity. You shall have the best advice I can give you, my -dear Mary--and if you are not satisfied with that, you shall have better -advice than mine; there is nothing so important as education; come -along, little ones. So these are all?--three--I thought you had more -than three. Ah, I beg your pardon. How do you do, my little man? I am -your mamma's old friend--I knew her long before you were born--come and -tell me your name." - -And while Sir Edward got at these particulars, and took the baby on his -knee, and made himself agreeable to the two sturdy little heroes who -stood by, and stared at him, Aunt Agatha came round behind their backs, -and gave Mary a quiet kiss--half by way of consolation, half by way of -thanks--for, but for that happy inspiration of sending for the children, -there was no telling what bog of unfortunate talk Miss Seton might not -have tumbled into. Sir Edward was one of those men who know much, too -much, about everybody--everything, he himself thought. He could detect -allusions in the most careless conversation, and never forgot anything -even when it was expedient and better that it should be forgotten. He -was a man who had been unlucky in his youth, and who now, in his old -age, though he was as well off as a man living all alone, in forlorn -celibacy, could be, was always called poor Sir Edward. The very -cottagers called him so, who might well have looked upon his life as a -kind of paradise; and being thus recognised as an object of pity, Sir -Edward had on the whole a very pleasant life. He knew all about -everybody, and was apt at times to confuse his neighbours sadly, as he -had just done Aunt Agatha, by a reference to the most private bits of -their individual history; but it was never done with ill-nature--and -after all there is a charm about a person who knows everything about -everybody. He was a man who could have told you all about the Gretna -Green marriage, which had cost poor Major Ochterlony so much trouble, as -well, or perhaps even better, than if he had been present at it; and he -was favourable to marriages in general, though he had never himself made -the experience, and rather liked to preside over a budding inclination -like that between Winifred Seton and young Percival. He took little -Wilfrid on his knee when the children were thus brought upon the scene, -in a fatherly, almost grand-fatherly way, and was quite ready to go into -Mary's plans about them. He thought it was quite right, and the most -suitable thing she could do, to settle somewhere where there was a good -grammar-school; and he had already begun to calculate where the best -grammar-schools were situated, and which would be the best plan for Mrs. -Ochterlony, when the voices in the garden were heard approaching. Aunt -Agatha had escaped from her embarrassment by going out to the young -people, and was now bringing them in to present the young man for Mary's -approval and criticism. Miss Seton came first, and there was anxiety in -her face; and after her Winnie stepped in at the window, with a little -flush upon her pretty cheek, and an unusual light in her eye; and after -her--but at that moment the whole party were startled by a sudden sound -of surprise, the momentary falling back of the stranger's foot from the -step, and a surprised, half-suppressed exclamation. "Oh!--Mrs. -Ochterlony!" exclaimed Sir Edward's young friend. As it happened all the -rest were silent at that moment, and his voice was distinctly audible, -though perhaps he had not meant it to be so. He himself was half hidden -by the roses which clambered all over the cottage, but Mary naturally -turned round, and turned her face to the window, when she heard her own -name--as indeed they all did--surprised at the exclamation, and still -more at the tone. And it was thus under the steady gaze of four pairs of -eyes that Captain Percival came into the room. Perhaps but for that -exclamation Mary might not have recognised him; but her ear had been -trained to quick understanding of that inflection, half of amusement, -half of contempt, which she had not heard for so long. To her ears it -meant, "Oh, Mrs. Ochterlony!--she who was married over again, as people -pretended--she who took in the Kirkmans, and all the people at the -station." Captain Percival came in, and he felt his blood run cold as he -met all those astonished eyes, and found Mary looking so intently at -him. What had he done that they should all stare at him like that? for -he was not so well aware of what he had given utterance to, nor of his -tone in giving utterance to it, as they were. "Good heavens, what is the -matter?" he said; "you all look at me as if I were a monster. Miss -Seton, may I ask you to introduce me----" - -"We have met before, I think," Mary said, quietly. "When I heard of -Captain Percival I did not know it was the same I used to hear so much -about in India. I think, when I saw you last, it was at----" - -She wanted by sudden instinct to say it out and set herself right for -ever and ever, here where everything about her was known; but the words -seemed to choke her. In spite of herself she stopped short; how could -she refer to that, the only great grievance in her life, her husband's -one great wrong against her, now that he was in his grave, and she left -in the world the defender and champion of all his acts and ways? She -could not do it--she was obliged to stop short in the middle, and -swallow the sob that would have choked her with the next word. And they -stood all gazing at her, wondering what it was. - -"Yes," said the young man, with a confidential air--"I remember it very -well indeed--I heard all about it from Askell, you know;--but I never -imagined, when I heard you talking of your sister, that it was the same -Mrs. Ochterlony," he added, turning to Winnie, who was looking on with -great and sudden interest. And then there was a pause--such a pause as -occurs sometimes when there is an evident want of explanation somewhere, -and all present feel that they are on the borders of a mystery. Somehow -it changed the character of the assembled company. A few minutes before -it had been the sad stranger, in her widow's cap, who was the centre of -all, and to whom the visitors had to be presented in a half apologetic -way, as if to a queen. Aunt Agatha, indeed, had been quite anxious on -the subject, pondering how she could best bring Sir Edward's young -friend, Winnie's admirer, under Mrs. Ochterlony's observation, and have -her opinion of him; and now in an instant the situation was reversed, -and it was Mary and Captain Percival alone who seemed to know each -other, and to have recollections in common! Mary felt her cheeks flush -in spite of herself, and Winnie grew pale with incipient jealousy and -dismay, and Aunt Agatha fluttered about in a state of the wildest -anxiety. At last both she and Sir Edward burst out talking at the same -moment, with the same visible impulse. And they brought the children -into the foreground, and lured them into the utterance of much baby -nonsense, and even went so far as to foster a rising quarrel between -Hugh and Islay, all to cover up from each other's eyes and smother in -the bud this mystery, if it was a mystery. It was a singular disturbance -to bring into such a quiet house; for how could the people who dwelt at -home tell what those two strangers might have known about each other in -India, how they might have been connected, or what secret might lie -between them?--no more than people could tell in a cosy sheltered -curtained room what might be going on at sea, or even on the dark road -outside. And here there was the same sense of insecurity--the same -distrust and fear. Winnie stood a little apart, pale, and with her -delicate curved nostril a little dilated. Captain Percival was younger -than Mary, and Mary up to this moment had been hedged round with a -certain sanctity, even in the eyes of her discontented young sister. But -there was some intelligence between them, something known to those two -which was known to no one else in the party. This was enough to set off -the thoughts of a self-willed girl, upon whose path Mary had thrown the -first shadow, wildly into all kinds of suspicions. And to tell the -truth, the elder people, who should have known better, were not much -wiser than Winnie. Thus, while Hugh and Islay had a momentary struggle -in the foreground, which called for their mother's active interference, -the one ominous cloud of her existence once more floated up upon the dim -firmament over Mary's head; though if she had but finished her sentence -it would have been no cloud at all, and might never have come to -anything there or thereafter. But this did not occur to Mrs. Ochterlony. -What did occur to her in her vexation and pain was that her dead Hugh -would be hardly dealt with among her kindred, if the stranger should -tell her story. And she was glad, heartily glad, that there was little -conversation afterwards, and that very soon the two visitors went away. -But it was she who was the last to be aware that a certain doubt, a new -and painful element of uncertainty stayed behind them in Aunt Agatha's -pretty cottage after they were gone. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - - -That night was a painful night for Winnie. The girl was self-willed and -self-loving, as has been said. But she was not incapable of the more -generous emotions, and when she looked at her sister she could no more -suspect her of any wrong or treachery than she could suspect the sun -shining over their heads. And her interest in the young soldier had gone -a great length. She thought he loved her, and it was very hard to think -that he was kept apart from her by a reason which was no reason at all. -She roved about the garden all the evening in an unsettled way, thinking -he would come again--thinking he could not stay away--explaining to -herself that he must come to explain. And when she glanced indoors at -the lamp which was lighted so much earlier than it needed to be, for the -sake of Mary's sewing, and saw Mary seated beside it, in what looked -like perfect composure and quietness, Winnie's impatience got the better -of her. He was to be banished, or confined to a formal morning call, for -Mary's sake, who sat there so calm, a woman for whom the fret and cares -of life were over, while for Winnie life was only beginning, and her -heart going out eagerly to welcome and lay claim to its troubles. And -then the thought that it was the same Mrs. Ochterlony came sharp as a -sting to Winnie's heart. What could he have had to do with Mrs. -Ochterlony? what did _she_ mean coming home in the character of a -sorrowful widow, and shutting out their visitors, and yet awakening -something like agitation and unquestionable recognition in the first -stranger she saw? Winnie wandered through the garden, asking herself -those questions, while the sweet twilight darkened, and the magical hour -passed by, which had of late associated itself with so many dreams. And -again he did not come. It was impossible to her, when she looked at -Mary, to believe that there could be anything inexplainable in the link -which connected her lover with her sister--but still he ought to have -come to explain. And when Sir Edward's windows were lighted once more, -and the certainty that he was not coming penetrated her mind, Winnie -clenched her pretty hands, and went crazy for the moment with despite -and vexation. Another long dull weary evening, with all the expectation -and hope quenched out of it; another lingering night; another day in -which there was as much doubt as hope. And next week he was going away! -And it was all Mary's fault, however you took it--whether she had known -more of him than she would allow in India, or whether it was simply the -fault of that widow's cap which scared people away? This was what was -going on in Winnie's agitated mind while the evening dews fell upon the -banks of Kirtell, and the soft stars came out, and the young moon rose, -and everything glistened and shone with the sweetness of a summer night. -This fair young creature, who was in herself the most beautiful climax -of all the beauty around her, wandered among her flowers with her small -hands clenched, and the spirit of a little fury in her heart. She had -nothing in the world to trouble her, and yet she was very unhappy, and -it was all Mary's fault. Probably if Mary could but have seen into -Winnie's heart she would have thought it preferable to stay at Earlston, -where the Psyche and the Venus were highly indifferent, and had no -hearts, but only arms and noses that could be broken. Winnie was more -fragile than the Etruscan vases or the Henri II. porcelain. They had -escaped fracture, but she had not; but fortunately this thought did not -occur to Mrs. Ochterlony as she sat by the lamp working at Hugh's little -blouses in Aunt Agatha's chair. - -And Aunt Agatha, more actively jealous than Winnie herself, sat by -knitting little socks--an occupation which she had devoted herself to, -heart and soul, from the moment when she first knew the little -Ochterlonys were coming home. She was knitting with the prettiest yarn -and the finest needles, and had a model before her of proportions so -shapely as to have filled any woman's soul with delight; but all that -was eclipsed for the time by the doubt which hung over Mary, and the -evident unhappiness of her favourite. Aunt Agatha was less wise than -Winnie, and had not eyes to perceive that people were characteristic -even in their wrong-doing, and that Captain Percival of himself could -have nothing to do with the shock which Mary had evidently felt at the -sight of him. Probably Miss Seton had not been above a little flirtation -in her own day, and she did not see how that would come unnatural to a -woman of her own flesh and blood. And she sat accordingly on the other -side of the lamp and knitted, with a pucker of anxiety upon her fair old -brow, casting wistful glances now and then into the garden where Winnie -was. - -"And I suppose, my dear, you know Captain Percival very well?" said Aunt -Agatha, with that anxious look on her face. - -"I don't think I ever saw him but once," said Mary, who was a little -impatient of the question. - -"But once, my dear love! and yet you both were so surprised to meet," -said Aunt Agatha, with reasonable surprise. - -"There are some moments when to see a man is to remember him ever -after," said Mary. "It was at such a time that I saw Sir Edward's -friend. It would be best to tell you about it, Aunt Agatha. There was a -time when my poor Hugh----" - -"Oh, Mary, my darling, you can't think I want to vex you," cried Aunt -Agatha, "or make you go back again upon anything that is painful. I am -quite satisfied, for my part, when you say so. And so would Winnie be, I -am sure." - -"Satisfied?" said Mary, wondering, and yet with a smile; and then she -forgot the wonder of it in the anxiety. "I should be sorry to think that -Winnie cared much for anything that could be said about Captain -Percival. I used to hear of him from the Askells who were friends of -his. Do not let her have anything to do with him, Aunt Agatha; I am sure -he could bring her nothing but disappointment and pain." - -"I--Mary?--Oh, my dear love, what can _I_ do?" cried Miss Seton, in -sudden confusion; and then she paused and recovered herself. "Of course -if he was a wicked young man, I--I would not let Winnie have anything to -do with him," she added, faltering; "but--do you think you are sure, -Mary? If it should be only that you do not--like him; or that you have -not got on--or something----" - -"I have told you that I know nothing of him, Aunt," said Mary. "I saw -him once at the most painful moment of my life, and spoke half-a-dozen -words to him in my own house after that--but it is what I have heard the -gentlemen say. I do not like him. I think it was unmannerly and -indelicate to come to my house at such a time----" - -"My darling!" said Aunt Agatha, soothing her tenderly. Miss Seton was -thinking of the major's death, not of any pain that might have gone -before; and Mary by this time in the throng of recollections that came -upon her had forgotten that everybody did not know. - -"But that is not the reason," Mrs. Ochterlony said, composing herself: -"the reason is that he could not, unless he is greatly changed, make -Winnie otherwise than unhappy. I know the reputation he had. The -Heskeths would not let him come to their house after Annie came out; and -I have even heard Hugh----" - -"My dear love, you are agitating yourself," cried Aunt Agatha. "Oh, -Mary, if you only knew how anxious I am to do anything to recall----" - -"Thank you," said Mrs. Ochterlony, with a faint smile: "it is not so -far off that I should require anything to recall all that has happened -to me--but for Winnie's sake----" - -And it was just at that moment that the light suddenly appeared in Sir -Edward's window, and brought Winnie in, white and passionate, with a -thunder-cloud full of tears and lightnings and miserable headache and -self-reproach, lowering over her brilliant eyes. - -"It is very good of Mary, I am sure, to think of something for my sake," -said Winnie. "What is it, Aunt Agatha? Everything is always so -unpleasant that is for one's good. I should like to know what it was." - -And then there was a dead silence in the pretty room. Mary bent her head -over her work, silenced by the question, and Aunt Agatha, in a flutter -of uncertainty and tribulation, turned from one to the other, not -knowing which side to take nor what to say. - -"Mary has come among us a stranger," said Winnie, "and I suppose it is -natural that she should think she knows our business better than we do. -I suppose that is always how it seems to a stranger; but at the same -time it is a mistake, Aunt Agatha, and I wish you would let Mary know -that we are disposed to manage for ourselves. If we come to any harm it -is we who will have to suffer, and not Mary," the impetuous girl cried, -as she drew that unhappy embroidery frame out of its corner. - -And then another pause, severe and startling, fell upon the little -party. Aunt Agatha fluttered in her chair, looking from one to another, -and Winnie dragged a violent needle through her canvas, and a great -night moth came in and circled about them, and dashed itself madly -against the globe of light on the table. As for Mary, she sat working at -Hugh's little blouse, and for a long time did not speak. - -"My dear love!" Aunt Agatha said at last, trembling, "you know there is -nothing in the world I would not do to please you, Winnie,--nor Mary -either. Oh, my dear children, there are only you two in the world. If -one says anything, it is for the other's good. And here we are, three -women together, and we are all fond of each other, and surely, surely, -nothing ever can make any unpleasantness!" cried the poor lady, with -tears. She had her heart rent in two, like every mediatrix, and yet the -larger half, as was natural, went to her darling's side. - -"Winnie is right enough," Mary said, quietly. "I am a stranger, and I -have no right to interfere; and very likely, even if I were permitted to -interfere, it would do no good. It is a shame to vex you, Aunt Agatha. -My sister must submit to hear my opinion one time, but I am not going to -disturb the peace of the house, nor yours." - -"Oh, Mary, my dear, it is only that she is a little impatient, and has -always had her own way," said Aunt Agatha, whispering across the table. -And then no more was said. Miss Seton took up her little socks, and -Winnie continued to labour hotly at her embroidery, and the sound of her -work, and the rustle of Mary's arm at her sewing, and the little click -of Aunt Agatha's knitting-needles, and the mad dashes of the moth at the -lamp, were all the sounds in the room, except, indeed, the sound of the -Kirtell, flowing softly over its pebbles at the foot of the brae, and -the sighing of the evening air among the trees, which were sadly -contradictory of the spirit of the scene within; and at a distance over -the woods, gleamed Sir Edward's window, with the ill-disposed light -which was, so to speak, the cause of all. Perhaps, after all, if Mrs. -Ochterlony had stayed at Earlston, where the Psyche and the Venus were -not sensitive, and there was nothing but marble and china to jar into -discord, it might have been better; and what would have been better -still, was the grey cottage on the roadside, with fire on the hearth and -peace and freedom in the house; and it was to that, with a deep and -settled longing, that Mary's heart and thoughts went always back. - -When Mrs. Ochterlony had withdrawn, the scene changed much in Aunt -Agatha's drawing-room. But it was still a pretty scene. Then Winnie came -and poured out her girlish passion in the ears and at the feet of her -tender guardian. She sank down upon the carpet, and laid her beautiful -head upon Aunt Agatha's knee, and clasped her slender arms around her. -"To think she should come and drive every one I care for away from the -house, and set even you against me!" cried Winnie, with sobs of vexation -and rage. - -"Oh, Winnie! not me! Never me, my darling," cried Aunt Agatha; and they -made a group which a painter would have loved, and which would have -conveyed the most delicate conception of love and grief to an admiring -public, had it been painted. Nothing less than a broken heart and a -blighted life would have been suggested to an innocent fancy by the -abandonment of misery in Winnie's attitude. And to tell the truth, she -was very unhappy, furious with Mary, and with herself, and with her -lover, and everybody in the wide world. The braids of her beautiful hair -got loose, and the net that confined them came off, and the glistening -silken flood came tumbling about her shoulders. Miss Seton could not but -take great handfuls of it as she tried to soothe her darling; and poor -Aunt Agatha's heart was rent in twain as she sat with this lovely burden -in her lap, thinking, Oh, if nobody had ever come to distract Winnie's -heart with love-making, and bring such disturbance to her life; oh, if -Hugh Ochterlony had thought better of it, and had not died! Oh, if Mary -had never seen Captain Percival, or seeing him, had approved of him, and -thought him of all others the mate she would choose for her sister! The -reverse of all these wishes had happened, and Aunt Agatha could not but -look at the combination with a certain despair. - -"What can I do, my dear love?" she said. "It is my fault that Mary has -come here. You know yourself it would have been unnatural if she had -gone anywhere else: and how could we go on having people, with her in -such deep mourning? And as for Captain Percival, my darling----" - -"I was not speaking of Captain Percival," said Winnie, with indignation. -"What is he to me?--or any man? But what I will not bear is Mary -interfering. She shall not tell us what we are to do. She shan't come in -and look as if she understood everything better than we do. And, Aunt -Agatha, she shan't--she shall never come, not for a moment, between you -and me!" - -"My darling child! my dear love!" cried poor Aunt Agatha, "as if that -was possible, or as if poor Mary wanted to. Oh, if you would only do her -justice, Winnie? She is fond of you; I know she is fond of you. And what -she was saying was entirely for your good----" - -"She is fond of nobody but her children," said Winnie, rising up, and -gathering her bright hair back into the net. "She would not care what -happened to us, as long as all was well with her tiresome little boys." - -Aunt Agatha wrung her hands, as she looked in despair at the tears on -the flushed cheek, and the cloud which still hung upon her child's brow. -What could she say? Perhaps there was a little truth in what Winnie -said. The little boys, though Miss Seton could not help feeling them to -be so unimportant in comparison with Winnie and her beginning of life, -were all in all to Mrs. Ochterlony; and when she had murmured again that -Mary meant it all for Winnie's good, and again been met by a scornful -protestation that anything meant for one's good was highly unpleasant, -Aunt Agatha was silenced, and had not another word to say. All that she -could do was to pet her wilful darling more than ever, and to promise -with tears that Mary should never, never make any difference between -them, and that she herself would do anything that Winnie wished or -wanted. The interview left her in such a state of agitation that she -could not sleep, nor even lie down, till morning was breaking, and the -new day had begun--but wandered about in her dressing-gown, thinking she -heard Winnie move, and making pilgrimages to her room to find her, -notwithstanding all her passion and tears, as fast asleep as one of -Mary's boys--which was very, very different from Aunt Agatha's case, or -Mary's either, for that matter. As for Mrs. Ochterlony, it is useless to -enter into any description of her feelings. She went to bed with a heavy -heart, feeling that she had made another failure, and glad, as people -are when they have little comfort round them, of the kind night and the -possible sleep which, for a few hours at least, would make her free of -all this. But she did not sleep as Winnie did, who felt herself so -ill-used and injured. Thus, Mrs. Ochterlony's return, a widow, brought -more painful agitation to Miss Seton's cottage than had been known under -its quiet roof since the time when she went away a bride. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - - -And after this neither Sir Edward nor his young friend appeared for two -whole days. Any girl of Winifred Seton's impetuous character, who has -ever been left in such a position on the very eve of the telling of that -love-tale, which had been all but told for several weeks past, but now -seemed suddenly and artificially arrested just at the moment of -utterance--will be able to form some idea of Winnie's feelings during -this dreadful interval. She heard the latch of the gate lifted a hundred -times in the day, when, alas, there was no one near to lift the latch. -She was afraid to go out for an instant, lest in that instant "they" -should come; her brain was ringing with supposed sounds of footsteps and -echoes of voices, and yet the road lay horribly calm and silent behind -the garden hedge, with no passengers upon it. And these two evenings the -light came early into Sir Edward's window, and glared cruelly over the -trees. And to be turned inward upon the sweet old life from which the -charm had fled, and to have to content one's self with flowers and -embroidery, and the canary singing, and the piano, and Aunt Agatha! Many -another girl has passed through the same interval of torture, and felt -the suspense to be killing, and the crisis tragic--but yet to older -eyes perhaps even such a dread suspension of all the laws of being has -also its comic side. Winnie, however, took care to keep anybody from -laughing at it in the cottage. It was life and death to her, or at least -so she thought. And her suppressed frenzy of anxiety, and doubt, and -fear, were deep earnest to Aunt Agatha, who seemed now to be living her -own early disappointments over again, and more bitterly than in the -first version of them. She tried hard to remember the doubt thrown upon -Captain Percival by Mary, and to persuade herself that this -interposition was providential, and meant to save her child from an -unhappy marriage. But when Miss Seton saw Winnie's tragic countenance, -her belief in Providence was shaken. She could not see the good of -anything that made her darling suffer. Mary might be wrong, she might be -prejudiced, or have heard a false account, and it might be simply -herself who was to blame for shutting her doors, or seeming to shut her -doors, against her nearest and oldest neighbours. Could it be supposed -that Sir Edward would bring any one to her house who was not a fit -associate or a fit suitor, if things should take such a turn, for -Winnie? Under the painful light thrown upon the subject by Winnie's -looks, Aunt Agatha came altogether to ignore that providential view -which had comforted her at first, and was so far driven in the other -direction at last as to write Sir Edward a little note, and take the -responsibility upon her own shoulders. What Miss Seton wrote was, that -though, in consequence of their late affliction, the family were not -equal to seeing visitors in a general way, yet that it would be strange -indeed if they were to consider Sir Edward a stranger, and that she -hoped he would not stay away, as she was sure his company would be more -a comfort to Mary than anything else. And she also hoped Captain -Percival would not leave the Hall without coming to see them. It was -such a note as a maiden lady was fully justified in writing to an old -friend--an invitation, but yet given with a full consideration of all -the proprieties, and that tender regard for Mary's feelings which Aunt -Agatha had shown throughout. It was written and despatched when Winnie -had gone out, as she did on the third day, in proud defiance and -desperation, so that if Sir Edward's sense of propriety and respect for -Mary's cap should happen to be stronger than Aunt Agatha's, no further -vexation might come to the young sufferer from this attempt to set all -right. - -And Winnie went out without knowing of this effort for her consolation. -She went down by the Kirtell, winding down the wooded banks, in the -sweet light and shade of the August morning, seeing nothing of the -brightness, wrapped up and absorbed in her own sensations. She felt now -that the moment of fate had passed,--that moment that made or marred two -lives;--and had in her heart, in an embryo unexpressed condition, -several of Mr. Browning's minor poems, which were not then written; and -felt a general bitterness against the world for the lost climax, the -_dénouement_ which had not come. She thought to herself even, that if -the tale had been told, the explanation made, and something, however -tragical, had happened _after_, it would not have been so hard to bear. -But now it was clear to Winnie that her existence must run on soured and -contracted in the shade, and that young Percival must stiffen into a -worldly and miserable old bachelor, and that their joint life, the only -life worth living, had been stolen from them, and blighted in the bud. -And what was it all for?--because Mary, who had had all the good things -of this life, who had loved and been married in the most romantic way, -and had been adored by her husband, and reigned over him, had come, so -far, to an end of her career. Mary was over thirty, an age at which -Winnie could not but think it must be comparatively indifferent to a -woman what happened--at which the snows of age must have begun to benumb -her feelings, under any circumstances, and the loss of a husband or so -did not much matter; but at eighteen, and to lose the first love that -had ever touched your heart! to lose it without any reason--without the -satisfaction of some dreadful obstacle in the way, or misunderstanding -still more dreadful; without ever having heard the magical words and -tasted that first rapture!--Ah, it was hard, very hard; and no wonder -that Winnie was in a turmoil of rage, and bitterness, and despair. - -The fact was, that she was so absorbed in her thoughts as not to see him -there where he was waiting for her. He had seen her long ago, as she -came down the winding road, betraying herself at the turnings by the -flutter of her light dress--for Winnie's mourning was slight--and he had -waited, as glad as she could be of the opportunity, and the chance of -seeing her undisturbed, and free from all critical eyes. There is a kind -of popular idea that it is only a good man, or one with a certain -"nobility" in his character, who is capable of being in love; but the -idea is not so justifiable as it would seem to be. Captain Percival was -not a good young man, nor would it be safe for any conscientious -historian to claim for him generous or noble qualities to any marked -degree; but at the same time I am not disposed to qualify the state of -his sentiments by saying, as is generally said of unsatisfactory -characters, that he loved Winnie as much as he could love anything. He -was in love with her, heart and soul, as much as if he had been a -paladin. He would not have stayed at any obstacle, nor regarded either -his own comfort or hers, or any other earthly bar between them. When -Winnie thought him distant from her, and contemplating his departure, he -had been haunting all the old walks which he knew Miss Seton and her -niece were in the habit of taking. He was afraid of Mary--that was one -thing indisputable--and he thought she would harm him, and bring up his -old character against him; and felt instinctively that the harm which he -thought he knew of her, could not be used against her here. And it was -for this reason that he had not ventured again to present himself at the -cottage; but he had been everywhere about, wherever he thought there was -any chance of meeting the lady of his thoughts. And if Winnie had not -been so anxious not to miss that possible visitor; if she had been -coming and going, and doing all she usually did, their meeting must have -taken place two days ago, and all the agony and trouble been spared. He -watched her now, and held his breath, and traced her at all the turnings -of the road, now by a puff of her black and white muslin dress, and then -by a long streaming ribbon catching among the branches--for Winnie was -fond of long ribbons wherever she could introduce them. And she was so -absorbed with her own settled anguish, that she had stepped out upon him -from among the trees before she was aware. - -"Captain Percival!" said Winnie, with an involuntary cry; and she felt -the blood so rush to her cheeks with sudden delight and surprise, that -she was in an instant put on her guard, and driven to account for -it.--"I did not see there was any one here--what a fright you have given -me. And we, who thought you had gone away," added Winnie, looking -suddenly at him with blazing defiant eyes. - -If he had not been in love, probably he would have known what it all -meant--the start, the blush, the cry, and that triumphant, indignant, -reproachful, exulting look. But he had enough to do with his own -sensations, which makes a wonderful difference in such a case. - -"Gone away!" he said, on the spur of the moment--"as if I could go -away--as if you did not know better than that." - -"I was not aware that there was anything to detain you," said Winnie; -and all at once from being so tragical, her natural love of mischief -came back, and she felt perfectly disposed to play with her mouse. "Tell -me about it. Is it Sir Edward? or perhaps you, too, have had an -affliction in your family. I think that is the worst of all," she said, -shaking her pretty head mournfully--and thus the two came nearer to each -other and laughed together, which was as good a means of _rapprochement_ -as anything else. - -But the young soldier had waited too long for this moment to let it all -go off in laughter. "If you only knew how I have been trying to see -you," he said. "I have been at the school and at the mill, and in the -woods--in all your pet places. Are you condemned to stay at home because -of this affliction? I could not come to the cottage because, though Miss -Seton is so kind, I am sure your sister would do me an ill turn if she -could." - -Winnie was startled, and even a little annoyed by this speech--for it is -a fact always to be borne in mind by social critics, that one member of -a family may be capable of saying everything that is unpleasant about -another, without at the same time being disposed to hear even an echo of -his or her own opinion from stranger lips. Winnie was of this way of -thinking. She had not taken to her sister, and was quite ready herself -to criticise her very severely; but when somebody else did it, the -result was very different. "Why should my sister do you an ill turn?" -she said. - -"Oh!" said young Percival; "it is because you know she knows that I know -all about it----" - -"All about it!" said Winnie. She was tall already, but she grew two -inches taller as she stood and expanded and looked her frightened lover -into nothing. "There can be nothing about Mary, Captain Percival, which -you and all the world may not know." - -And then the young man saw he had made a wrong move. "I have not been -haunting the road for hours to talk about Mrs. Ochterlony," he said. -"She does not like me, and I am frightened for her. Oh, Winnie, you know -very well why. You know I would tremble before anybody who might make -_you_ think ill of me. It is cruel to pretend you don't understand." - -And then he took her hand and told her everything--all that she looked -for, and perhaps more than all--for there are touches of real eloquence -about what a man says when he is really in love (even if he should be no -great things in his own person) which transcend as much as they fall -short of, the suggestions of a woman's curious fancy. She had said it -for him two or three times in her own mind, and had done it far more -elegantly and neatly. But still there was something about the genuine -article which had not been in Winnie's imagination. There were fewer -words, but there was a great deal more excitement, though it was much -less cleverly expressed. And then, before they knew how, the crisis was -over, the _dénouement_ accomplished, and the two sitting side by side as -in another world. They were sitting on the trunk of an old beech-tree, -with the leaves rustling and the birds twittering over them, and Kirtell -running, soft and sweet, hushed in its scanty summer whisper at their -feet; all objects familiar, and well-known to them--and yet it was -another world. As for Mr. Browning's poems about the unlived life, and -the hearts all shrivelled up for want of a word at the right moment, -Winnie most probably would have laughed with youthful disdain had they -been suggested to her now. This little world, in which the fallen -beech-tree was the throne, and the fairest hopes and imaginations -possible to man, crowded about the youthful sovereigns, and paid them -obsequious court, was so different from the old world, where Sir Edward -at the Hall, and Aunt Agatha in the Cottage, were expecting the young -people, that these two, as was not unnatural, forgot all about it, and -lingered together, no one interfering with them, or even knowing they -were there, for long enough to fill Miss Seton's tender bosom with wild -anxieties and terrors. Winnie had not reached home at the early -dinner-hour--a thing which was to Aunt Agatha as if the sun had declined -to rise, or the earth (to speak more correctly) refused to perform her -proper revolutions. She became so restless, and anxious, and unhappy, -that Mary, too, was roused into uneasiness. "It must be only that she is -detained somewhere," said Mrs. Ochterlony. "She never would allow -herself to be detained," cried Aunt Agatha, "and oh, Mary, my darling is -unhappy. How can I tell what may have happened?" Thus some people made -themselves very wretched about her, while Winnie sat in perfect -blessedness, uttering and listening to all manner of heavenly nonsense -on the trunk of the fallen tree. - -Aunt Agatha's wretchedness, however, dispersed into thin air the moment -she saw Winnie come in at the garden-gate, with Captain Percival in -close attendance. Then Miss Seton, with natural penetration, saw in an -instant what had happened; felt that it was all natural, and wondered -why she had not foreseen this inevitable occurrence. "I might have -known," she said to Mary, who was the only member of the party upon whom -this wonderful event had no enlivening effect; and then Aunt Agatha -recollected herself, and put on her sad face, and faltered an apology. -"Oh, my dear love, I know it must be hard upon you to see it," she -said, apologizing as it were to the widow for the presence of joy. - -"I would be a poor soul indeed, if it was hard upon me to see it," said -Mary. "No, Aunt Agatha, I hope I am not so shabby as that. I have had my -day. If I look grave, it is for other reasons. I was not thinking of -myself." - -"My love! you were always so unselfish," said Miss Seton. "Are you -really anxious about _him_? See how happy he looks--he cannot be so fond -of her as that, and so happy, and yet a deceiver. It is not possible, -Mary." - -This was in the afternoon, when they had come out to the lawn with their -work, and the two lovers were still together--not staying in one place, -as their elders did, but flitting across the line of vision now and -then, and, as it were, pervading the atmosphere with a certain flavour -of romance and happiness. - -"I did not say he was a deceiver--he dared not be a deceiver to Winnie," -said Mrs. Ochterlony; "there may be other sins than that." - -"Oh, Mary, don't speak as if you thought it would turn out badly," cried -Aunt Agatha, clasping her hands; and she looked into Mrs. Ochterlony's -face as if somehow she had the power by retracting her opinion to -prevent things from turning out badly. Mary was not a stoic, nor above -the sway of all the influences around her. She could not resist the soft -pleading eyes that looked into her face, nor the fascination of her -young sister's happiness. She held her peace, and even did her best to -smile upon the spectacle, and to hope in her heart that true love might -work magically upon the man who had now, beyond redemption, Winnie's -future in his hands. For her own part, she shrank from him with a vague -sense of alarm and danger; and had it been possible to do any good by -it, would have felt herself capable of any exertion to cast the intruder -out. But it was evident that under present circumstances there was no -good to be done. She kept her boys out of his way with an instinctive -dread which she could not explain to herself, and shuddered when poor -Aunt Agatha, hoping to conciliate all parties, set little Wilfrid for a -moment on their visitor's knee, and with a wistful wile reminded him of -the new family relationships Winnie would bring him. Mary took her child -away with a shivering sense of peril which was utterly unreasonable. Why -had it been Wilfrid of all others who was brought thus into the -foreground? Why should it be he who was selected as a symbol of the -links of the future? Wilfrid was but an infant, and derived no further -impression from his momentary perch upon Captain Percival's knee, than -that of special curiosity touching the beard which was a new kind of -ornament to the fatherless baby, and tempting for closer investigation; -but his mother took him away, and carried him indoors, and disposed of -him carefully in the room which Miss Seton had made into a nursery, with -an anxious tremor which was utterly absurd and out of all reason. But -though instinct acted upon her to this extent, she made no further -attempt to warn Winnie or hinder the course of events which had gone too -fast for her. Winnie would not have accepted any warning--she would have -scorned the most trustworthy advice, and repulsed even the most just and -right interference--and so would Mary have done in Hugh Ochterlony's -case, when she was Winnie's age. Thus her mouth was shut, and she could -say nothing. She watched the two with a pathetic sense of impotence as -they went and came, thinking, oh, if she could but make him what Hugh -Ochterlony was; and yet the Major had been far, very far from perfect, -as the readers of this history are aware. When Captain Percival went -away, the ladies were still in the garden; for it was necessary that the -young man should go home to the Hall to join Sir Edward at dinner, and -tell his story. Winnie, a changed creature, stood at the garden-gate, -leaning upon the low wall, and watched him till he was out of sight; and -her aunt and her sister looked at her, each with a certain pathos in her -face. They were both women of experience in their different ways, and -there could not but be something pathetic to them in the sight of the -young creature at the height of her happiness, all-confident and fearing -no evil. It came as natural to them to think of the shadows that _must_, -even under the happiest conditions, come over that first incredible -brightness, as it was to her to feel that every harm and fear was over, -and that now nothing could touch or injure her more. Winnie turned sharp -round when her lover disappeared, and caught Mary's eye, and its wistful -expression, and blazed up at once into momentary indignation, which, -however, was softened by the contempt of youth for all judgment other -than its own, and by the kindly influence of her great happiness. She -turned round upon her sister, sudden and sharp as some winged creature, -and set her all at once on her defence. - -"You do not like him," she said, "but you need not say anything, Mary. -It does not matter what you say. You had your day, and would not put up -with any interference--and I know him a hundred--a thousand times better -than you can do; and it is my day now." - -"Yes," said Mary. "I did not mean to say anything. I do not like him, -and I think I have reason; but Winnie, dear, I would give anything in -the world to believe that you know best now." - -"Oh, yes, I know best," said Winnie, with a soft laugh; "and you will -soon find out what mistakes people make who pretend to know--for I am -sure he thinks there could be something said, on the other side, about -you." - -"About me," said Mary--and though she did not show it, but stood before -her sister like a stately tower firm on its foundation, she was aware of -a thrill of nervous trembling that ran through her limbs, and took the -strength out of them. "What did he say about me?" - -"He seemed to think there was something that might be said," said -Winnie, lightly. "He was afraid of you. He said you knew that he knew -all about you; see what foolish ideas people take up! and I said," -Winnie went on, drawing herself up tall and straight by her stately -sister's side, with that superb assumption of dignity which is fair to -see at her age, "that there never could be anything about you that he -and all the world might not know!" - -Mary put out her hand, looking stately and firm as she did so--but in -truth it was done half groping, out of a sudden mist that had come up -about her. "Thank you, Winnie," she said, with a smile that had anguish -in it; and Winnie with a sudden tender impulse out of her own happiness, -feeling for the first time the contrast, looked at Mary's black dress -beside her own light one, and at Mary's hair as bright as her own, which -was put away beneath that cap which she had so often mocked at, and -threw her arms round her sister with a sudden thrill of compassion and -tenderness unlike anything she had ever felt before. - -"Oh, Mary, dear!" she cried, "does it seem heartless to be so happy and -yet to know that you----" - -"No," said Mary, steadily--taking the girl, who was as passionate in her -repentance as in her rebellion, to her own bosom. "No, Winnie; no, my -darling--I am not such a poor soul as that. I have had my day." - -And it was thus that the cloud rolled off, or seemed to roll off, and -that even in the midst of that sharp reminder of the pain which life -might still have in store for her, the touch of nature came to heal and -help. The enemy who knew all about it might have come in bringing with -him sickening suggestions of horrible harm and mischief; but anything he -could do would be in vain here, where everybody knew more about her -still; and to have gained as she thought her little sister's heart, was -a wonderful solace and consolation. Thus Mary's faith was revived again -at the moment when it was most sorely shaken, and she began to feel, -with a grateful sense of peace and security, the comfort of being, as -Aunt Agatha said, among her own friends. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - - -The announcement of Winnie's engagement made, as was to be looked for, a -considerable commotion among all the people connected with her. The very -next morning Sir Edward himself came down to the Cottage with a very -serious face. He had been disposed to play with the budding affection -and to take pleasure in the sight of the two young creatures as they -drew towards each other; for Percival, though in love, was not without -prudence (his friend thought), and Winnie, though very open to -impressions, was capricious and fanciful, and not the kind of girl, Sir -Edward imagined, to say Yes to the first man who asked her. Thus the -only sensible adviser on the spot had wilfully blinded himself. It had -not occurred to him that Winnie might think of Percival, not as the -first man who had ever asked her, but as the only man whom she loved; -nor that Percival, though prudent enough, liked his own way, and was as -liable to be carried away by passion as a better man. These reflections -had not come into Sir Edward's head, and consequently he had rather -encouraged the growing tenderness, which now all at once had turned into -earnest, and had become a matter of responsibility and serious concern. -Sir Edward came into Miss Seton's pretty drawing-room with care on his -brow. The young people had gone out together to Kirtell-side to visit -the spot of their momentous interview, and doubtless to go over it all -again, as people do at that foolish moment, and only Aunt Agatha and -Mrs. Ochterlony were at home. Sir Edward went in, and sat down between -the two ladies, and offered his salutations with a pensive gravity which -made Mary smile, but brought a cloud of disquietude over Aunt Agatha's -gentle countenance. He sighed as he said it was a fine day. He even -looked sympathetically at the roses, as if he knew of some evil that was -about to befall them;--and his old neighbour knew his ways and knew that -he meant something, and with natural consciousness divined at once what -it was. - -"You have heard what has happened," said Aunt Agatha, trembling a -little, and laying down her work. "It is so kind of you to come over at -once; but I do hope that is not why you are looking so grave?" - -"Am I looking grave?" said Sir Edward, clearing up in an elaborate way; -"I did not mean it, I am sure. I suppose we ought to have seen it coming -and been prepared; but these sort of things always take one by surprise. -I did not think Winnie was the sort of girl to--to make up her mind all -at once, you know--the very first man that asked her. I suppose it was -my mistake." - -"If you think it was the very first that asked her!" cried Aunt Agatha, -who felt this reproach go to her heart, "it is a mistake. She is only -eighteen--a mere child--but I was saying to Mary only yesterday, that it -was not for want of being admired----" - -"Oh, yes," said Sir Edward, with a little wave of his hand, "we all know -she has been admired. One's eyes alone would have proved that; and she -deserves to be admired; and that is generally a girl's chief stronghold, -in my opinion. She knows it, and learns her own value, and does not -yield to the first fellow who has the boldness to say right out----" - -"I assure you, Sir Edward," said Aunt Agatha, growing red and very erect -in her chair, and assuming a steadiness which was unfortunately quite -contradicted by the passionate quiver of her lip, "that you do Winnie -great injustice--so far as being the first goes----" - -"What does it matter if he were the first or the fiftieth, if she likes -him?" said Mary, who had begun by being much amused, but who had ended -by being a little indignant; for she had herself married at eighteen and -never had a lover but Hugh Ochterlony, and felt herself disapproved of -along with her sister. - -Upon which Sir Edward shook his head. - -"Certainly, my dear Mary, if she likes him," said the Baronet; "but the -discouraging thing is, that an inexperienced girl--a girl so very well -brought up as Winnie has been--should allow herself, as I have said, to -like the very first man who presents himself. One would have thought -some sort of introduction was necessary before such a thought could have -penetrated into her mind. After she had been obliged to receive it in -that way--then, indeed---- But I am aware that there are people who have -not my scruples," said Sir Edward, with a sigh; for he was, as all the -neighbourhood was aware, a man of the most delicate mind. - -"If you think my dear, pure-minded child is not scrupulous, Sir Edward!" -cried poor Aunt Agatha--but her emotion was so great that her voice -failed her; and Mary, half amused and half angry, was the only champion -left for Winnie's character, thus unexpectedly assailed. - -"Poor child, I think she is getting very hard measure," said Mary. "I -don't mean to blame you, but I think both of you encouraged her up to -the last moment. You let them be always together, and smiled on them; -and they are young, and what else could you expect? It is more delicate -to love than to flirt," said Mrs. Ochterlony. She had not been nearly so -well brought up as her sister, nor with such advanced views, and what -she said brought a passing blush upon her matron cheek. Winnie could -have discussed all about love without the shadow of a blush, but that -was only the result of the chronological difference, and had nothing to -do with purity of heart. - -"If we have had undue confidence," said Sir Edward, with a sigh, "we -will have to pay for it. Mary speaks--as I have heard many women -speak--without making any consideration of the shock it must be to a -delicate young girl; and I think, after the share which I may say I have -myself had in Winnie's education, that I might be permitted to express -my surprise; and Percival ought to have shown a greater regard for the -sacredness of hospitality. I cannot but say that I was very much vexed -and surprised." - -It may well be supposed that such an address, after poor Aunt Agatha's -delight and exultation in her child's joy, and her willingness to see -with Winnie's eyes and accept Winnie's lover on his own authority, was a -most confounding utterance. She sat silent, poor lady, with her lips -apart and her eyes wide open, and a kind of feeling that it was all over -with Winnie in her heart. Aunt Agatha was ready to fight her darling's -battles to her last gasp, but she was not prepared to be put down and -made an end of in this summary way. She had all sorts of pretty -lady-like deprecations about their youth and Winnie's inexperience ready -in her mind, and had rather hoped to be assured that to have her -favourite thus early settled in life was the very best that anybody -would desire for her. Miss Seton had been so glad to think in former -days that Sir Edward always understood her, and she had thought Winnie's -interests were as dear to him as if she had been a child of his own; and -now to think that Sir Edward regarded an event so important for Winnie -as an evidence of indelicacy on her part, and of a kind of treachery on -her lover's! All that Aunt Agatha could do was to throw an appealing -look at Mary, who had hitherto been the only one dissatisfied or -disapproving. She knew more about Captain Percival than any one. Would -not she say a word for them now? - -"He must have thought that was what you meant when you let them be so -much together," said Mary. "I think, if you will forgive me, Sir Edward, -that it is not _their_ fault." - -Sir Edward answered this reproach only by a sigh. He was in a despondent -rather than a combative state of mind. "And you see I do not know so -much as I should like to know about him," he said, evading the personal -question. "He is a very nice fellow; but I told you the other day I did -not consider him a paladin; and whether he has enough to live upon, or -anything to settle on her---- My dear Mary, at least you will agree with -me, that considering how short a time they have known each other, things -have gone a great deal too far." - -"I do not know how long they have known each other," said Mary, who now -felt herself called upon absolutely to take Aunt Agatha's part. - -"Ah, _I_ know," said Sir Edward, "and so does your aunt; and things did -not go at railway speed like this in _our_ days. It is only about six -weeks, and they are engaged to be married! I suppose you know as much -about him as anybody--or so he gave me to understand at least; and do -_you_ think him a good match for your young sister?" added Sir Edward, -with a tone of superior virtue which went to Mary's heart. - -Mary was too true a woman not to be a partisan, and had the feminine -gift of putting her own private sentiments out of the question in -comparison with the cause which she had to advocate; but still it was an -embarrassing question, especially as Aunt Agatha was looking at her with -the most pathetic appeal in her eyes. - -"I know very little of Captain Percival," she said; "I saw him once only -in India, and it was at a moment very painful to me. But Winnie likes -him--and you must have approved of him, Sir Edward, or you would not -have brought him here." - -Upon which Aunt Agatha rose and kissed Mary, recognising perfectly that -she did not commit herself on the merits of the case, but at the same -time sustained it by her support. Sir Edward, for his part, turned a -deaf ear to the implied reproach, but still kept up his melancholy view -of the matter, and shook his head. - -"He has good connexions," he said; "his mother was a great friend of -mine. In other circumstances, and could we have made up our minds to it -at the proper moment, she might have been Lady----. But it is vain to -talk of that. I think we might push him a little if he would devote -himself steadily to his profession; but what can be expected from a man -who wants to marry at five-and-twenty? I myself," said Sir Edward, with -dignity, "though the eldest son----" - -"Yes," said Aunt Agatha, unable to restrain herself longer, "and see -what has come of it. You are all by yourself at the Hall, and not a soul -belonging to you; and to see Francis Ochterlony with his statues and -nonsense!--Oh, Sir Edward! when you might have had a dozen lovely -children growing up round you----" - -"Heaven forbid!" said Sir Edward, piously; and then he sighed--perhaps -only from the mild melancholy which possessed him at the moment, and was -occasioned by Winnie's indelicate haste to fall in love; perhaps, also, -from some touch of personal feeling. A dozen lovely children might be -rather too heavy an amount of happiness, while yet a modified bliss -would have been sweet. He sighed and leant his head upon his hand, and -withdrew into himself for the moment in that interesting way which was -habitual to him, and had gained him the title of "poor Sir Edward." It -might be very foolish for a man (who had his own way to make in the -world) to marry at five-and-twenty; but still, perhaps it was rather -more foolish when a man did not marry at all, and was left in his old -age all alone in a great vacant house. But naturally, it was not this -view of the matter which he displayed to his feminine companions, who -were both women enough to have triumphed a little over such a confession -of failure. He had a fine head, though he was old, and his hand was as -delicate and almost as pale as ivory, and he could not but know that he -looked interesting in that particular attitude, though, no doubt, it was -his solicitude for these two indiscreet young people which chiefly moved -him. "I am quite at a loss what to do," he said. "Mrs. Percival is a -very fond mother, and she will naturally look to me for an account of -all this; and there is your Uncle Penrose, Mary--a man I could never -bear, as you all know--he will come in all haste, of course, and insist -upon settlements and so forth; and why all this responsibility should -come on me, who have no desire in this world but for tranquillity and -peace----" - -"It need not come on you," said Mrs. Ochterlony; "we are not very great -business people, but still, with Aunt Agatha and myself----" - -Sir Edward smiled. The idea diverted him so much that he raised his head -from his hand. "My dear Mary," he said, "I have the very highest opinion -of your capacity; but in a matter of this kind, for instance---- And I -am not so utterly selfish as to forsake my old neighbour in distress." - -Here Aunt Agatha took up her own defence. "I don't consider that I am in -distress," she said. "I must say, I did not expect anything like this, -Sir Edward, from you. If it had been Mr. Penrose, with his mercenary -ideas---- I was very fond of Mary's poor dear mamma, and I don't mean -any reflection on her, poor darling--but I suppose that is how it always -happens with people in trade. Mr. Penrose is always a trial, and Mary -knows that; but I hope I am able to bear something for my dear child's -sake," Aunt Agatha continued, growing a little excited; "though I never -thought that I should have to bear----" and then the poor lady gave a -stifled sob, and added in the midst of it, "this from you!" - -This was a kind of climax which had arrived before in the familiar -friendship so long existing between the Hall and the Cottage. The two -principals knew how to make it up better than the spectator did who was -looking on with a little alarm and a little amusement. Perhaps it was as -well that Mary was called away to her own individual concerns, and had -to leave Aunt Agatha and Sir Edward in the height of their -misunderstanding. Mary went away to her children, and perhaps it was -only in the ordinary course of human nature that when she went into the -nursery among those three little human creatures, who were so entirely -dependent upon herself, there should be a smile upon her face as she -thought of the two old people she had left. It seemed to her, as perhaps -it seems to most women in the presence of their own children, at sight -of those three boys--who were "mere babies" to Aunt Agatha, but to Mary -the most important existences in the world--as if this serio-comic -dispute about Winnie's love affairs was the most quaintly-ridiculous -exhibition. When she was conscious of this thought in her own mind, she -rebuked it, of course; but at the first glance it seemed as if Winnie's -falling in love was so trivial a matter--so little to be put in -comparison with the grave cares of life. There are moments when the -elder women, who have long passed through all that, and have entered -upon another stage of existence, cannot but smile at the love-matters, -without considering that life itself is often decided by the complexion -of the early romance, which seems to belong only to its lighter and less -serious side. Sir Edward and Aunt Agatha for their part had never, old -as they both were, got beyond the first stage--and it was natural it -should bulk larger in their eyes. And this time it was they who were -right, and not Mary, whose children were but children, and in no danger -of any harm. Whereas, poor Winnie, at the top of happiness--gay, -reckless, daring, and assured of her own future felicity--was in reality -a creature in deadly peril and wavering on the verge of her fate. - -But when the day had come to an end, and Captain Percival had at last -retired, and Winnie, a little languid after her lover's departure, sat -by the open window watching, no longer with despite or displeasure, the -star of light which shone over the tree-tops from the Hall, there -occurred a scene of a different description. But for the entire change -in Winnie's looks and manner, the absence of the embroidery frame at -which she had worked so violently, and the languid softened grace with -which she had thrown herself down upon a low chair, too happy and -content to feel called upon to do anything, the three ladies were just -as they had been a few evenings before; that is to say, that Aunt Agatha -and Mary, to neither of whom any change was possible, were just as they -had been before, while to the girl at the window, everything in heaven -and earth had changed. The two others had had their day and were done -with it. Though Miss Seton was still scarcely an old woman, and Mary was -in the full vigour and beauty of life, they were both ashore high up -upon the beach, beyond the range of the highest tide; while the other, -in her boat of hope, was playing with the rippling incoming waters, and -preparing to put to sea. It was not in nature that the two who had been -at sea, and knew all the storms and dangers, should not look at her -wistfully in her happy ignorance; perhaps even they looked at her with a -certain envy too. But Aunt Agatha was not a woman who could let either -ill or well alone--and it was she who disturbed the household calm which -might have been profound that night, so far as Winnie was concerned. - -"My dear love," said Aunt Agatha, with a timidity which implied -something to tell, "Sir Edward has been here. Captain Percival had told -him, you know----" - -"Yes," said Winnie, carelessly, "I know." - -"And, my darling," said Miss Seton. "I am sure it is what I never could -have expected from him, who was always such a friend; but I sometimes -think he gets a little strange--as he gets old, you know----" - -This was what the unprincipled woman said, not caring in the least how -much she slandered Sir Edward, or anybody else in the world, so long as -she gave a little comfort to the child of her heart. And as for Winnie, -though she had been brought up at his feet, as it were, and was supposed -by himself and others to love him like a child of his own, she took no -notice of this unfounded accusation. She was thinking of quite a -different person, just as Aunt Agatha was thinking of her, and Mary of -her boys. They were women, each preoccupied and absorbed in somebody -else, and they did not care about justice. And thus Sir Edward for the -moment fared badly among them, though, if any outside assailant had -attacked him, they would all have fought for him to the death. - -"Well!" said Winnie, still very carelessly, as Miss Seton came to a -sudden stop. - -"My dear love!" said Aunt Agatha, "he has not a word to say against -Captain Percival, that I can see----" - -"Against Edward?" cried Winnie, raising herself up. "Good gracious, Aunt -Agatha, what are you thinking of? Against Edward! I should like to know -what he could say. His own godfather--and his mother was once engaged to -him--and he is as good as a relation, and the nearest friend he has. -What could he possibly have to say? And besides, it was he who brought -him here; and we think he will leave us the most of his money," Winnie -said, hastily--and then was very sorry for what she had said, and -blushed scarlet and bit her lips, but it was too late to draw back. - -"Winnie," said Miss Seton, solemnly, "if he has been calculating upon -what people will leave to him when they die, I will think it is all true -that Sir Edward said." - -"You said Sir Edward did not say anything," cried Winnie. "What is it -you have heard? It is of no use trying to deceive me. If there has been -anything said against him, it is Mary who has said it. I can see by her -face it is Mary. And if she is to be heard against _him_," cried Winnie, -rising up in a blaze of wrath and indignation, "it is only just that he -should be heard on the other side. He is too good and too kind to say -things about my sister to me; but Mary is only a woman, and of course -she does not mind what she says. She can blacken a man behind his back, -though he is far too honourable and too--too delicate to say what he -knows of _her_!" - -This unlooked-for assault took Mary so entirely by surprise, that she -looked up with a certain bewilderment, and could not find a word to say. -As for Aunt Agatha, she too rose and took Winnie's hands, and put her -arms round her as much as the angry girl would permit. - -"It was not Mary," she said. "Oh, Winnie, my darling, if it was for your -good, and an ease to my mind, and better for you in life--if it was for -your good, my dear love--that is what we are all thinking of--could not -you give him up?" - -It was, perhaps, the boldest thing Aunt Agatha had ever done in all her -gentle life--and even Winnie could not but be influenced by such unusual -resolution. She made a wild effort to escape for the first moment, and -stood with her hands held fast in Aunt Agatha's hands, averting her -angry face, and refusing to answer. But when she felt herself still held -fast, and that her fond guardian had the courage to hold to her -question, Winnie's anger turned into another kind of passion. The tears -came pouring to her eyes in a sudden violent flood, which she neither -tried to stop nor to hide. "No!" cried Winnie, with the big -thunder-drops falling hot and heavy. "What is _my_ good without him? If -it was for my harm I shouldn't care. Don't hold me, don't look at me, -Aunt Agatha! I don't care for anything in the world but Edward. I would -not give him up--no, not if it was to break everybody's heart. What is -it all to me without Edward?" cried the passionate girl. And when Miss -Seton let her go, she threw herself on her chair again, with the tears -coming in floods, but still facing them both through this storm-shower -with crimson cheeks and shining eyes. As for poor Aunt Agatha, she too -tottered back to her chair, frightened and abashed, as well as in -distress; for young ladies had not been in the habit of talking so -freely in her days. - -"Oh, Winnie--and we have loved you all your life; and you have only -known him a few weeks," she said, faltering, and with a natural groan. - -"I cannot help it," said Winnie; "you may think me a wretch, but I like -him best. Isn't it natural I should like him best? Mary did, and ran -away, and nobody was shocked at her; and even you yourself----" - -"I never, never, could have said such a thing all my life!" cried Aunt -Agatha, with a maiden blush upon her sweet old cheeks. - -"If you had, you would not have been a----as you are now," said the -dauntless Winnie; and she recovered in a twinkling of an eye, and wiped -away her tears, and was herself again. Possibly what she had said was -true and natural, as she asserted; but it is an unquestionable fact, -that neither her aunt nor her sister could have said it for their lives. -She was a young lady of the nineteenth century, and she acted -accordingly; but it is a certain fact, as Aunt Agatha justly observed, -whatever people may think now, that girls did not speak like that in -_our_ day. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - - -The few weeks which ensued were the most stormy and troublous period of -all Miss Seton's life; and through her there was naturally a -considerable disturbance of the peace of the Cottage. Though she lived -so quietly, she had what is called in the country "a large circle," and -had dwelt among her own people all her life, and was known to everybody -about. It was a quiet neighbourhood, but yet there never was a -neighbourhood so quiet as not to have correspondents and relations -living out in the world, to whom all news went, and from whom all news -came. And there were a number of "families" about Kirtell, not great -people certainly, but very respectable people, gentry, and -well-connected persons, hanging on by various links to the great world. -In this way Winnie's engagement, which nobody wanted to conceal, came to -be known far and wide, as such facts are so apt to get known. And a -great many people out in the world, who had once known Miss Seton, wrote -letters to her, in which they suggested that perhaps she had forgotten -them, but hoped that she would excuse them, and attribute it to the -regard which they had never ceased to feel for her, if they asked, Did -she know Captain Percival very well, who was said to be engaged to her -pretty niece? Had she heard what happened in the Isle of Man when his -regiment was stationed there? and why it was that he did not go out to -Gibraltar after he had got _that_ appointment? Other people, who did not -know Aunt Agatha, took what was after all the more disagreeable step of -writing to their friends in the parish about the young man, whose career -had certainly left traces, as it appeared, upon the memory of his -generation. To rise every morning with a sense that such an epistle -might be awaiting her on the breakfast-table--or to receive a visitor -with the horrible conviction that she had come to look into her face, -and hold her hand, and be confidential and sympathetic, and deliver a -solemn warning--was an ordeal which Aunt Agatha found it hard to bear. -She was a woman who never forgot her character as a maiden lady, and -liked to be justified by precedents and to be approved of by all the -world. And these repeated remonstrances had no doubt a great effect upon -her mind. They filled her with terrible misgivings and embittered her -life, and drove her now and then into so great a panic that she felt -disposed to thrust Captain Percival out of the house and forbid his -reappearance there. But then, Winnie. Winnie was not the girl to submit -to any such violent remedies. If she could not see her lover there, she -would find means to see him somewhere else. If she could not be married -to him with stately propriety in her parish church, she would manage to -marry him somehow in any irregular way, and she would by no means -hesitate to say so or shrink from the responsibility. And if it must be -done, would it not be better that it should be done correctly than -incorrectly, and with all things decent and in order? Thus poor Aunt -Agatha would muse as she gathered up her bundle of letters. It might -have been all very well for parents to exercise their authority in the -days when their children obeyed them; but what was the use of issuing -commands to which nobody would pay any attention? Winnie had very -plainly expressed her preference for her own happiness rather than her -aunt's peace of mind; and though Miss Seton would never have consented -to admit that Winnie was anything less than the most beautiful -character, still she was aware that unreasoning obedience was not her -faculty. Besides, another sentiment began to mingle with this prudential -consideration. Everybody was against the poor young man. The first -letters she received about him made her miserable; but after that there -was no doubt a revulsion. Everybody was against him, poor fellow!--and -he was so young, and could not, after all, have done so much harm in the -world. "He has not had the time, Mary," she said, with an appeal to Mrs. -Ochterlony for support. "If he had been doing wrong from his very -cradle, he could not have had the time." She could not refuse to believe -what was told her, and yet notwithstanding her belief she clung to the -culprit. If he had found any other advocate it might have been -different; but nobody took the other side of the question: nobody wrote -a pretty letter to say what a dear fellow he was, and how glad his -friends were to think he had found some one worthy of him--not even his -mother; and Aunt Agatha's heart accordingly became the _avvocato del -diavolo_. Fair play was due even to Captain Percival. It was impossible -to leave him assailed as he was by so many without one friend. - -It was a curious sight to see how she at once received and ignored all -the information thus conveyed to her. A woman of a harder type would -probably, as women do, have imputed motives, and settled the matter with -the general conclusion that "an enemy hath done this;" but Aunt Agatha -could not help, for the moment at least, believing in everybody. She -could not say right out, "It is not true," even to the veriest impostor -who deceived and got money from her, and their name was legion. In her -own innocent soul she had no belief in lies, and could not understand -them; and it was easier for her to give credence to the wildest marvel -than to believe that anybody could tell her a deliberate falsehood. She -would have kissed the ladies who wrote to her of those stories about -Captain Percival, and cried and wrung her hands, and asked, What could -she do?--and yet her heart was by no means turned against him, -notwithstanding her belief in what everybody said; which is a strange -and novel instance, well enough known to social philosophers, but seldom -remarked upon, of the small practical influence of belief upon life. -"How can it be a lie, my dear child? what motive could they all have to -tell lies?" she would say to Winnie, mournfully; and yet ten minutes -after, when it was Mrs. Ochterlony she was speaking to, she would make -her piteous appeal for him, poor fellow!--"Everybody is against him; and -he is so young still; and oh, Mary, how much he must need looking -after," Aunt Agatha would say, "if it is all true!" - -Perhaps it was stranger still that Mary, who did not like Captain -Percival, and was convinced of the truth of all the stories told of him, -and knew in her heart that he was her enemy and would not scruple to do -her harm if the chance should come in his way--was also a little moved -by the same argument. Everybody was against him. It was the Cottage -against the world, so far as he was concerned; and even Mrs. Ochterlony, -though she ought to have known better, could not help feeling herself -one of a "side," and to a certain extent felt her honour pledged to the -defence of her sister's lover. Had she, in the very heart of this -stronghold which was standing out for him so stoutly, lifted up a -testimony against him, she would have felt herself in some respects a -domestic traitor. She might be silent on the subject, and avoid all -comment, but she could not utter an adverse opinion, or join in with the -general voice against which Aunt Agatha and Winnie stood forth so -stedfastly. As for Winnie, every word that was said to his detriment -made her more determined to stick to him. What did it matter whether he -was good or bad, so long as it was indisputably _he_? There was but one -Edward Percival in the world, and he would still be Edward Percival if -he had committed a dozen murders, or gambled twenty fortunes away. Such -was Winnie's defiant way of treating the matter which concerned her more -closely than anybody else. She carried things with a high hand in those -days. All the world was against her, and she scorned the world. She -attributed motives, though Aunt Agatha did not. She said it was envy and -jealousy and all the leading passions. She made wild counter-accusations, -in the style of that literature which sets forth the skeleton in -every man's closet. Who could tell what little incidents could be -found out in the private history of the ladies who had so much to say -about Captain Percival? This is so ordinary a mode of defence, that -no doubt it is natural, and Winnie went into it with good will. Thus -his standard was planted upon the Cottage, and however unkindly people -might think of him outside, shelter and support were always to be found -within. Even Peggy, though she did not always agree with her mistress, -felt, as Mrs. Ochterlony did, that she was one of a side, and became a -partisan with an earnestness that was impossible to Mary. Sir Edward -shook his head still, but he was disarmed by the close phalanx and the -determined aspect of Percival's defenders. "It is true love," he said -in his sentimental way; "and love can work miracles when everything -else has failed. It may be his salvation." This was what he wrote to -Percival's mother, who, up to this moment, had been but doubtful in her -approbation, and very anxious, and uncertain, as she said, whether she -ought not to tell Miss Seton that Edward had been "foolish." He had -been "foolish," even in his mother's opinion; and his other critics -were, some of them, so tolerant as to say "gay," and some "wild," while -a few used a more solemn style of diction;--but everybody was against -him, whatever terms they might employ; everybody except the ladies at -the Cottage, who set up his standard, and accepted him with all his -iniquities upon his head. - -It may be worth while at this point, before Mr. Penrose arrives, who -played so important a part in the business, to say a word about the poor -young man who was thus universally assailed. He was five-and-twenty, and -a young man of expectations. Though he had spent every farthing which -came to himself at his majority, and a good deal more than that, still -his mother had a nice estate, and Sir Edward was his godfather, and the -world was full of obliging tradespeople and other amiable persons. He -was a handsome fellow, nearly six feet high, with plenty of hair, and a -moustache of the most charming growth. The hair was of dull brown, which -was rather a disadvantage to him, but then it went perfectly well with -his pale complexion, and suited the cloudy look over the eyes, which was -the most characteristic point in his face. The eyes themselves were -good, and had, when they chose, a sufficiently frank expression, but -there lay about the eyebrows a number of lurking hidden lines which -looked like mischief--lines which could be brought into action at any -moment, and could scowl, or lower, or brood, according to the fancy of -their owner. Some people thought this uncertainty in his face was its -greatest charm; you could never tell what a moment might bring forth -from that moveable and changing forehead. It was suggestive, as a great -many persons thought--suggestive of storm and thunder, and sudden -disturbance, or even in some eyes of cruelty and gloom--though he was a -fine young man, and gay and fond of his pleasure. Winnie, as may be -supposed, was not of this latter opinion. She even loved to bring out -those hidden lines, and call the shadows over his face, for the pleasure -of seeing how they melted away again, according to the use and wont of -young ladies. It was a sort of uncertainty that was permissible to him, -who had been a spoiled child, and whom everybody, at the beginning of -his career, had petted and taken notice of; but possibly it was a -quality which would not have called forth much admiration from a wife. - -And with Winnie standing by him as she did--clinging to him closer at -every new accusation, and proclaiming, without faltering, her -indifference to anything that could be said, and her conviction that the -worse he was the more need he had of her--Captain Percival, too, took -matters very lightly. The two foolish young creatures even came to -laugh, and make fun of it in their way. "Here is Aunt Agatha coming with -another letter; I wonder if it is to say that I poisoned my grandmother, -this time?" cried the young man; and they both laughed as if it was the -best joke in the world. If ever there was a moment in which, when they -were alone, Winnie did take a momentary thought of the seriousness of -the position, her gravity soon dissipated itself. "I know you have been -very naughty," she would say, clasping her pretty hands upon his arm; -"but you will never, never do it again," and the lover, thus appealed -to, would make the tenderest and most eager assurances. What temptation -could he ever have to be "naughty" with such an angel by his side? And -Winnie was pleased enough to play the part of the angel--though that was -not, perhaps, her most characteristic development--and went home full of -happiness and security; despising the world which never had understood -Edward, and thinking with triumph of the disappointed women less happy -than herself, who, out of revenge, had no doubt got up this outcry -against him. "For I don't mean to defend him out and out," she said, her -eyes sparkling with malice and exultation; "I don't mean to say that he -has not behaved very badly to a great many people;" and there was a -certain sweet self-glorification in the thought which intoxicated -Winnie. It was wicked, but somehow she liked him better for having -behaved badly to a great many people; and naturally any kind of -reasoning was entirely ineffectual with a foolish girl who had taken -such an idea into her mind. - -Thus things went on; and Percival went away and returned again, and paid -many flying visits, and, present and absent, absorbed all Winnie's -thoughts. It was not only a first love, but it was a first occupation to -the young woman, who had never felt, up to this time, that she had a -sufficient sphere for her energies. Now she could look forward to being -married, to receiving all the presents, and being busy about all the -business of that important moment; and beyond lay life--life without any -one to restrain her, without even the bondage of habit, and the -necessity of taking into consideration what people would think. Winnie -said frankly that she would go with him anywhere, that she did not mind -if it was India, or even the Cape of Good Hope; and her eyes sparkled to -think of the everything new which would replace to her all the old bonds -and limits: though, in one point of view, this was a cruel satisfaction, -and very wounding and injurious to some of the other people concerned. - -"Oh, Winnie, my darling! and what am I to do without you?" Aunt Agatha -would cry; and the girl would kiss her in her laughing way. "It must -have come, sooner or later," she said; "you always said so yourself. I -don't see why you should not get married too, Aunt Agatha; you are -perfectly beautiful sometimes, and a great deal younger than--many -people; or, at least, you will have Mary to be your husband," Winnie -would add, with a laugh, and a touch of affectionate spite: for the two -sisters, it must be allowed, were not to say fond of each other. Mary -had been brought up differently, and was often annoyed, and sometimes -shocked, by Winnie's ways: and Winnie--though at times she seemed -disposed to make friends with her sister--could not help thinking of -Mary as somehow at the bottom of all that had been said about Edward. -This, indeed, was an idea which her lover and she shared: and Mary's -life was not made pleasanter to her by the constant implication that he, -too, could tell something about her--which she despised too much to take -any notice of, but which yet was an offence and an insult. So that on -the whole--even before the arrival of Mr. Penrose--the Cottage on -Kirtell-side, though as bowery and fair as ever, was, in reality, an -agitated and even an uncomfortable home. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - - -Mr. Penrose was the uncle of Mary and Winnie, their mother's only -brother. Mrs. Seton had come from Liverpool originally, and though -herself very "nice," had not been, according to Aunt Agatha's opinion, -"of a nice class." And her brother shared the evil conditions, without -sharing the good. He was of his class, soul and body, and it was not a -nice class--and, to tell the truth, his nieces had been brought up to -ignore rather than to take any pleasure in him. He was not a man out of -whom, under the best circumstances, much satisfaction could be got. He -was one of the men who always turn up when something about money is -going on in the house. He had had to do with all the wills and -settlements in the family, though they were of a very limited -description; but Mr. Penrose did not despise small things, and was of -opinion, that even if you had only a hundred pounds; you ought to know -all about it, and how to take care of it. And he had once been very kind -to Aunt Agatha, who was always defective in her arithmetic, and who, in -earlier days, while she still thought of a possible change in her -condition, had gone beyond the just limit of her income, and got into -difficulties. Mr. Penrose had interfered at that period, and had been -very kind, and set her straight, and had given her a very telling -address upon the value of money; and though Miss Seton was not one of -the people who take a favour as an injury, still she could have forgiven -him a great many ill turns sooner than that good one. He had been very -kind to her, and had ruffled all her soft plumes, and rushed up against -her at all her tender points; and the very sound of his name was a -lively irritant to Aunt Agatha. But he had to be acquainted with -Winnie's engagement, and when he received the information, he lost no -time in coming to see about it. He was a large, portly, well-to-do man, -with one of his hands always in his pocket, and seemed somehow to -breathe money, and to have no ideas which did not centre in it; and yet -he had a good many ideas, and was a clever man in his way. With him, as -with many people in the world, there was one thing needful, and that one -thing was money. He thought it was a duty to possess something--a duty -which a man owed absolutely to himself, and to all who belonged to -him--and if he did not acquit himself well on this point, he was, in -Mr. Penrose's opinion, a very indifferent sort of person. There is -something immoral to most people in the fact of being poor, but to Mr. -Penrose it was a crime. He was very well off himself, but he was not a -man to communicate of his goods as he did of his advice; and then he had -himself a family, and could not be expected to give anything except -advice to his nieces--and as for that one good thing, it was at their -command in the most liberal way. He came to the Cottage, which was so -especially a lady's house, and pervaded the whole place with his large -male person, diffusing through it that moral fragrance which still -betrays the Englishman, the man of business, the Liverpool man, wherever -he may happen to bless the earth. Perhaps in that sweet-smelling dainty -place, the perfume which breathed from Mr. Penrose told more decidedly -than in the common air. As soon as you went in at the garden-gate you -became sensible that the atmosphere was changed, and that a Man was -there. Perhaps it may be thought that the presence of a man in Aunt -Agatha's maiden bower was not what might be called strictly proper, and -Miss Seton herself had doubts on the subject; but then, Mr. Penrose -never asked for any invitation, and it would have been very difficult to -turn him out; and Mary was there, who at least was a married lady. He -came without any invitation, and asked which was his room as if it had -been his own house--and he complained of what he called "the smell" of -the roses, and declared he would tear down all the sickly jasmine from -the side of the house if it belonged to him. All this Miss Seton endured -silently, feeling it her duty, for Winnie's sake, to keep all her -connexions in good humour; but the poor lady suffered terribly under the -process, as everybody could see. - -"I hope it is only a conditional sort of engagement," Mr. Penrose said, -after he had made himself comfortable, and had had a good dinner, and -came into the drawing-room the first evening. The lovers had seized the -opportunity to escape to Kirtell-side, and Mary was with her boys in the -garden, and poor Aunt Agatha, a martyr of civility, was seated alone, -awaiting the reappearance of her guest, and smiling upon him with -anxious politeness. He threw himself into the largest and most solid -chair he could find, and spread himself, as it seemed, all over the -room--a Man, coarse and undisguised, in that soft feminine paradise. -Poor Sir Edward's graceful presence, and the elegant figure of Captain -Percival, made no such impression. "I hope you have not settled it all -without consulting anybody. To be sure, that don't matter very much; but -I know you ladies have a summary way of settling such affairs." - -"Indeed, I--I am afraid--I--I hope--it is all settled," said Aunt -Agatha, with tremulous dignity. "It is not as if there was a great deal -of money to settle. They are not--not rich, you know," she added, -nervously. This was the chief thing to tell, and she was anxious to get -it over at once. - -"Not rich?" said Mr. Penrose. "No, I suppose not. A rich fellow would -not have been such a fool as to entangle himself with Winnie, who has -only her pretty face; but he has something, of course. The first thing -to ascertain is, what they will have to live on, and what he can settle -upon her. I suppose you have not let it go so far without having a kind -of idea on these points?" - -"Oh, yes," said Aunt Agatha, with a very poor pretence at composure; -"oh, yes, Mr. Penrose, that is all quite right. He has very nice -expectations. I have always heard that Mrs. Percival had a charming -little property; and Sir Edward is his godfather, and very fond of him. -You will see it will come all right about that." - -"Yes," said Mr. Penrose, who was nursing one of his legs--a colossal -member, nearly as big as his hostess--in a meditative way, "I hope it -will when _I_ come to look into it. But we must have something more than -expectations. What has he of his own?--and what do his mother and Sir -Edward mean to do for him? We must have it in pounds, shillings, and -pence, or he shan't have Winnie. It is best that he should make up his -mind about that." - -Aunt Agatha drew a frightened, panting breath; but she did not say -anything. She had known what she would have to brave, and she was aware -that Winnie would not brave it, and that to prevent a breach with her -darling's only rich relation, it was necessary and expedient as long as -she was alone to have it all out. - -"Let me see," said Mr. Penrose, "you told me what he was in your -letter--Captain, ain't he? As for his pay, that don't count. Let us go -systematically to work if we are to do any good. I know ladies are very -vague about business matters, but still you must know something. What -sort of a fellow is he, and what has he got of his own?" - -"Oh, he is very nice," cried Aunt Agatha, consoled to find a question -she could answer; "very, very nice. I do think you will like him very -much; such a fine young fellow, and with what you gentlemen call no -nonsense about him," said the anxious woman; "and with _excellent_ -connexions," she added, faltering again, for her enthusiasm awoke no -answer in Mr. Penrose's face. - -"My dear Miss Agatha," he said in his offensive way--and he always -called her Miss Agatha, which was very trying to her feelings--"you need -not take the trouble to assure me that a handsome young fellow who pays -her a little attention, is always very nice to a lady. I was not asking -whether he was nice; I was asking what were his means--which is a very -much more important part of the subject, though you may not think so," -Mr. Penrose added. "A charming little house like this, for instance, -where you can have everything within yourself, and can live on honey and -dew I suppose, may be kept on nothing--though you and I, to be sure, -know a little different----" - -"Mr. Penrose," said Aunt Agatha, trembling with indignation, "if you -mean that the dinner was not particular enough----" - -"It was a charming little dinner," said Mr. Penrose, "just what it ought -to have been. Nothing could have been nicer than that white soup; and I -think I am a judge. I was speaking of something to live on; a pretty -house like this, I was saying, is not an analogous case. You have -everything within yourself--eggs, and vegetables, and fruit, and your -butter and milk so cheap. I wish we could get it like that in Liverpool; -and--pardon me--no increase of family likely, you know." - -"My niece Mary and her three children have come to the Cottage since you -were last here, Mr. Penrose," said Aunt Agatha, with a blush of shame -and displeasure. "It was the only house of all her relations that she -could come to with any comfort, poor dear--perhaps you don't call that -an increase of family; and as for the milk and butter----" - -"She must pay you board," said Mr. Penrose, decisively; "there can be no -question about that; your little money has not always been enough for -yourself, as we both know. But all this is merely an illustration I was -giving. It has nothing to do with the main subject. If these young -people marry, my dear Miss Agatha, their family may be increased by -inmates who will pay no board." - -This was what he had the assurance to say to an unmarried lady in her -own house--and to laugh and chuckle at it afterwards, as if he thought -it a capital joke. Aunt Agatha was struck dumb with horror and -indignation. Such eventualities might indeed, perhaps must, be discussed -by the lawyers where there are settlements to make; but to talk of them -to a maiden lady when alone, was enough to make her drop through the -very floor with consternation. She made no attempt to answer, but she -did succeed in keeping her seat, and to a certain extent her -self-possession, for Winnie's sake. - -"It is a different sort of thing altogether," said the family adviser. -"Things may be kept square in a quiet lady's house--though even that is -not always the case, as we are both aware; but two young married people, -who are just as likely as not to be extravagant and all that---- If he -has not something to settle on her, I don't see how I can have anything -to do with it," Mr. Penrose continued; "and you will not answer me as to -what he has of his own." - -"He has his--his pay," said poor Aunt Agatha. "I am told it is a great -deal better than it used to be; and he has, I think, some--some money in -the Funds. I am sure he will be glad to settle that on Winnie; and then -his mother, and Sir Edward. I have no doubt myself, though really they -are too young to marry, that they will do very well on the whole." - -"Do you know what living means, Miss Agatha?" asked Mr. Penrose, -solemnly, "when you can speak in this loose way? Butchers' bills are not -so vague as your statements, I can tell you; and a pretty girl like that -ought to do very well, even though she has no money. It is not _her_ -fault, poor thing," the rich uncle added, with momentary compassion; and -then he asked, abruptly, "What will Sir Edward do for them?" as if he -had presented a pistol at his companion's head. - -"Oh, Mr. Penrose!" cried Aunt Agatha, forgetting all her policy, and -what she had just said. "Surely, surely, you would not like them to -calculate upon Sir Edward! He is not even a relation. He is only -Edward's godfather. I would not have him applied to, not for the world." - -"Then what have you been talking to me all this while about?" cried Mr. -Penrose, with a look and sense of outraged virtue. And Aunt Agatha, -seeing how she had betrayed her own position, and weary of the contest, -and driven to her wits' end, gave way and cried a little--which at that -moment, vexed, worried, and mortified as she was, was all she could do. - -And then Mr. Penrose got up and walked away, whistling audibly, through -the open window, into the garden, leaving the chintz cover on his chair -so crumpled up and loosened out of all its corners, that you could have -told a mile off that a man had been there. What he left behind him was -not that subtle agreeable suggestion of his presence which hung around -the footsteps of young Percival, or even of Sir Edward, but something -that felt half like an insult to the feminine inhabitants--a -disagreeable assertion of another kind of creature who thought himself -superior to them--which was an opinion which they did not in the least -share, having no illusions so far as he went. Aunt Agatha sank back into -her chair with a sense of relief, which she afterwards felt she ought -not to have entertained. She had no right to such a feeling, for she had -done no good; and instead of diverting the common enemy from an attack -upon Winnie or her lover, had actually roused and whetted him, and made -him more likely than ever to rush at those young victims, as soon as -ever he should have the chance. But notwithstanding, for the moment to -be rid of him, and able to draw breath a little, and dry her incipient -tears, and put the cover straight upon that ill-used chair, did her -good. She drew a long breath, poor soul, and felt the ease and comfort -of being left to herself; even though next moment she might have to -brace herself up and collect all her faculties, and face the adversary -again. - -But in the meantime he had gone out to the garden, and was standing by -Mary's side, with his hand in his pocket. He was telling Mary that he -had come out in despair to her, to see if she knew anything about this -sad business--since he found her Aunt Agatha quite as great a fool about -business matters as she always was. He wanted to know if she, who knew -what was what, could give him any sort of a reasonable idea about this -young fellow whom Winnie wanted to marry--which was as difficult a -question for Mrs. Ochterlony as it had been for Miss Seton. And then in -the midst of the conversation the two culprits themselves appeared, as -careless about the inquiring uncle as they were about the subject of his -anxiety. Winnie, who was not given to the reticences practised by her -aunt and her sister, had taken care to convey a very clear idea of her -Uncle Penrose, and her own opinion of him, to the mind of Percival. He -was from Liverpool, and not "of a nice class." He was not Winnie's -guardian, nor had he any legal control over her; and in these -circumstances it did not seem by any means necessary to either of the -young people to show any undue attention to his desires, or be disturbed -by his interference; for neither of them had been brought up to be -dutiful to all the claims of nature, like their seniors. "Go away -directly, that he may not have any chance of attacking you," Winnie had -said to her lover; for though she was not self-denying or unselfish to -speak of, she could be so where Percival was concerned. "We can manage -him among us," she added, with a laugh--for she had no doubt of the -cooperation of both her aunt and sister, in the case of Uncle Penrose. -And in obedience to this arrangement, Captain Percival did nothing but -take off his hat in honour of Mary, and say half a dozen words of the -most ordinary salutation to the stranger before he went away. And then -Winnie came in, and came to her sister's side, and stood facing Mr. -Penrose, in all the triumph and glory of her youth. She was beautiful, -or would be beautiful, everybody had long allowed; but she had still -retained a certain girlish meagreness up to a very recent date. Now all -that had changed, like everything else; she had expanded, it appeared, -like her heart expanded and was satisfied--everything about her looked -rounder, fuller, and more magnificent. She came and stood before the -Liverpool uncle, who was a man of business, and thinking of no such -vanities, and struck him dumb with her splendour. He could talk as he -liked to Aunt Agatha, or even to Mary in her widow's cap, but this -radiant creature, all glowing with love and happiness, took away his -breath. Perhaps it was then, for the first time in his life, that Mr. -Penrose actually realized that there was something in the world for -which a man might even get to be indifferent about the balance at his -banker's. He gave an involuntary gasp; and though up to this moment he -had thought of Winnie only as a child, he now drew back before her, and -stopped whistling, and took his hand out of his pocket, which perhaps -was as decided an act of homage as it was in him to pay. - -But of course such a manifestation could not last. After another moment -he gave a "humph" as he looked at her, and then his self-possession came -back. "So that was your Captain, I suppose?" he said. - -"Yes, uncle, that was my Captain," said the dauntless Winnie, "and I -hope you approve of him; though it does not matter if you don't, for you -know it is all settled, and nobody except my aunt and his mother has any -right to say a word." - -"If his mother is as wise a judge as your aunt----" said Mr. Penrose; -but yet all the same, Winnie's boldness imposed upon him a little. It -was impossible to imagine that a grand creature like this, who was not -pale nor sentimental, nor of Agatha Seton's kind, could contemplate with -such satisfaction any Captain who had asked her to marry him upon -nothing a year. - -"That is all very fine," Mr. Penrose added, taking courage; "you can -make your choice as you please, but it is my business to look after the -money. If you and your children come to me starving, twenty years hence -and ask how I could possibly let you marry such a----" - -"Do you think you will be living in twenty years, Uncle Penrose?" said -Winnie. "I know you are a great deal older than Aunt Agatha;--but if you -are, we will not come, I promise you. We shall keep our starvation to -ourselves." - -"I can't tell how old your Aunt Agatha is," said Mr. Penrose, with -natural offence; "and you must know, Miss Winnie, that this is not how -you should talk to me." - -"Very well, uncle," said the daring girl; "but neither is your way the -way to talk to me. You know I have made up my mind, and that everything -is settled, and that it does not matter the least to me if Edward was a -beggar; and you come here with your money, as if that was the only thing -to be thought of. What do I care about money?--and you might try till -the end of the world, and you never would break it off," she cried, -flashing into a brilliant glow of passion and vehemence such as Mr. -Penrose did not understand. He had expected to have a great deal of -difficulty, but he had never expected to be defied after this fashion; -and the wildness of her womanish folly made the good man sad. - -"You silly girl!" he said, with profound pathos, "if you only knew what -nonsense you were speaking. There is nobody in this world but cares -about money; you can do nothing without it, and marry least of all. And -you speak to me with such an example before your eyes; look at your -sister Mary, how she has come with all those helpless children to be, -most likely, a burden on her friends----" - -"Uncle Penrose!" cried Winnie, putting up her two beautiful hands to -stop his mouth; but Mr. Penrose was as plain-spoken as Winnie herself -was, though in a different way. - -"I know perfectly well she can hear me," he said, "and she ought to hear -me, and to read you a lesson. If Mary had been a sensible girl, and had -married a man who could make proper settlements upon her, and make a -provision for his family, do you think she would have required to come -here to seek a shelter--do you think----" - -"Oh, Mary, he is crazy; don't mind him!" cried Winnie, forgetting for -the moment all about her own affairs, and clinging to her sister in real -distress. - -And then it was Mrs. Ochterlony's turn to speak. - -"I did not come to seek a shelter," she said; "though I know they would -have given it me all the same. I came to seek love and kindness, uncle, -which you cannot buy with money: and if there was nothing more than want -of money between Winnie and Captain Percival----" - -"Mary!" cried Winnie, impetuously, "go in and don't say any more. You -shall not be insulted while I am here; but don't say anything about -Edward. Leave me to have it out with Uncle Penrose, and go away." - -And somehow Mary obeyed. She would not have done it a month ago; but she -was wearied of contention, and broken in spirit, and, instead of -standing still and defending herself, she withdrew from the two -belligerents, who were both so ready to turn their arms against her, and -went away. She went to the nursery, which was deserted; for her boys -were still outside in the lingering daylight. None of them were able to -advise, or even to sympathize with their mother. They could give her -their childish love, but nothing else in the world. The others had all -some one to consult, some one to refer to, but Mary was alone. Her heart -beat dull and low, with no vehement offence at the bitter words she had -just heard, but with a heavy despondency and sense of solitude, which -her very attitude showed--for she did not sit down, or lie down, or try -to find any fictitious support, but stood up by the vacant fire-place -with her eyes fixed upon nothing, holding unconsciously the little chain -which secured her watch, and letting its beads drop one by one from her -fingers. "Mary has come home to be a burden on her friends," said Uncle -Penrose. She did not resent it wildly, as she might have done some time -before, but pondered with wondering pain and a dull sense of -hopelessness. How did it happen that she, of all women, had come to such -a position? what correspondence was there between that and all her past? -and what was the future to be? which, even now, she could make no -spasmodic changes in, but must accept and endure. This was how Mary's -mind was employed, while Winnie, reckless and wilful, defied Uncle -Penrose in the garden. For the time, the power of defying any one seemed -to have died out of Mary's breast. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - - -Mr. Penrose, however, was not a man of very lively feelings, and bore no -malice against Winnie for her defiance, nor even against Mary, to whom -he had been so cruel, which was more difficult. He was up again, -cheerful and full of energy in the morning, ready for his mission. If -Winnie began the world without something to live upon, or with any -prospect of ever being a burden on her friends, at all events it would -not be his fault. As it happened, Aunt Agatha received at the -breakfast-table the usual invariable letter containing a solemn warning -against Captain Percival, and she was affected by it, as she could not -help always being affected; and the evident commotion it excited in the -party was such that Mr. Penrose could not but notice it. When he -insisted upon knowing what it was, he was met by what was, in reality, -very skilful fencing on Miss Seton's part, who was not destitute -altogether of female skill and art; but Aunt Agatha's defence was made -useless by the impetuosity of Winnie, who scorned disguise. - -"Oh, let us hear it, please," she said, "let us hear. _We_ know what it -is about. It is some new story--some lie, about my poor Edward. They may -save themselves the trouble. _I_ would not believe one of them, if it -was written on the wall like Belshazzar's feast; and if I did believe -them I would not care," said Winnie, vehemently; and she looked across, -as she never could help looking, to where her sister sat. - -"What is it?" said Mr. Penrose, "something about your Captain? Miss -Agatha, considering my interest in the matter, I hope you will let me -hear all that is said." - -"It is nothing, absolutely nothing," said Aunt Agatha, faltering. "It is -only some foolish gossip, you know--garrison stories, and that sort of -thing. He was a very young man, and was launched upon life by -himself--and--and--I think I may say he must have been imprudent. -Winnie, my dear love, my heart bleeds to say it, but he must have been -imprudent. He must have entangled himself and--and---- And then there -are always so many designing people about to lead poor young men -astray," said Aunt Agatha, trembling for the result of her explanation; -while Winnie divided her attention between Mr. Penrose, before whom this -new view of the subject was unfolded for the first time, and Mary, whom -she regarded as a natural enemy and the probable origin of it all. - -"Wild, I suppose?" said Mr. Penrose, with sublime calm. "They're all -alike, for that matter. So long as he doesn't bet or gamble--that's how -those confounded young fellows ruin themselves." And then he dismissed -the subject with a wave of the hand. "I am going up to the Hall to talk -it all over with Sir Edward, and see what can be done. This sort of -penniless nonsense makes me sick," the rich man added; "and you women -are the most unreasonable creatures--one might as well talk to a stone -wall." - -Thus it was that for once in their lives the two Miss Setons, Agatha and -Winnie, found Uncle Penrose for the moment half divine; they looked at -him with wide open eyes, with a wondering veneration. They were only -women after all, and had been giving themselves a great deal of trouble -about Captain Percival's previous history; but it all sank in mere -contemptible gossip under the calm glance of Mr. Penrose. He was not -enthusiastic about Edward, and therefore his impartial calm was all the -more satisfying. _He_ thought nothing of it at all, though it had been -driving _them_ distracted. When he went away on his mission to the Hall, -Winnie, in her enthusiasm, ran into Aunt Agatha's arms. - -"You see he does not mind," said Winnie,--though an hour before she had -been far from thinking Mr. Penrose an authority. "He thinks it is all -gossip and spite, as I always said." - -And Aunt Agatha for her part was quite overcome by the sudden relief. It -felt like a deliverance, though it was only Mr. Penrose's opinion. "My -dear love, men know the world," she said; "that is the advantage of -having somebody to talk to; and I always said that your uncle, though he -is sometimes disagreeable, had a great deal of sense. You see he knows -the world." - -"Yes, I suppose he must have sense," said Winnie; and in the comfort of -her heart she was ready to attribute all good gifts to Mr. Penrose, and -could have kissed him as he walked past the window with his hand in his -pocket. She would not have forsaken her Edward whatever had been found -out about him, but still to see that his wickedness (if he had been -wicked) was of no consequence in the eyes of a respectable man like -Uncle Penrose, was such a consolation even to Winnie as nothing can -express. "We are all a set of women, and we have been making a mountain -out of a molehill," she said, and the tears came to her bright eyes; and -then, as Mary was not moved into any such demonstrations of delight, -Winnie turned her arms upon her sister in pure gaiety of heart. - -"Everybody gets talked about," she said. "Edward was telling me about -Mary even--that she used to be called Madonna Mary at the station; and -that there was some poor gentleman that died. I supposed he thought she -ought to be worshipped like Our Lady. Didn't you feel dreadfully guilty -and wretched, Mary, when he died?" - -"Poor boy," said Mrs. Ochterlony, who had recovered her courage a little -with the morning light. "It had nothing to do with Our Lady as you say; -it was only because he had been brought up in Italy, poor fellow, and -was fond of the old Italian poets, and the soft Italian words." - -"Then perhaps it was Madonna Mary he was thinking of," said Winnie, with -gay malice, "and you must have felt a dreadful wretch when he died." - -"We felt very sad when he died," said Mary,--"he was only twenty, poor -boy; but, Winnie dear, Uncle Penrose is not an angel, and I think now I -will say my say. Captain Percival is very fond of you, and you are very -fond of him, and I think, whatever the past may have been, that there is -hope if you will be a little serious. It is of consequence. Don't you -think that I wish all that is best in the world for you, my only little -sister? And why should you distrust me? You are not silly nor weak, and -I think you might do well yet, very well, my dear, if you were really to -try." - -"I think we shall do very well without trying," said Winnie, partly -touched and partly indignant; "but it is something for you to say, Mary, -and I am sure I am much obliged to you for your good advice all the -same." - -"Winnie," said Mrs. Ochterlony, taking her hands, "I know the world -better than you do--perhaps even better than Uncle Penrose, so far as a -woman is concerned. I don't care if you are rich or poor, but I want you -to be happy. It will not do very well without trying. I will not say a -word about him, for you have set your heart on him, and that must be -enough. And some women can do everything for the people they love. I -think, perhaps, you could, if you were to give your heart to it, and -try." - -It was not the kind of address Winnie had expected, and she struggled -against it, trying hard to resist the involuntary softening. But after -all nature was yet in her, and she could not but feel that what Mary was -saying came from her heart. - -"I don't see why you should be so serious," she said; "but I am sure it -is kind of you, Mary. I--I don't know if I could do--what you say; but -whatever I can do I will for Edward!" she added hastily, with a warmth -and eagerness which brought the colour to her cheek and the light to her -eye; and then the two sisters kissed each other as they had never done -before, and Winnie knelt down by Mary's knee, and the two held each -other's hands, and clung together, as it was natural they should, in -that confidence of nature which is closer than any other except that -between mother and daughter--the fellow-feeling of sisters, destined to -the same experience, one of whom has gone far in advance, and turning -back can trace, step by step, in her own memory, the path the other has -to go. - -"Don't mistrust me, Winnie," said Mrs. Ochterlony. "I have had a little -to bear, though I have been very happy, and I could tell you many -things--though I will not, just now; but, Winnie dear, what I want is, -that you should make up your mind to it; not to have everything you -like, and live in a fairy tale, but to keep right, and to keep _him_ -right. If you will promise to think of this, and to take it bravely upon -you, I will still hope that all may be well." - -Her look was so serious that for the first time Winnie's heart forgave -her. Neither jealousy, nor ill-temper, nor fear of evil report on her -own side could have looked out of Mary's eyes at her little sister with -such a wistful longing gaze. Winnie was moved in spite of herself, and -thrilled by the first pang of uncertainty that had yet touched her. If -Mary had no motive but natural affection, was it then really a hideous -gulf of horrible destruction, on the verge of which she was herself -tripping so lightly? Something indefinable came over Winnie's face as -that thought moved her. Should it be so, what then? If it was to save -him, if it was to perish with him, what did it matter? the only place in -the world for her was by his side. She had made her choice, and there -was no other choice for her, no alternative even should see the gulf as -Curtius did, and leap conscious into it in the eye of day. All this -passed through her mind in a moment, as she knelt by Mary's side holding -her hands--and came out so on her face that Mary could read something -like it in the sudden changing of the fair features and expansion of the -eyes. It was as if the soul had been startled, and sprang up to those -fair windows, to look out upon the approaching danger, making the -spectator careless of their beauty, out of regard to the nobler thing -that used them for the moment. Then Winnie rose up suddenly, and gave -her sister a hearty kiss, and threw off her sudden gravity as if it had -been a cloud. - -"Enough of that," she said; "I will try and be good, and so I think -will--we all. And Mary, don't look so serious. I mean to be happy, at -least as long as I can," cried Winnie. She was the same Winnie -again--gay, bold, and careless, before five minutes had passed; and Mary -had said her say, and there was now no more to add. Nothing could change -the destiny which the thoughtless young creature had laid out for -herself. If she could have foreseen the distinctest wretchedness it -would have been all the same. She was ready to take the plunge even into -the gulf--and nothing that could be said or done could change it now. - -In the meantime, Mr. Penrose had gone up to the Hall to talk it over -with Sir Edward, and was explaining his views with a distinctness which -was not much more agreeable in the Hall than it had been in the -Cottage. "I cannot let it go on unless some provision can be made," he -said. "Winnie is very handsome, and you must all see she might have done -a great deal better. If I had her over in Liverpool, as I have several -times thought of doing, I warrant you the settlements would have been of -a different description. She might have married anybody, such a girl as -that," continued Mr. Penrose, in a regretful business way. It was so -much capital lost that might have brought in a much greater profit; and -though he had no personal interest in it, it vexed him to see people -throwing their chances away. - -"That may be, but it is Edward Percival she chooses to marry, and nobody -else," said Sir Edward testily; "and she is not a girl to do as you seem -to think, exactly as she is told." - -"We should have seen about that," said Mr. Penrose; "but in the -meantime, he has his pay and she has a hundred a year. If Mrs. Percival -will settle three hundred on him, and you, perhaps, two----" - -"I, two!" cried Sir Edward, with sudden terror; "why should I settle -two? You might as well tell me to retire from the Hall, and leave them -my house. And pray, Mr. Penrose, when you are so liberal for other -people, what do you mean to give yourself?" - -"I am a family man," said Uncle Penrose, taking his other hand out of -his pocket, "and what I can give must be, in justice to my family, very -limited. But Mrs. Percival, who has only four sons, and yourself who -have none, are in very different circumstances. If he had had a father, -the business might have been entered into more satisfactorily--but as -you are his godfather, I hear----" - -"I never understood before, up to this minute," said Sir Edward, with -great courtesy, "that it was the duty of a godfather to endow his charge -with two hundred a year." - -"I beg your pardon, Sir Edward," said Mr. Penrose; "I am a plain man, -and I treat things in a business way. I give my godchildren a silver -mug, and feel my conscience clear: but if I had introduced a young man, -not otherwise very eligible, to a handsome girl, who might have done a -great deal better for herself, that would make a great difference in the -responsibility. Winnie Seton is of very good family by her father's -side, as you know, I suppose, better than I do; and of very good -business connexions by her mother's; and her beauty is first rate--I -don't think there can be any doubt about that. If she had been an -ordinary pretty girl, I would not have said so much; but with all her -advantages, I should say that any fair equivalent in the shape of a -husband should be worth at least five thousand a year." - -Mr. Penrose spoke with such seriousness that Sir Edward was awed out of -his first feeling of amusement. He restrained his smile, and -acknowledged the logic. "But I did not introduce him in any special -way," he said. "If I can negotiate with Mrs. Percival for a more liberal -allowance, I will do it. She has an estate of her own, and she is free -to leave it to any of her sons: but Edward, I fear, has been rather -unsatisfactory----" - -"Ah, wild?" said Mr. Penrose: "all young men are alike for that. I -think, on the whole, that it is you who should negotiate with the -mother. You know her better than I do, and have known all about it from -the beginning, and you could show her the state of the case better. If -such a mad thing could be consented to by anybody in their senses, it -must at least be apparent that Winnie would bring twice as much as the -other into the common stock. If she were with me in Liverpool she would -not long be Winnie Seton; and you may trust me she should marry a man -who was worthy of her," the rich uncle added, with a confirmatory nod of -his head. When he spoke of a man who would be worthy of Winnie, he meant -no sentimental fitness such as Aunt Agatha would have meant, had she -said these words, nor was it even moral worth he was thinking of. What -Mr. Penrose meant, was a man who would bring a fair equivalent in silver -and gold to Winnie's beauty and youth, and he meant it most seriously, -and could not but groan when he contemplated the possibility of so much -valuable capital being thrown away. - -And he felt that he had made a good impression when he went back to the -Cottage. He seemed to himself to have secured Mrs. Percival's three -hundred a-year, and even Sir Edward's more problematical gift to the -young people; and he occupied the interval in thinking of a silver -tea-service which had rather caught his fancy, in a shop window, and -which he thought if his negotiations succeeded, he would give to his -niece for a wedding present. If they did not succeed it would be a -different question--for a young woman who married upon a captain's pay -and a hundred a-year of her own, would have little occasion for a silver -tea-service. So Mr. Penrose mused as he returned to the Cottage. Under -the best of circumstances it was now evident that there could be nothing -to "settle" upon Winnie. The mother and the friends might make up a -little income, but as for capital--which after all was what Mr. Penrose -prized most--there was none in the whole matter, except that which -Winnie had in her face and person, and was going to throw so lamentably -away. Mr. Penrose could not but make some reflections on Aunt Agatha's -feminine idiocy and the cruel heedlessness of Sir Edward, as he walked -along the rural road. A girl who had so many advantages, whose husband, -to be worthy of her, should have had five thousand a-year at the least, -and something handsome to "settle"--and yet her natural guardians had -suffered her to get engaged to a captain in a marching regiment, with -only his pay! No wonder that Mr. Penrose was sad. But he went home with -a sense that, painful as the position was, _he_ had done his duty, at -least. - -This was how Winnie's marriage got itself accomplished notwithstanding -all opposition. Captain Percival was the second of his mother's four -sons, and consequently the natural heir of her personal fortune if he -had not been "foolish," as she said; and the thought that it might be -the saving of him, which was suggested by Sir Edward, was naturally a -very moving argument. A beautiful young wife whom he was very fond of, -and who was ready to enter with him into all the risks of life,--if that -did not keep him right, what would? And after all he was only -five-and-twenty, an age at which reformation was quite possible. So his -friends thought, persuading themselves with natural sophistry that the -influence of love and a self-willed girl of eighteen would do what all -other inducements had failed to do; and as for _her_ friends, they were -so elated to see that in the eyes of Uncle Penrose the young man's -faults bore only the most ordinary aspect, and counted for next to -nothing, that their misgivings all but disappeared, and their acceptance -of the risk was almost enthusiastic. Sometimes indeed a momentary shadow -would cross the mind of Aunt Agatha--sometimes a doubt would change Sir -Edward's countenance--but then these two old people were believers in -love, and besides had the faculty of believing what they wished to -believe, which was a still more important circumstance. And Mary for her -part had said her say. The momentary hope she had felt in Winnie's -strength of character, and in her love--a hope which had opened her -heart to speak to her sister--found but little to support it after that -moment. She could not go on protesting, and making her presence a thorn -in the flesh of the excited household; and if she felt throughout all a -sense that the gulf was still there, though all these flowers had been -strewed over it--a sense of the terrible risk which was so poorly -counterbalanced by the vaguest and most doubtful of hopes--still Mary -was aware that this might be simply the fault of her position, which -led her to look upon everything with a less hopeful eye. She was the -spectator, and she saw what was going on as the actors themselves could -not be expected to see it. She saw Winnie's delight at the idea of -freedom from all restraint--and she saw Percival's suppressed impatience -of the anxious counsels addressed to him, and the look which Winnie and -he exchanged on such occasions, as if assuring each other that in spite -of all this they would take their own way. And then Mrs. Ochterlony's -own relations with the bridegroom were not of a comfortable kind. He -knew apparently by instinct that she was not his friend, and he -approached her with a solemn politeness under which Mary, perhaps -over-sensitive on that point, felt that a secret sneer was concealed. -And he made references to her Indian experiences, with a certain subtle -implication of something in them which he knew and nobody else -did--something which would be to Mrs. Ochterlony's injury should it be -known--which awoke in Mary an irritation and exasperation which nothing -else could have produced. She avoided him as much as it was possible to -avoid him during the busy interval before the marriage, and he perceived -it and thought it was fear, and the sneer that lay under his courtesy -became more and more evident. He took to petting little Wilfrid with an -evident consciousness of Mary's vexation and the painful effect it -produced upon her; not Hugh nor Islay, who were of an age to be a man's -plaything, but the baby, who was too young for any but a woman's -interest; and Captain Percival was not the kind of man who is naturally -fond of children. When she saw her little boy on her future -brother-in-law's knee, Mary felt her heart contract with an involuntary -shiver, of which she could have given no clear explanation. She did not -know what she was afraid of, but she was afraid. - -Perhaps it was a relief to them all when the marriage day arrived--which -had to be shortly, for the regiment was ordered to Malta, and Captain -Percival had already had all the leave he could ask for. Mr. Penrose's -exertions had been crowned with such success that when he came to -Winnie's wedding he brought her the silver tea-service which in his -heart he had decided conditionally to give her as a marriage gift. Mrs. -Percival had decided to settle two hundred and fifty pounds a-year upon -her son, which was very near Mr. Penrose's mark; and Sir Edward, after -long pondering upon the subject, and a half-amused, half-serious, -consideration of Winnie's capital which was being thrown away, had made -up his mind to a still greater effort. He gave the young man in present -possession what he had left him in his will, which was a sum of five -thousand pounds--a little fortune to the young soldier. "You might have -been my son, my boy, if your mother and I could have made up our minds," -the old baronet said, with a momentary weakness; though if anybody else -had suggested such an idea no doubt Sir Edward would have said, "Heaven -forbid!" And Mr. Penrose pounced upon it and had it settled upon Winnie, -and was happy, though the bridegroom resisted a little. After that there -could be no doubt about the tea-service. "If you should ever be placed -in Mary's position you will have something to fall back upon," Uncle -Penrose said; "or even if you should not get on together, you know." It -was not a large sum, but the difficulty there had been about getting it, -and the pleasant sense that it was wholly owing to his own exertions, -made it sweet to the man of capital, and he gave his niece his blessing -and the tea-service with a full heart. - -As for Winnie, she was radiant in her glow of beauty and happiness on -that momentous day. A thunder-shower of sudden tears when she signed the -register, and another when she was taking leave of Aunt Agatha, was all -that occurred to overcloud her brightness; and even these did not -overcloud her, but were in harmony--hot, violent, and sudden as they -were--with the passionate happiness and emancipation of the married -girl. She kissed over and over again her tender guardian--who for her -part sat speechless and desolate to see her child go away, weeping with -a silent anguish which could not find any words--and dropped that sudden -shower over Aunt Agatha's gown; but a moment after threw back the veil -which had fallen over her face, and looked back from the carriage window -upon them in a flush of joy, and pride, and conscious freedom, which, -had no other sentiments been called for at the moment, it would have -done one's heart good to see. She was so happy that she could not cry, -nor be sentimental, nor think of broken links, as she said--and why -should she pretend to be sad about parting? Which was very true, no -doubt, from Winnie's point of view. And there was not the vestige of a -cloud about when she waved her hand to them for the last time as she -drove away. She was going away to the world and life, to see everything -and enjoy everything, and have her day. Why should she not show her -delight? While poor old Aunt Agatha, whose day was so long over, fell -back into Mary's arms, who was standing beside her, and felt that now at -last and finally, her heart was broken, and the joy of her life gone. -Was it not simply the course of nature and the way of the world? - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - - -There followed after this a time of such tranquillity as never yet -entered into Mrs. Ochterlony's life. Mary had known joy, and she had -known sorrow, as people do to whom life comes with full hands, giving -and taking; but it had always been life, busy and personal, which left -her little leisure for anything beyond the quickly recurring duties of -the hour and the day. She had had no time to watch the current how it -flowed, being as it were part of it, and going along with it in its -ceaseless course. But now all this was changed. After Winnie's marriage -a sudden tranquillity fell upon the ladies in the Cottage. Life had gone -on and left them; they were no longer going with the tide, but standing -by upon the bank watching it. They were not unhappy, nor was their -existence sad,--for the three boys were world enough to satisfy the two -women and keep them occupied and cheerful; and when the children were -asleep, Aunt Agatha and her niece were, as people say, company for each -other, and talked over their work as they sat by the evening lamp, or in -the twilight garden, which was always so green and so sweet,--and were -content, or more than content; but still sometimes Mrs. Ochterlony would -bethink herself, and it would seem as a dream to her that she, too, had -once taken her part with the others and gone with the stream, and -suffered cruel sufferings and tasted sudden joys, and been Hugh -Ochterlony's wife. Was it so? Or had she never been but with Aunt Agatha -by the little river that ran steadily one day like another under the -self-same trees? This strange sense of unreality in the past turned her -giddy by times, and made her head swim and the world to go round and -round; but, to be sure, she never spoke of these sensations, and life -continued, and the boys grew, and everything went very well at -Kirtell-side. - -Everything went so well that Aunt Agatha many a day pitied the poor -people who were out in the world, or the young men who set out from the -parish to begin their career, and would say, "Oh, if they but knew how -much better everybody is at home!" Mary was younger, and perhaps she was -not quite of the same mind; but still it was peace that had fallen upon -her and was wrapping her all round like a garment. There was the same -quiet routine every day; the same things to do, the same places to walk -to, the same faces to see. Nothing unforeseen ever arrived to break the -calm. When Hugh was old enough to begin serious lessons, a curate turned -up in the course of nature who took pupils, and to whom Islay, too went -by-and-by, and even little Wilfrid, who was always delicate. The boys -went to him with shining morning faces, and came back growing louder and -stronger, and, as Peggy said, more "stirring" every day. And Sir Edward -made his almost daily visit, and let a thin and gentle echo of the -out-of-door din into the Cottage quiet. He told them in his mild way -what was going on, and talked about the news in the papers, and about -the books reviewed, and about the occasional heavenly visitant in the -shape of a new publication that found its way to Kirtell-side. There -were few magazines then, and no cheap ones, and a single _Blackwood_ did -for a good many families. Sir Edward himself, who had been always -considered intellectual, took in the _Edinburgh_ all for himself, and -lent it to his neighbours; but then it could not be expected that many -people in a district could be so magnificent as that. When the Curate, -on the other hand, came to tea (he was not the sort of man, as Aunt -Agatha said, that one would think of making a dinner for), it was all -about the parish that he talked; and as Mrs. Ochterlony was a perverse -woman in her way, and had her own ideas about her poor neighbours, such -conversation was not so interesting to her as it might have been. But it -was in this sort of way that she spent the next ten or twelve years of -her life. - -As for Winnie, she was having her day, as she had said, and was, it is -to be supposed, enjoying it. She wrote letters regularly and diligently, -which is one point in which a woman, however little elevated she may be -above her masculine companion in other respects, always has the better -of him. And she possessed a true feminine gift which ought also to be -put in the compensating scale against those female drawbacks which are -so often insisted upon. Sometimes she was ill-tempered, sometimes bitter -in her letters, for the honeymoon happiness naturally did not last for -ever; but, whatever mood Winnie might be in, she always threw an -unconscious halo of interest around herself when she wrote. It was, as -everybody might see, an instinctive and unpremeditated act, but it was -successful to the highest extent. Whether she described her triumphs or -her disappointments, her husband's kindness or his carelessness, their -extravagant living or their want of money, Winnie herself, in the -foreground of the picture, was always charmingly, and sometimes -touchingly, posed. A word or two did it, and it was done to perfection; -and the course of her history thus traced was followed by Aunt Agatha -with unfailing enthusiasm. She herself went through it all in the person -of her favourite, and Mary connected herself with a vague but still -fairer future in the persons of her boys. And thus the peaceful -existence went on day by day, with nothing more serious to trouble it -than a transitory childish ailment, or a passing rumour that the -Percivals were "going too fast," or did not "get on,"--clouds which only -floated mistily and momentarily about the horizon, and never came down -to trouble the quiet waters. It was a time which left no record, and -which by times felt languid and lingering to the younger woman, who was -still too young to be altogether satisfied with so dead a calm in the -middle of her existence; but still, perhaps, it was, on the whole, the -happiest time of Mary's life. - -This halcyon time lasted until the boys were so far grown up as to bring -the disturbing plans and speculations of their beginning life into the -household calm. It lasted until Islay was sixteen and ready to pass his -examination for Woolwich, the long-headed boy having fixed his -affections upon scientific soldiership in a way which was slightly -disappointing to his mother, who, as was natural, had thought him -capable of a more learned profession. It roused the Cottage into -something like a new stage of existence to think of and prepare for the -entry of its nursling into that great vague unseen sphere which Aunt -Agatha called the world. But, after all, it was not Islay who was the -troublesome member of the family. He had fixed his thoughts upon his -chosen profession almost as soon as he knew what was meant by his -father's sword, which had hung in Mrs. Ochterlony's room from his -earliest recollection; and though there might be a little anxiety about -how he would succeed at his examination, and how he would get on when he -left home, still Islay was so steady that no one felt any alarm or -absolute disquiet about him. - -But it was rather different with Hugh. Hugh was supposed to be his -uncle's heir, and received as such wherever he went, with perhaps more -enthusiasm than might have fallen to his share merely as Mary's son. He -was heir presumptive, recognised to a certain extent at Earlston itself -as elsewhere in that capacity; and yet Mr. Ochterlony had not, so far as -anybody was aware, made any distinct decision, and might still alter his -mind, and, indeed, was not too old to marry and have heirs of his own, -which was a view of the subject chiefly taken by Aunt Agatha. And, to -aggravate the position, Hugh was far from being a boy of fixed -resolutions, like his brother. He was one of the troublesome people, who -have no particular bias. He liked everything that was pleasant. He was -not idle, nor had he any evil tendencies; he was fond of literature in a -way, and at the same time fond of shooting and hunting, and all the -occupations and amusements of a country life. Public opinion in the -country-side proclaimed him one of the nicest young fellows going; and -if he had been Francis Ochterlony's son, and indisputably the heir of -Earlston, Hugh would have been as satisfactory a specimen of a budding -country gentleman as could have been found. But the crook in his lot -was, that he was the heir presumptive, and at the same time was generous -and proud and high-spirited, and not the kind of nature which could lie -in wait for another man's place, or build his fortunes upon another -man's generosity. His own opinion, no doubt, was that he had a right to -Earlston; but he was far too great a Quixote, too highly fantastical in -youthful pride and independence, to permit any one to say that it was -his uncle's duty to provide for him. And withal, he did not himself know -what manner of life to take up, or what to do. He would have made a good -soldier, or a good farmer, different though the two things are; and -would have filled, as well as most people, almost any other practical -position which Providence or circumstances had set clearly before him. -But no intuitive perception of what he was most fit for was in him to -enlighten his way; and at the same time he began to be highly impatient, -being eighteen, and a man as he thought, of waiting and doing nothing, -and living at home. - -"If we could but have sent him to Oxford," Aunt Agatha said; "if I had -the means!"--but it is very doubtful whether she ever could have had the -means; and of late Aunt Agatha too had been disturbed in her quiet. Her -letters to Winnie had begun to convey enclosures of which she did not -speak much, even to Mrs. Ochterlony, but which were dead against any -such possibility for Hugh. - -"If I had been brought up at school where I might have got a -scholarship, or something," said Hugh; "but I don't know why I should -want to go to Oxford. We must send Will if we can, mother; he has the -brains for it. Oxford is too grand an idea for me----" - -"Not if you are to have Earlston, Hugh," said his mother. - -"I wish Earlston was at the bottom of the sea," cried the poor boy; "but -for Earlston, one would have known what one was good for. I wish my -uncle would make up his mind and found a hospital with it, or marry, as -Aunt Agatha says----" - -"He will never marry," said Mary; "he was a great deal older than your -father; he is quite an old man." - -"Indeed, Mary, he is not old at all, for a man," said Aunt Agatha, with -eagerness. "Ladies are so different. He might get a very nice wife yet, -and children, for anything any one could tell. Not too young, you -know--I think it would be a great pity if he were to marry anybody too -young; but a nice person, of perhaps forty or so," said Aunt Agatha; and -she rounded off her sentence with a soft little sigh. - -"He will never marry, I am sure," said Mary, almost with indignation; -for, not to speak of the injustice to Hugh, it sounded like an -imputation upon her brother-in-law, who was sober-minded, and not -thinking of anything so foolish; not to say that his heart was with his -marble Venus, and he was indifferent to any other love. - -"Well, if you think so, my dear----" said Miss Seton; and a faint colour -rose upon her soft old cheek. She thought Mary's meaning was, that after -his behaviour to herself, which was not exactly what people expected, he -was not likely to entertain another affection; which was probably as -true as any other theory of Mr. Ochterlony's conduct. Aunt Agatha -thought this was Mary's meaning, and it pleased her. It was an old -story, but still she remembered it so well, that it was pleasant to -think _he_ had not forgotten. But this, to be sure, had very little to -do with Hugh. - -"I wish he would marry," said his heir presumptive, "or put one out of -pain one way or another. Things can't go on for ever like this. Islay is -only sixteen, and he is starting already; and here am I eighteen past, -and good for nothing. You would not like me to be a useless wretch all -my life?" said Hugh, severely, turning round upon his mother, who was -not prepared for such an address; but Hugh, of all the boys, was the one -most like his father, and had the Major's "way." - -"No," cried Mary, a little alarmed, "anything but that. I still think -you might wait a little, and see what your uncle means. You are not so -very old. Well, my dear boy! don't be impatient; tell me what you wish -to do." - -But this was exactly what Hugh could not tell. "If there had been no -Earlston in the question, one would have known," he said. "It is very -hard upon a fellow to be another man's nephew. I think the best thing I -could do would be to ignore Earlston altogether, and go in for--anything -I could make my own living by. There's Islay has had the first -chance----" - -"My dear, one is surely enough in a family to be a soldier," said Aunt -Agatha, "if you would consider your poor mamma's feelings and mine; but -I never thought, for my part, that _that_ was the thing for Islay, with -his long head. He had always such a very peculiar head. When he was a -child, you know, Mary, we never could get a child's hat to fit him. Now, -I think, if Hugh had gone into a very nice regiment, and Islay had -studied for something----" - -"Do you think he will have no study to do, going in for the Engineers?" -said Hugh, indignantly. "I am not envious of Islay. I know he is the -best fellow among us; but, at the same time---- The thing for me would -be to go to Australia or New Zealand, where one does not need to be good -for anything in particular. That is my case," said the disconsolate -youth; and out of the depths, if not of his soul, at least of his -capacious chest, there came a profound, almost despairing sigh. - -"Oh, Hugh, my darling boy! you cannot mean to break all our hearts," -cried Aunt Agatha. - -It was just what poor Hugh meant to do, for the moment, at least; and he -sat with his head down and despair in his face, with a look which went -to Mary's heart, and brought the tears to her eyes, but a smile to her -lips. He was so like his father; and Mrs. Ochterlony knew that he would -not, in this way, at least, break her heart. - -"Would you like to go to Uncle Penrose?" she said; to which Hugh replied -with a vehement shake of his head. "Would you like to go into Mr. -Allonby's office? You know he spoke of wanting an articled pupil. Would -you think of that proposal Mr. Mortare, the architect, made us?--don't -shake your head off, Hugh; or ask Sir Edward to let you help old -Sanders--or--or---- Would you _really_ like to be a soldier, like your -brother?" said Mary, at her wits' end; for after this, with their -limited opportunities, there seemed no further suggestion to make. - -"I must do something, mother," said Hugh, and he rose up with another -sigh; "but I don't want to vex you," he added, coming up and putting his -arms round her with that admiring fondness which is perhaps sweeter to a -woman from her son than even from her lover; and then, his mind being -relieved, he had no objection to change the conversation. "I promised to -look at the young colts, and tell Sir Edward what I thought of them," he -suddenly said, looking up at Mary with a cloudy, doubtful look--afraid -of being laughed at, and yet himself ready to laugh--such as is not -unusual upon a boy's face. Mrs. Ochterlony did not feel in the least -inclined for laughter, though she smiled upon her boy; and when he went -away, a look of anxiety came to her face, though it was not anything -like the tragical anxiety which contracted Aunt Agatha's gentle -countenance. She took up her work again, which was more than Miss Seton -could do. The boys were no longer children, and life was coming back to -her with their growing years. Life which is not peace, but more like a -sword. - -"My dear love, something must be done," said Aunt Agatha. "Australia or -New Zealand, and for a boy of his expectations! Mary, something must be -done." - -"Yes," said Mary. "I must go and consult my brother-in-law about it, and -see what he thinks best. But as for New Zealand or Australia, Aunt -Agatha----" - -"Do you think it will be _nice_, Mary?" said Miss Seton, with a soft -blush like a girl's. "It will be like asking him, you know, what he -means; it will be like saying he ought to provide----" - -"He said Hugh was to be his heir," said Mary, "and I believe he meant -what he said; at all events, it would be wrong to do anything without -consulting him, for he has always been very kind." - -These words threw Aunt Agatha into a flutter which she could not -conceal. "It may be very well to consult him," she said; "but rather -than let him think we are asking his help---- And then, how can you see -him, Mary? I am afraid it would be--awkward, to say the least, to ask -him here----" - -"I will go to Earlston to-morrow," said Mary. "I made up my mind while -Hugh was talking. After Islay has gone, it will be worse for poor Hugh. -Will is so much younger, poor boy." - -"Will," said Aunt Agatha, sighing, "Oh, Mary, if they had only been -girls! we could have brought them up without any assistance, and no -bother about professions or things. When you have settled Hugh and -Islay, there will be Will to open it up again; and they will all leave -us, after all. Oh, Mary, my dear love, if they had been but girls!" - -"Yes, but they are not girls," said Mrs. Ochterlony, with a half smile; -and then she too sighed. She was glad her boys were boys, and had more -confidence in them, and Providence and life, than Aunt Agatha had. But -she was not glad to think that her boys must leave her, and that she had -no daughter to share her household life. The cloud which sat on Aunt -Agatha's careful brow came over her, too for the moment, and dimmed her -eyes, and made her heart ache. "They came into the world for God's uses -and not for ours," she said, recovering herself, "and though they are -boys, we must not keep them unhappy. I will go over to Earlston -to-morrow by the early train." - -"If you think it right," said Miss Seton: but it was not cordially -spoken. Aunt Agatha was very proud and sensitive in her way. She was the -kind of woman to get into misunderstandings, and shun explanations, as -much as if she had been a woman in a novel. She was as ready to take up -a mistaken idea, and as determined not to see her mistake, as if she had -been a heroine forced thereto by the exigencies of three volumes. Miss -Seton had never come to the third volume herself; she thought it more -dignified for her own part to remain in the complications and -perplexities of the second; and it struck her that it was indelicate of -Mary thus to open the subject, and lead Francis Ochterlony on, as it -were, to declare his mind. - -The question was quite a different one so far as Mary was concerned, to -whom Francis Ochterlony had never stood in the position of a lover, nor -was the subject of any delicate difficulties. With her it was a -straightforward piece of business enough to consult her brother-in-law, -who was the natural guardian of her sons, and who had always been well -disposed towards them, especially while they kept at a safe distance. -Islay was the only one who had done any practical harm at Earlston, and -Mr. Ochterlony had forgiven, and, it is to be hoped, forgotten the -downfall of the rococo chair. If she had had nothing more important to -trouble her than a consultation so innocent! Though, to tell the truth, -Mary did not feel that she had a great deal to trouble her, even with -the uncertainty of Hugh's future upon her hands. Even if his uncle were -to contemplate anything so absurd as marriage or the founding of a -hospital, Hugh could still make his own way in the world, as his -brothers would have to do, and as his father had done before him. And -Mrs. Ochterlony was not even overwhelmed by consideration of the very -different characters of the boys, nor of the immense responsibility, nor -of any of the awful thoughts with which widow-mothers are supposed to be -overwhelmed. They were all well, God bless them; all honest and true, -healthful and affectionate. Hugh had his crotchets and fidgety ways, but -so had his father, and perhaps Mary loved her boy the better for them; -and Wilfrid was a strange boy, but then he had always been strange, and -it came natural to him. No doubt there might be undeveloped depths in -both, of which their mother as yet knew nothing; but in the meantime -Mary, like other mothers, took things as she saw them, and was proud of -her sons, and had no disturbing fears. As for Islay, he was steady as a -rock, and almost as strong, and did the heart good to behold, and even -the weakest woman might have taken heart to trust him, whatever might -be the temptations and terrors of "the world." Mary had that composure -which belongs to the better side of experience, as much as suspicion and -distrust belong to its darker side. The world did not alarm her as it -did Aunt Agatha; neither did Mr. Ochterlony alarm her, whose sentiments -ought at least to be known by this time, and whose counsel she sought -with no artful intention of drawing him out, but with an honest desire -to have the matter settled one way or another. This was how the interval -of calm passed away, and the new generation brought back a new and -fuller life. - -It was not all pleasure with which Mary rose next morning to go upon her -mission to Earlston; but it was with a feeling of resurrection, a sense -that she lay no longer ashore, but that the tide was once more creeping -about her stranded boat, and the wind wooing the idle sail. There might -be storms awaiting her upon the sea; storm and shipwreck and loss of all -things lay in the future; possible for her boys as for others, certain -for some; but that pricking, tingling thrill of danger and pain gave a -certain vitality to the stir of life renewed. Peace is sweet, and there -are times when the soul sighs for it; but life is sweeter. And this is -how Mary, in her mother's anxiety,--with all the possibilities of fate -to affright her, if they could, yet not without a novel sense of -exhilaration, her heart beating more strongly, her pulse fuller, her eye -brighter,--went forth to open the door for her boy into his own personal -and individual career. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - - -It was a cheerful summer morning when Mary set out on her visit to her -brother-in-law. She had said nothing to her boys about it, for Hugh was -fantastical, like Aunt Agatha, and would have denounced her intention as -an expedient to make his uncle provide for him. Hugh had gone out to -attend to some of the many little businesses he had in hand for Sir -Edward; and Islay was working in his own room preparing for the "coach," -to whom he was going in a few days; and Wilfrid, or Will, as everybody -called him, was with his curate-tutor. The Cottage held its placid place -upon the high bank of Kirtell, shining through its trees in a purple -cloud of roses, and listening in the sun to that everlasting quiet voice -that sung in its ear, summer and winter, the little river's changeful -yet changeless song. It looked like a place to which no changes could -ever come; calm people in the stillness of age, souls at rest, little -children, were the kind of people to live in it; and the stir and -quickening of pleasurable pain which Mary felt in her own veins,--the -sense of new life and movement about her,--felt out of place with the -quiet house. Aunt Agatha was out of sight, ordering her household -affairs; and the drawing-room was silent and deserted as a fairy palace, -full of a thousand signs of a habitation, but without a single tenant -audible or visible, except the roses that clambered about the open -windows, and the bee that went in and made a confused investigation, and -came out again none the wiser. An odd sense of the contrast struck Mrs. -Ochterlony; but a little while before, her soul had been in unison with -the calm of the place, and she had thought nothing of it; now she had -woke up out of that fair chamber turned to the sunrising, the name which -is Peace, and had stepped back into life, and felt the tingle and thrill -of resurrection. And an unconscious smile came on her face as she looked -back. To think that out of that silence and sunshine should pour out -such a tide of new strength and vigour--and that henceforth hearts -should leap with eagerness and wistfulness under that roof, and perhaps -grow wild with joy, or perhaps, God knows, break with anguish, as news -came good or evil! She had been but half alive so long, that the sense -of living was sweet. - -It was a moment to call forth many thoughts and recollections, but the -fact was that she did not have time to entertain them. There happened to -her one of those curious coincidences which occur so often, and which it -is so difficult to account for. Long before she reached the little -station, a tall figure broke the long vacant line of the dusty country -road, a figure which Mary felt at once to be that of a stranger, and yet -one she seemed to recognise. She could not believe her eyes, nor think -it was anything but the association of ideas which misled her, and -laughed at her own fantastic imagination as she went on. But -nevertheless it is true that it was her brother-in-law himself who met -her, long before she reached the railway by which she had meant to go to -him. Her appearance struck him too, it was evident, with a little -surprise; but yet she was at home, and might have been going anywhere; -whereas the strange fact of his coming required a more elaborate -explanation than he had in his power to give. - -"I do not know exactly what put it into my head," said Mr. Ochterlony; -"perhaps some old work of mine which turned up the other day, and which -I was doing when you were with me. I thought I would come over and have -a talk with you about your boy." - -"It is very strange," said Mary, "for this very morning I had made up my -mind to come to you, and consult you. It must be some kind of magnetism, -I suppose." - -"Indeed, I can't say; I have never studied the natural sciences," said -Mr. Ochterlony, with gravity. "I have had a very distinguished visitor -lately: a man whose powers are as much above the common mind as his -information is--Dr. Franklin, whose name of course you have heard--a man -of European reputation." - -"Yes," said Mary, doubtfully, feeling very guilty and ignorant, for to -tell the truth she had never heard of Dr. Franklin; but her -brother-in-law perceived her ignorance, and explained in a kind of -compassionate way: - -"He is about the greatest numismatist we have in England," said Mr. -Ochterlony, "and somehow my little monograph upon primitive art in -Iceland came to be talked of. I have never completed it, though Franklin -expressed himself much interested--and I think that's how it was -suggested to my mind to come and see you to-day." - -"I am very glad," said Mary, "I wanted so much to have your advice. Hugh -is almost a man now----" - -"A man!" said Mr. Ochterlony, with a smile; "I don't see how that is -possible. I hope he is not so unruly as he used to be; but you are as -young as ever, and I don't see how your children can be men." - -And oddly enough, just at that moment, Hugh himself made his appearance, -making his way by a cross road down to the river, with his basket over -his shoulder, and his fishing-rod. He was taller than his uncle, though -Mr. Ochterlony was tall; and big besides, with large, mighty, not -perfectly developed limbs, swinging a little loosely upon their hinges -like the limbs of a young Newfoundland or baby lion. His face was still -smooth as a girl's, and fair, with downy cheeks and his mother's eyes, -and that pucker in his forehead which Francis Ochterlony had known of -old in the countenance of another Hugh. Mary did not say anything, but -she stopped short before her boy, and put her hand on his shoulder, and -looked at his uncle with a smile, appealing to him with her proud eyes -and beaming face, if this was not almost a man. As for Mr. Ochterlony, -he gave a great start and said, "God bless us!" under his breath, and -was otherwise speechless for the moment. He had been thinking of a boy, -grown no doubt, but still within the limits of childhood; and lo, it was -an unknown human creature that faced him, with a will and thoughts of -his own, like its father and mother, and yet like nobody but itself. -Hugh, for his part, looked with very curious eyes at the stranger, and -dimly recognised him, and grew shamefaced and a little fidgety, as was -natural to the boy. - -"You see how he has grown," said Mary, who, being the triumphant one -among the three, was the first to recover herself. "You do not think him -a child now? It is your uncle, Hugh, come to see us. It is very kind of -him--but of course you knew who he was." - -"I am very glad to see my uncle," said Hugh, with eager shyness. "Yes, I -knew. You are like my father's picture, sir;--and your own that we have -at the Cottage--and Islay a little. I knew it was you." - -And then they all walked on in silence; for Mr. Ochterlony was more -moved by this sudden encounter than he cared to acknowledge; and Mary, -too, for the moment, being a sympathetic woman, saw her boy with his -uncle's eyes, and saw what the recollections were that sprang up at -sight of him. She told Hugh to go on and do his duty, and send home some -trout for dinner; and, thus dismissing him, guided her unlooked-for -visitor to the Cottage. He knew the way as well as she did, which -increased the embarrassment of the situation. Mary saw only the stiles -and the fields, and the trees that over-topped the hedges, familiar -objects that met her eyes every day; but Francis Ochterlony saw many a -past day and past imagination of his own life, and seemed to walk over -his own ashes as he went on. And that was Hugh!--Hugh, not his brother, -but his nephew and heir, the representative of the Ochterlony's, -occupying the position which his own son should have occupied. Mr. -Ochterlony had not calculated on the progress of time, and he was -startled and even touched, and felt wonderingly--what it is so difficult -for a man to feel--that his own course was of no importance to anybody, -and that here was his successor. The thought made him giddy, just as -Mary's wondering sense of the unreality of her own independent life, and -everlastingness of her stay at the Cottage, had made her; but yet in a -different way. For perhaps Francis Ochterlony had never actually -realized before that most things were over for him, and that his heir -stood ready and waiting for the end of his life. - -There was still something of this sense of giddiness in his mind when he -followed Mary through the open window into the silent drawing-room where -nobody was. Perhaps he had not behaved just as he ought to have done to -Agatha Seton; and the recollection of a great many things that had -happened, came back upon him as he wound his way with some confusion -through the roses. He was half ashamed to go in, like a familiar friend, -through the window. Of all men in the world, he had the least right to -such a privilege of intimacy. He ought to have gone to the door in a -formal way and sent in his card, and been admitted only if Miss Seton -pleased; and yet here he was, in the very sanctuary of her life, invited -to sit down as it were by her side, led in by the younger generation, -which could not but smile at the thought of any sort of sentiment -between the old woman and the old man. For indeed Mary, though she was -not young, was smiling softly within herself at the idea. She had no -sort of sympathy with Mr. Ochterlony's delicate embarrassment, though -she was woman enough to hurry away to seek her aunt and prepare her for -the meeting, and shield the ancient maiden in the first flutter of her -feelings. Thus the master of Earlston was left alone in the Cottage, -with leisure to look round and recognise the identity of the place, and -see all its differences, and become aware of its pleasant air of -habitation, and all the signs of daily use and wont which had no -existence in his own house. All this confused him, and put him at a -great disadvantage. The probabilities were that Agatha Seton would not -have been a bit the happier had she been mistress of Earlston. Indeed -the Cottage had so taken her stamp that it was impossible for anybody, -whose acquaintance with her was less than thirty years old, to imagine -her with any other surroundings. But Francis Ochterlony had known her -for more than thirty years, and naturally he felt that he himself was a -possession worth a woman's while, and that he had, so to speak, -defrauded her of so important a piece of property; and he was penitent -and ashamed of himself. Perhaps too his own heart was moved a little by -the sense of something lost. His own house might have borne this sunny -air of home; instead of his brother Hugh's son, there might have been a -boy of his own to inherit Earlston; and looking back at it quietly in -this cottage drawing-room, Francis Ochterlony's life seemed to him -something very like a mistake. He was not a hard-hearted man, and the -inference he drew from this conclusion was very much in his nephew's -favour. Hugh's boy was almost a man, and there was no doubt that he was -the natural heir, and that it was to him everything ought to come. -Instead of thinking of marrying, as Aunt Agatha imagined, or founding a -hospital, or making any other ridiculous use of his money, his mind, in -its softened and compunctious state, turned to its natural and obvious -duty. "Let there be no mistake, at least, about the boy," he said to -himself. "Let him have all that is good for him, and all that best fit -him for his position;" for, Heaven be praised, there was at least no -doubt about Hugh, or question as to his being the lawful and inevitable -heir. - -It was this process of reasoning, or rather of feeling, that made Mrs. -Ochterlony so entirely satisfied with her brother-in-law when she -returned (still alone, for Miss Seton was not equal to the exertion all -at once, and naturally there was something extra to be ordered for -dinner), and began to talk to their uncle about the children. - -"There has been no difficulty about Islay," she said: "he always knew -what he wanted, and set his heart at once on his profession; but Hugh -had no such decided turn. It was very kind what you said when you -wrote--but I--don't think it is good for the boy to be idle. Whatever -you might think it right to arrange afterwards, I think he should have -something to do----" - -"I did not think he had been so old," said Mr. Ochterlony, almost -apologetically. "Time does not leave much mark of its progress at -Earlston. Something to do? I thought what a young fellow of his age -enjoyed most was amusing himself. What would he like to do?" - -"He does not know," said Mary, a little abashed; "that is why I wanted -so much to consult you. I suppose people have talked to him of--of what -you might do for him; but he cannot bear the thought of hanging, as it -were, on your charity----" - -"Charity!" said Mr. Ochterlony, "it is not charity, it is right and -nature. I hope he is not one of those touchy sort of boys that think -kindness an injury. My poor brother Hugh was always fidgety----" - -"Oh no, it is not that," said the anxious mother, "only he is afraid -that you might think he was calculating upon you; as if you were obliged -to provide for him----" - -"And so I am obliged to provide for him," said Mr. Ochterlony, "as much -as I should be obliged to provide for my own son, if I had one. We must -find him something to do. Perhaps I ought to have thought of it sooner. -What has been done about his education? What school has he been at? Is -he fit for the University? Earlston will be a better property in his -days than it was when I was young," added the uncle with a natural sigh. -If he had but provided himself with an heir of his own, perhaps it would -have been less troublesome on the whole. "I would send him to Oxford, -which would be the best way of employing him; but is he fit for it? -Where has he been to school?" - -Upon which Mary, with some confusion, murmured something about the -curate, and felt for the first time as if she had been indifferent to -the education of her boy. - -"The curate!" said Mr. Ochterlony; and he gave a little shrug of his -shoulders, as if that was a very poor security for Hugh's scholarship. - -"He has done very well with all his pupils," said Mary, "and Mr. Cramer, -to whom Islay is going, was very much satisfied----" - -"I forgot where Islay was going?" said Mr. Ochterlony, inquiringly. - -"Mr. Cramer lives near Kendal," said Mary; "he was very highly -recommended; and we thought the boy could come home for Sunday----" - -Mr. Ochterlony shook his head, though still in a patronizing and -friendly way. "I am not sure that it is good to choose a tutor because -the boy can come home on Sunday," he said, "nor send them to the curate -that you may keep them with yourself. I know it is the way with ladies; -but it would have been better, I think, to have sent them to school." - -Mrs. Ochterlony was confounded by this verdict against her. All at once -her eyes seemed to be opened, and she saw herself a selfish mother -keeping her boys at her own apron-strings. She had not time to think of -such poor arguments in her favour as want of means, or her own perfectly -good intentions. She was silent, struck dumb by this unthought-of -condemnation; but just then a champion she had not thought of appeared -in her defence. - -"Mr. Small did very well for Hugh," said a voice at the window; "he is a -very good tutor so far as he goes. He did very well for Hugh--and Islay -too," said the new-comer, who came in at the window as he spoke with a -bundle of books under his arm. The interruption was so unexpected that -Mr. Ochterlony, being quite unused to the easy entrance of strangers at -the window, and into the conversation, started up alarmed and a little -angry. But, after all, there was nothing to be angry about. - -"It is only Will," said Mary. "Wilfrid, it is your uncle, whom you have -not seen for so long. This was my baby," she added, turning to her -brother-in-law, with an anxious smile--for Wilfrid was a boy who puzzled -strangers, and was not by any means so sure to make a good impression as -the others were. Mr. Ochterlony shook hands with the new-comer, but he -surveyed him a little doubtfully. He was about thirteen, a long boy, -with big wrists and ankles visible, and signs of rapid growth. His face -did not speak of country air and fare and outdoor life and healthful -occupation like his brother's, but was pale and full of fancies and -notions which he did not reveal to everybody. He came in and put down -his books and threw himself into a chair with none of his elder -brother's shamefacedness. Will, for his part, was not given to blushing. -He knew nothing of his uncle's visit, but he took it quietly as a thing -of course, and prepared to take part in the conversation, whatever its -subject might be. - -"Mr. Small has done very well for them all," said Mary, taking heart -again; "he has always done very well with his pupils. Mr. Cramer was -very much satisfied with the progress Islay had made; and as for -Hugh----" - -"He is quite clever enough for Hugh," said Will, with the same steady -voice. - -Mr. Ochterlony, though he was generally so grave, was amused. "My young -friend, are you sure you are a judge?" he said. "Perhaps he is not -clever enough for Wilfrid--is that what you meant to say?" - -"It is not so much the being clever," said the boy. "I think he has -taught me as much as he knows, so it is not his fault. I wish we had -been sent to school; but Hugh is all right. He knows as much as he wants -to know, I suppose; and as for Islay, his is technical," the young -critic added with a certain quiet superiority. Will, poor fellow, was -the clever one of the family, and somehow he had found it out. - -Mr. Ochterlony looked at this new representative of his race with a -little alarm. Perhaps he was thinking that, on the whole, it was as well -not to have boys; and then, as much from inability to carry on the -conversation as from interest in his own particular subject, he returned -to Hugh. - -"The best plan, perhaps, will be for Hugh to go back with me to -Earlston; that is, if it is not disagreeable to you," he said, in his -old-fashioned, polite way. "I have been too long thinking about it, and -his position must be made distinct. Oxford would be the best; that would -be good for him in every way. And I think afterwards he might pay a -little attention to the estate. I never could have believed that babies -grew into boys, and boys to men, so quickly. Why, it can barely be a few -years since---- Ah!" Mr. Ochterlony got up very precipitately from his -chair. It was Aunt Agatha who had come into the room, with her white -hair smoothed under her white cap, and her pretty Shetland shawl over -her shoulders. Then he perceived that it was more than a few years -since he had last seen her. The difference was more to him than the -difference in the boys, who were creatures that sprang up nobody knew -how, and were never to be relied upon. That summer morning when she came -to Earlston to claim her niece, Miss Seton had been old; but it was a -different kind of age from that which sat upon her soft countenance now. -Francis Ochterlony had not for many a year asked himself in his -seclusion whether he was old or young. His occupations were all -tranquil, and he had not felt himself unable for them; but if Agatha -Seton was like this, surely then it must indeed be time to think of an -heir. - -The day passed with a curious speed and yet tardiness, such as is -peculiar to days of excitement. When they were not talking of the boys, -nobody could tell what to talk about. Once or twice, indeed, Mr. -Ochterlony began to speak of the Numismatic Society, or the excavations -at Nineveh, or some other cognate subject; but he always came to a -standstill when he caught Aunt Agatha's soft eyes wondering over him. -They had not talked about excavations, nor numismatics either, the last -time he had been here; and there was no human link between that time and -this, except the boys, of whom they could all talk; and to this theme -accordingly everybody returned. Hugh came in audibly, leaving his basket -at the kitchen door as he passed, and Islay, with his long head and his -deep eyes, came down from his room where he was working, and Will kept -his seat in the big Indian chair in the corner, where he dangled his -long legs, and listened. Everybody felt the importance of the moment, -and was dreadfully serious, even when lighter conversation was -attempted. To show the boys in their best light, each of the three, and -not so to show them as if anybody calculated upon, or was eager about -the uncle's patronage; to give him an idea of their different -characters, without any suspicion of "showing off," which the lads could -not have tolerated; all this was very difficult to the two anxious -women, and required such an amount of mental effort as made it hard to -be anything but serious. Fortunately, the boys themselves were a little -excited by the novelty of such a visitor, and curious about their uncle, -not knowing what his appearance might mean. Hugh flushed into a singular -mixture of exaltation, and suspicion, and surprise, when Mr. Ochterlony -invited him to Earlston; and looked at his mother with momentary -distrust, to see if by any means she had sought the invitation; and -Wilfrid sat and dangled his long legs, and listened, with an odd -appreciation of the fact that the visit was to Hugh, and not to -himself, or any more important member of the family. As for Islay, he -was always a good fellow, and like himself; and his way was clear before -him, and admitted of no hopes or fears except as to whether or not he -should succeed at his examination, which was a matter about which he had -himself no very serious doubts, though he said little about it; and -perhaps on the whole it was Islay, who was quite indifferent, whom Mr. -Ochterlony would have fixed his choice upon, had he been at liberty to -choose. - -When the visitor departed, which he did the same evening, the household -drew a long breath; everybody was relieved, from Peggy in the kitchen, -whose idea was that the man was "looking after our Miss Agatha again," -down to Will, who had now leisure and occasion to express his sentiments -on the subject. Islay went back to his work, to make up for the lost -day, having only a moderate and temporary interest in his uncle. It was -the elder and the younger who alone felt themselves concerned. As for -Hugh, the world seemed to have altered in these few hours; Mr. -Ochterlony had not said a great deal to him; but what he said had been -said as a man speaks who means and has the power to carry out his words; -and the vague heirship had become all of a sudden the realest fact in -existence, and a thing which could not be, and never could have been, -otherwise. And he was slightly giddy, and his head swam with the sudden -elevation. But as for Wilfrid, what had he to do with it, any more than -any other member of the family? though he was always a strange boy, and -there never was any reckoning what he might do or say. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - - -Will's room was a small room opening from his mother's, which would have -been her dressing-room had she wanted such a luxury; and when Mrs. -Ochterlony went upstairs late that night, after a long talk with Aunt -Agatha, she found the light still burning in the little room, and her -boy seated, with his jacket and his shoes off, on the floor, in a brown -study. He was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chin in a patch of -moonlight that shone in from the window. The moonlight made him look -ghastly, and his candle had burnt down, and was flickering unsteadily -in the socket, and Mary was alarmed. She did not think of any moral -cause for the first moment, but only that something was the matter with -him, and went in with a sudden maternal panic to see what it was. Will -took no immediate notice of her anxious questions, but he condescended -to raise his head and prop up his chin with his hands, and stare up into -her face. - -"Mother," he said, "you always go on as if a fellow was ill. Can't one -be thinking a little without anything being the matter? I should have -put out my light had I known you were coming upstairs." - -"You know, Will, that I cannot have you sit here and think, as you say. -It is not thinking--it is brooding, and does you harm," said Mrs. -Ochterlony. "Jump up, and go to bed." - -"Presently," said the boy. "Is it true that Hugh will go to Oxford, -mamma?" - -"Very likely," said Mary, with some pride. "Your uncle will see how he -has got on with his studies, and after that I think he will go." - -"What for?" said Will. "What is the good? He knows as much as he wants -to know, and Mr. Small is quite good enough for him." - -"What for?" said Mary, with displeasure. "For his education, like other -gentlemen, and that he may take his right position. But you are too -young to understand all that. Get up, and go to bed." - -"I am not too young to understand," said Wilfrid; "what is the good of -throwing money and time away? You may tell my uncle, Hugh will never do -any good at Oxford; and I don't see, for my part, why he should be the -one to go." - -"He is the eldest son, and he is your uncle's heir," said Mary, with a -conscious swelling of her motherly heart. - -"I don't see what difference being the eldest makes," said Will, -embracing his knees. "I have been thinking over it this long time. Why -should he be sent to Oxford, and the rest of us stay at home? What does -it matter about the eldest? A fellow is not any better than me because -he was born before me. You might as well send Peggy to Oxford," said -Will, with vehemence, "as send Hugh." - -Mrs. Ochterlony, whose mind just then was specially occupied by Hugh, -was naturally disturbed by this speech. She put out the flickering -candle, and set down her own light, and closed the door. "I cannot let -you speak so about your brother, Will," she said. "He may not be so -quick as you are for your age, but I wish you were as modest and as kind -as Hugh is. Why should you grudge his advancement? I used to think you -would get the better of this feeling when you ceased to be a child." - -"Of what feeling?" cried Will, lifting his pale face from his knees. - -"My dear boy, you ought to know," said Mary; "this grudge that any one -should have a pleasure or an advantage which you have not. A child may -be excused, but no man who thinks so continually of himself----" - -"I was not thinking of myself," said Will, springing up from the floor -with a flush on his face. "You will always make a moral affair of it, -mother. As if one could not discuss a thing. But I know that Hugh is not -clever, though he is the eldest. Let him have Earlston if he likes, but -why should he have Oxford? And why should it always be supposed that he -is better, and a different kind of clay?" - -"I wonder where you learned all that, Will," said Mary, with a smile. -"One would think you had picked up some Radical or other. I might be -vexed to see Lady Balderston walk out of the room before me, if it was -because she pretended to be a better woman; but when it is only because -she is Lady Balderston, what does it matter? Hugh can't help being the -eldest: if you had been the eldest----" - -"Ah!" said Will, with a long breath; "if I had been the eldest----" And -then he stopped short. - -"What would you have done?" said Mrs. Ochterlony, smiling still. - -"I would have done what Hugh will never do," cried the boy. "I would -have taken care of everybody. I would have found out what they were fit -for, and put them in the right way. The one that had brains should have -been cultivated--done something else. There should have been no such -mistake as---- But that is always how it is in the world--everybody says -so," said Wilfrid; "stupid people who know nothing about it are set at -the head, and those who could manage----" - -"Will," said his mother, "do you know you are very presumptuous, and -think a great deal too well of yourself? If you were not such a child, I -should be angry. It is very well to be clever at your lessons, but that -is no proof that you are able to manage, as you say. Let Hugh and his -prospects alone for to-night, and go to bed." - -"Yes, I can let him alone," said Will. "I suppose it is not worth one's -while to mind--he will do no good at Oxford, you know, that is one -thing;--whereas other people----" - -"Always yourself, Will," said Mary, with a sigh. - -"Myself--or even Islay," said the boy, in the most composed way; "though -Islay is very technical. Still, he could do some good. But Hugh is an -out-of-door sort of fellow. He would do for a farmer or gamekeeper, or -to go to Australia, as he says. A man should always follow his natural -bent. If, instead of going by eldest sons and that sort of rubbish, they -were to try for the right man in the right place. And then you might be -sure to be done the best for, mother, and that he would take care of -_you_." - -"Will, you are very conceited and very unjust," said Mary; but she was -his mother, and she relented as she looked into his weary young face: -"but I hope you have your heart in the right place, for all your talk," -she said, kissing him before she went away. She went back to her room -disturbed, as she had often been before, but still smiling at Will's -"way." It was all boyish folly and talk, and he did not mean it; and as -he grew older he would learn better. Mary did not care to speculate upon -the volcanic elements which, for anything she could tell, might be lying -under her very hand. She could not think of different developments of -character, and hostile individualities, as people might to whom the -three boys were but boys in the abstract, and not Hugh, Islay, and -Will--the one as near and dear to her as the other. Mrs. Ochterlony was -not philosophical, neither could she follow out to their natural results -the tendencies which she could not but see. She preferred to think of -it, as Will himself said, as a moral affair--a fault which would mend; -and so laid her head on her pillow with a heart uneasy--but no more -uneasy than was consistent with the full awakening of anxious yet -hopeful life. - -As for Will, he was asleep ten minutes after, and had forgotten all -about it. His heart _was_ in its right place, though he was plagued with -a very arrogant, troublesome, restless little head, and a greater amount -of "notions" than are good for his age. He wanted to be at the helm of -affairs, to direct everything--a task for which he felt himself -singularly competent; but, after all, it was for the benefit of other -people that he wanted to rule. It seemed to him that he could arrange -for everybody so much better than they could for themselves; and he -would have been liberal to Hugh, though he had a certain contempt for -his abilities. He would have given him occupation suited to him, and all -the indulgences which he was most fitted to appreciate: and he would -have made a kind of beneficent empress of his mother, and put her at the -head of all manner of benevolences, as other wise despots have been -known to do. But Will was the youngest, and nobody so much as asked his -advice, or took him into consideration; and the poor boy was thus thrown -back upon his own superiority, and got to brood upon it, and scorn the -weaker expedients with which other people sought to fill up the place -which he alone was truly qualified to fill. Fortunately, however, he -forgot all this as soon as he had fallen asleep. - -Hugh had no such legislative views for his part. He was not given to -speculation. He meant to do his duty, and be a credit to everybody -belonging to him; but he was a great deal "younger" than his -boy-brother, and it did not occur to him to separate himself in -idea--even to do them good--from his own people. The future danced and -glimmered before him, but it was a brightness without any theory in -it--a thing full of spontaneous good-fortune and well-doing, with which -his own cleverness had nothing to do. Islay, for his part, thought very -little about it. He was pleased for Hugh's sake, but as he had always -looked upon Hugh's good fortune as a certainty, the fact did not excite -him, and he was more interested about a tough problem he was working at, -and which his uncle's visit had interrupted. It was a more agitated -household than it had been a few months before--ere the doors of the -future had opened suddenly upon the lads; but there was still no -agitation under the Cottage roof which was inconsistent with sweet rest -and quiet sleep. - -It made a dreadful difference in the house, as everybody said, when the -two boys went away--Islay to Mr. Cramer's, the "coach" who was to -prepare him for his examination, and Hugh to Earlston. The Cottage had -always been quiet, its inhabitants thought, but now it fell into a dead -calm, which was stifling and unearthly. Will, the only representative of -youth left among them, was graver than Aunt Agatha, and made no gay din, -but only noises of an irritating kind. He kicked his legs and feet -about, and the legs of all the chairs, and let his books fall, and -knocked over the flower-stands--which were all exasperating sounds; but -he did not fill the house with snatches of song, with laughter, and the -pleasant evidence that a light heart was there. He used to "read" in his -own room, with a diligence which was much stimulated by the conviction -that Mr. Small was very little ahead of him, and, to keep up his -position of instructor, must work hard, too; and, when this was over, he -planted himself in a corner of the drawing-room, in the great Indian -chair, with a book, beguiling the two ladies into unconsciousness of his -presence, and then interposing in their conversation in the most -inconvenient way. This was Will's way of showing his appreciation of -his mother's society. He was not her right hand, like Hugh, nor did he -watch over her comfort in Islay's steady, noiseless way. But he liked to -be in the same room with her, to haunt the places where she was, to -interfere in what she was doing, and seize the most unfit moments for -the expression of his sentiments. With Aunt Agatha he was abrupt and -indifferent, being insensible to all conventional delicacies; and he -took pleasure, or seemed to take pleasure, in contradicting Mrs. -Ochterlony, and going against all her conclusions and arguments; but he -paid her the practical compliment of preferring her society, and keeping -by her side. - -It was while thus left alone, and with the excitement of this first -change fresh upon her, that Mrs. Ochterlony heard another piece of news -which moved her greatly. It was that the regiment at Carlisle was about -to leave, and that it was _Our_ regiment which was to take its place. -She thought she was sorry for the first moment. It was upon one of those -quiet afternoons, just after the boys had left the Cottage, when the two -ladies were sitting in silence, not talking much, thinking how long it -was to post-time, and how strange it was that the welcome steps and -voices which used to invade the quiet so abruptly and so sweetly, were -now beyond hoping for. And the afternoon seemed to have grown so much -longer, now that there was no Hugh to burst in with news from the outer -world, no Islay to emerge from his problem. Will sat, as usual, in the -great chair, but he was reading, and did not contribute to the -cheerfulness of the party. And it was just then that Sir Edward came in, -doubly welcome, to talk of the absent lads, and ask for the last -intelligence of them, and bring this startling piece of news. Mrs. -Ochterlony was aware that the regiment had finished its service in India -long ago, and there was, of course, no reason why it should not come to -Carlisle, but it was not an idea which had ever occurred to her. She -thought she was sorry for the first moment, and the news gave her an -unquestionable shock; but, after all, it was not a shock of pain; her -heart gave a leap, and kept on beating faster, as with a new stimulus. -She could think of nothing else all the evening. Even when the post -came, and the letters, and all the wonderful first impressions of the -two new beginners in the world, this other thought returned as soon as -it was possible for any thought to regain a footing. She began to feel -as if the very sight of the uniform would be worth a pilgrimage; and -then there would be so many questions to ask, so many curiosities and -yearnings to satisfy. She could not keep her mind from going out into -endless speculations--how many would remain of her old friends?--how -many might have dropped out of the ranks, or exchanged, or retired, or -been promoted?--how many new marriages there had been, and how many -children?--little Emma Askell, for instance, how many babies she might -have now? Mary had kept up a desultory correspondence with some of the -ladies for a year or two, and even had continued for a long time to get -serious letters from Mrs. Kirkman; but these correspondences had dropped -off gradually, as is their nature, and the colonel's wife was not a -woman to enlarge on Emma Askell's babies, having matters much more -important on hand. - -This new opening of interest moved Mrs. Ochterlony in spite of herself. -She forgot all the painful associations, and looked forward to the -arrival of the regiment as an old sailor might look for the arrival of a -squadron on active service. Did the winds blow and the waves rise as -they used to do on those high seas from which they came? Though Mary had -been so long becalmed, she remembered all about the conflicts and storms -of that existence more vividly than she remembered what had passed -yesterday, and she had a strange longing to know whether all that had -departed from her own life existed still for her old friends. Between -the breaks of the tranquil conversation she felt herself continually -relapse into the regimental roll, always beginning again and always -losing the thread; recalling the names of the men and of their wives -whom she had been kind to once, and feeling as if they belonged to her, -and as if something must be brought back to her by their return. - -There was, however, little said about it all that evening, much as it -was in Mrs. Ochterlony's mind. When the letters had been discussed, the -conversation languished. Summer had begun to wane, and the roses were -over, and it began to be impracticable to keep the windows open all the -long evening. There was even a fire for the sake of cheerfulness--a -little fire which blazed and crackled and made twice as much display as -if it had been a serious winter fire and essential to existence--and all -the curtains were drawn except over the one window from which Sir -Edward's light was visible. Aunt Agatha had grown more fanciful than -ever about that window since Winnie's marriage. Even in winter the -shutters were never closed there until Miss Seton herself went upstairs, -and all the long night the friendly star of Sir Edward's lamp shone -faint but steady in the distance. In this way the hall and the cottage -kept each other kindly company, and the thought pleased the old people, -who had been friends all their lives. Aunt Agatha sat by her favourite -table, with her own lamp burning softly and responding to Sir Edward's -far-off light, and she never raised her head without seeing it and -thinking thoughts in which Sir Edward had but a small share. It was -darker than usual on this special night, and there were neither moon nor -stars to diminish the importance of the domestic Pharos. Miss Seton -looked up, and her eyes lingered upon the blackness of the window and -the distant point of illumination, and she sighed as she often did. It -was a long time ago, and the boys had grown up in the meantime, and -intruded much upon Aunt Agatha's affections; but still these interlopers -had not made her forget the especial child of her love. - -"My poor dear Winnie!" said the old lady. "I sometimes almost fancy I -can see her coming in by that window. She was fond of seeing Sir -Edward's light. Now that the dear boys are gone, and it is so quiet -again, does it not make you think sometimes of your darling sister, -Mary? If we could only hear as often from her as we hear from Islay and -Hugh----" - -"But it is not long since you had a letter," said Mary, who, to tell the -truth, had not been thinking much of her darling sister, and felt guilty -when this appeal was made to her. - -"Yes," said Aunt Agatha, with a sigh, "and they are always such nice -letters; but I am afraid I am very discontented, my dear love. I always -want to have something more. I was thinking some of your friends in the -regiment could tell you, perhaps, about Edward. I never would say it to -you, for I knew that you had things of your own to think about; but for -a long time I have been very uneasy in my mind." - -"But Winnie has not complained," said Mary, looking up unconsciously at -Sir Edward's window, and feeling as if it shone with a certain weird and -unconscious light, like a living creature aware of all that was being -said. - -"She is not a girl ever to complain," said Aunt Agatha, proudly. "She is -more like what I would have been myself, Mary, if I had ever been--in -the circumstances, you know. She would break her heart before she would -complain. I think there is a good deal of difference, my dear, between -your nature and ours; and that was, perhaps, why you never quite -understood my sweet Winnie. I am sure you are more reasonable; but you -are not--not to call passionate, you know. It is a great deal better," -cried Aunt Agatha, anxiously. "You must not think I do not see that; but -Winnie and I are a couple of fools that would do anything for love; -and, rather than complain, I am sure she would die." - -Mary did not say that Winnie had done what was a great deal more than -complaining, and had set her husband before them in a very uncomfortable -light--and she took the verdict upon herself quietly, as a matter of -course. "Mr. Askell used to know him very well," she said; "perhaps he -knows something. But Edward Percival never was very popular, and you -must not quarrel with me if I bring you back a disagreeable report. I -think I will go into Carlisle as soon as they arrive--I should like to -see them all again." - -"I should like to hear the truth whatever it is," said Aunt Agatha, "but -my dear love, seeing them all will be a great trial for you." - -Mary was silent, for she was thinking of other things: not merely of her -happy days, and the difference which would make such a meeting "a great -trial;" but of the one great vexation and mortification of her life, of -which the regiment was aware--and whether the painful memory of it would -ever return again to vex her. It had faded out of her recollection in -the long peacefulness and quiet of her life. Could it ever return again -to shame and wound, as it had once done? From where she was sitting with -her work, between the cheerful lamp and the bright little blazing fire, -Mary went away in an instant to the scene so distant and different, and -was kneeling again by her husband's side, a woman humbled, yet never -before so indignantly, resentfully proud, in the little chapel of the -station. Would it ever come back again, that one blot on her life, with -all its false, injurious suggestions? She said to herself "No." No doubt -it had died out of other people's minds as out of her own, and on -Kirtell-side nobody would have dared to doubt on such a subject; and now -that the family affairs were settled, and Hugh was established at -Earlston, his uncle's acknowledged heir, this cloud, at least, could -never rise on her again to take the comfort out of her life. She -dismissed the very thought of it from her mind, and her heart warmed to -the recollection of the old faces and the old ways. She had a kind of a -longing to see them, as if her life would be completer after. It was not -as "a great trial" that Mary thought of it. She was too eager and -curious to know how they had all fared; and if, to some of them at -least, the old existence, so long broken up for herself, continued and -flourished as of old. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - - -It was accordingly with a little excitement that when the regiment had -actually arrived Mrs. Ochterlony set out for the neighbouring town to -renew her acquaintance with her old friends. It was winter by that time, -and winter is seldom very gentle in Cumberland: but she was too much -interested to be detained by the weather. She had said nothing to -Wilfrid on the subject, and it startled her a little to find him -standing at the door waiting for her, carefully dressed, which was not -usually a faculty of his, and evidently prepared to accompany her. When -she opened the Cottage door to go out, and saw him, an unaccountable -panic seized her. There he stood in the sunshine,--not gay and -thoughtless like his brother Hugh, nor preoccupied like Islay,--with his -keen eyes and sharp ears, and mind that seemed always to lie in wait for -something. The recollection of the one thing which she did not want to -be known had come strongly to her mind once more at that particular -moment; a little tremor had run through her frame--a sense of -half-painful, half-pleasant, excitement. When her eye fell on Wilfrid, -she went back a step unconsciously, and her heart for the moment seemed -to stop beating. She wanted to bring her friends to Kirtell, to show -them her boys and make them acquainted with all her life; and probably, -had it been Hugh, he would have accompanied her as a matter of course. -But somehow Wilfrid was different. Without knowing what her reason was, -she felt reluctant to undergo the first questionings and reminiscences -with this keen spectator standing by to hear and see all, and to demand -explanation of matters which it might be difficult to explain. - -"Did you mean to go with me, Will?" she said. "But you know we cannot -leave Aunt Agatha all by herself. I wanted to see you to ask you to be -as agreeable as possible while I am gone." - -"I am never agreeable to Aunt Agatha," said Will; "she always liked the -others best; and besides, she does not want me, and I am going to take -care of you." - -"Thank you," said Mary, with a smile; "but I don't want you either for -to-day. We shall have so many things to talk about--old affairs that you -would not understand." - -"I like that sort of thing," said Will; "I like listening to women's -talk--especially when it is about things I don't understand. It is -always something new." - -Mary smiled, but there was something in his persistence that frightened -her. "My dear Will, I don't want you to-day," she said with a slight -shiver, in spite of herself. - -"Why, mamma?" said Will, with open eyes. - -He was not so well brought up as he ought to have been, as everybody -will perceive. He did not accept his mother's decision, and put away his -Sunday hat, and say no more about it. On the contrary, he looked with -suspicion (as she thought) at her, and kept his position--surprised and -remonstrative, and not disposed to give in. - -"Will," said Mrs. Ochterlony. "I will not have you with me, and that -must be enough. These are all people whom I have not seen since you were -a baby. It may be a trial for us all to meet, for I don't know what may -have happened to them. I can speak of my affairs before you, for -you--know them all," Mary went on with a momentary faltering; "but it is -not to be supposed that they could speak of theirs in the presence of a -boy they do not know. Go now and amuse yourself, and don't do anything -to frighten Aunt Agatha: and you can come and meet me by the evening -train." - -But she could not get rid of a sense of fear as she left him. He was not -like other boys, from whose mind a little contradiction passes away -almost as soon as it is spoken. He had that strange faculty of -connecting one thing with another, which is sometimes so valuable, and -sometimes leads a lively intellect so much astray; and if ever he should -come to know that there was anything in his mother's history which she -wished to keep concealed from him---- It was a foolish thought, but it -was not the less painful on that account. Mary had come to the end of -her little journey before she got free from its influence. The united -household at the cottage was not rich enough to possess anything in the -shape of a carriage, but they were near the railway, which served almost -the same purpose. It seemed to Mrs. Ochterlony as if the twelve -intervening years were but a dream when she found herself in a -drawing-room which had already taken Mrs. Kirkman's imprint, and -breathed of her in every corner. It was not such a room, it is true, as -the hot Indian chamber in which Mary had last seen the colonel's wife. -It was one of the most respectable and sombre, as well as one of the -best of the houses which let themselves furnished, with an eye to the -officers. It had red curtains and red carpets, and blinds drawn more -than half way down; and there were two or three boxes, with a -significant slit in the lid, distributed about the different tables. In -the centre of the round table before the fire there was a little trophy -built up of small Indian gods, which were no doubt English manufacture, -but which had been for a long time Mrs. Kirkman's text, and quite -invaluable to her as a proof of the heathen darkness, which was her -favourite subject; and at the foot of this ugly pyramid lay a little -heap of pamphlets, reports of all the societies under heaven. Mary -recognised, too, as she sat and waited, the large brown-paper cover, in -which she knew by experience Mrs. Kirkman's favourite tracts were -enclosed; and the little basket which contained a smaller roll, and -which had room besides occasionally for a little tea and sugar, when -circumstances made them necessary; and the book with limp boards, in -which the Colonel's wife kept her list of names, with little -biographical comments opposite, which had once amused the subalterns so -much when it fell into their hands. She had her sealed book besides, -with a Bramah lock, which was far too sacred to be revealed to profane -eyes; but yet, perhaps, she liked to tantalize profane eyes with the -sight of its undiscoverable riches, for it lay on the table like the -rest. This was how Mary saw at a glance that, whatever might have -happened to the others, Mrs. Kirkman at least was quite unchanged. - -She came gliding into the room a minute after, so like herself that Mrs. -Ochterlony felt once more that time was not, and that her life had been -a dream. She folded her visitor in a silent embrace, and kissed her with -inexpressible meaning, and fanned her cheeks with those two long locks -hanging out of curl, which had been her characteristic embellishments -since ever any one remembered. The light hair was now a little grey, but -that made no difference to speak of either in colour or general aspect; -and, so far as any other change went, those intervening years might -never have been. - -"My dear Mary!" she said at last. "My dear friend! Oh, what a thought -that little as we deserve it, we should have been _both_ spared to meet -again!" - -There was an emphasis on the _both_ which it was very touching to hear; -and Mary naturally could not but feel that the wonder and the -thankfulness were chiefly on her own account. - -"I am very glad to see you again," she said, feeling her heart yearn to -her old friend--"and so entirely unchanged." - -"Oh, I hope not," said Mrs. Kirkman. "I hope we have _both_ profited by -our opportunities, and made some return for so many mercies. One great -thing I have looked forward to ever since I knew we were coming here, -was the thought of seeing you again. You know I always considered you -one of my own little flock, dear Mary! one of those who would be my -crown of rejoicing. It is such a pleasure to have you again." - -And Mrs. Kirkman gave Mrs. Ochterlony another kiss, and thought of the -woman that was a sinner with a gush of sweet feeling in her heart. - -As for Mary, she took it very quietly, having no inclination to be -affronted or offended--but, on the contrary, a kind of satisfaction in -finding all as it used to be; the same thoughts and the same kind of -talk, and everything unchanged, while all with herself had changed so -much. "Thank you," she said; "and now tell me about yourself and about -them all; the Heskeths and the Churchills, and all our old friends. I am -thirsting to hear about them, and what changes there may have been, and -how many are here." - -"Ah, my dear Mary, there have been many changes," said Mrs. Kirkman. -"Mrs. Churchill died years ago--did you not hear?--and in a very much -more prepared state of mind, I trust and hope; and he has a curacy -somewhere, and is bringing up the poor children--in his own pernicious -views, I sadly fear." - -"Has he pernicious views?" said Mary. "Poor Mrs. Churchill--and yet one -could not have looked for anything else." - -"Don't say poor," said Mrs. Kirkman. "It is good for her to have been -taken away from the evil to come. He is very lax, and always was very -lax. You know how little he was to be depended upon at the station, and -how much was thrown upon me, unworthy as I am, to do; and it is sad to -think of those poor dear children brought up in such opinions. They are -very poor, but that is nothing in comparison. Captain Hesketh retired -when we came back to England. They went to their own place in the -country, and they are very comfortable, I believe--too comfortable, -Mary. It makes them forget things that are so much more precious. And I -doubt if there is anybody to say a faithful word----" - -"She was very kind," said Mary, "and good to everybody. I am very sorry -they are gone." - -"Yes, she was kind," said Mrs. Kirkman, "that kind of natural amiability -which is such a delusion. And everything goes well with them," she -added, with a sigh: "there is nothing to rouse them up. Oh, Mary, you -remember what I said when your pride was brought low--anything is better -than being let alone." - -Mrs. Ochterlony began to feel her old opposition stirring in her mind, -but she refrained heroically, and went on with her interrogatory. "And -the doctor," she said, "and the Askells?--they are still in the -regiment. I want you to tell me where I can find Emma, and how things -have gone with her--poor child! but she ought not to be such a baby -now." - -Mrs. Kirkman sighed. "No, she ought not to be a baby," she said. "I -never like to judge any one, and I would like you to form your own -opinion, Mary. She too has little immortal souls committed to her; and -oh! it is sad to see how little people think of such a trust--whereas -others who would have given their whole souls to it---- But no doubt it -is all for the best. I have not asked you yet how are your dear boys? I -hope you are endeavouring to make them grow in grace. Oh, Mary, I hope -you have thought well over your responsibility. A mother has so much in -her hands." - -"Yes," said Mrs. Ochterlony, quickly; "but they are very good boys, and -I have every reason to be content with them. Hugh is at Earlston, just -now, with his uncle. He is to succeed him, you know; and he is going to -Oxford directly, I believe. And Islay is going to Woolwich if he can -pass his examination. He is just the same long-headed boy he used to be. -And Will--my baby; perhaps you remember what a little thing he was?--I -think he is going to be the genius of the family." Mary went on with a -simple effusiveness unusual to her, betrayed by the delight of talking -about her boys to some one who knew and yet did not know them. Perhaps -she forgot that her listener's interest could not possibly be so great -as her own. - -Mrs. Kirkman sat with her hands clasped on her knee, and she looked in -Mary's eyes with a glance which was meant to go to her soul--a mournful -inquiring glance which, from under the dropped eyelids, seemed to fall -as from an altitude of scarcely human compassion and solicitude. "Oh, -call them not good," she said. "Tell me what signs of awakening you have -seen in their hearts. Dear Mary, do not neglect the one thing needful -for your precious boys. Think of their immortal souls. That is what -interests me much more than their worldly prospects. Do you think their -hearts have been truly touched----" - -"I think God has been very kind to us all, and that they are good boys," -said Mary; "you know we don't think quite alike on some subjects; or, at -least, we don't express ourselves alike. I can see you do as much as -ever among the men, and among the poor----" - -"Yes," said Mrs. Kirkman, with a sigh; "I feel unworthy of it, and the -flesh is weak, and I would fain draw back; but it happens strangely that -there is always a very lukewarm ministry wherever we are placed, my -dear. I would give anything in the world to be but a hearer of the word -like others; but yet woe is unto me if I neglect the work. This is some -one coming in now to speak with me on spiritual matters. I am at home to -them between two and three; but, my dear Mary, it is not necessary that -you, who have been in the position of an inquiring soul yourself, should -go away." - -"I will come back again," said Mary, rising; "and you will come to see -me at Kirtell, will not you? It makes one forget how many years have -passed to see you employed exactly as of old." - -"Ah, we are all too apt to forget how the years pass," said Mrs. -Kirkman. She gave a nod of recognition to some women who came shyly in -at the moment, and then she took Mary's hand and drew her a step aside. -"And nothing more has happened, Mary?" she said; "nothing has followed, -and there is to be no inquiry or anything? I am very thankful, for your -sake." - -"Inquiry!" said Mary, with momentary amazement. "What kind of inquiry? -what could have followed? I do not know what you mean!!" - -"I mean about--what gave us all so much pain--your marriage, Mary," said -Mrs. Kirkman. "I hope there has been nothing about it again?" - -This was a very sharp trial for the superstition of old friendship in -Mrs. Ochterlony's heart, especially as the inquiring souls who had come -to see Mrs. Kirkman were within hearing, and looked with a certain -subdued curiosity upon the visitor and the conversation. Mary's face -flushed with a sudden burning, and indignation came to her aid; but even -at that moment her strongest feeling was thankfulness that Wilfrid was -not there. - -"I do not know what could have been about it," she said: "I am among my -own people here; my marriage was well known, and everything about it, in -my own place." - -"You are angry, dear," said Mrs. Kirkman. "Oh, don't encourage angry -feelings; you know I never made any difference; I never imagined it was -your fault. And I am so glad to hear it has made no unpleasantness with -the dear boys." - -Perhaps it was not with the same charity as at first that Mrs. -Ochterlony felt the long curls again fan her cheek, but still she -accepted the farewell kiss. She had expected some ideal difference, some -visionary kind of elevation, which would leave the same individual, yet -a loftier kind of woman, in the place of her former friend. And what she -had found was a person quite unchanged--the same woman, harder in her -peculiarities rather than softer, as is unfortunately the most usual -case. The Colonel's wife had the best meaning in the world, and she was -a good woman in her way; but not a dozen lives, let alone a dozen years, -could have given her the finer sense which must come by nature, nor even -that tolerance and sweetness of experience, which is a benefit which -only a few people in the world draw from the passage of years. Mary was -disappointed, but she acknowledged in her heart--having herself acquired -that gentleness of experience--that she had no right to be disappointed; -and it was with a kind of smile at her own vain expectations that she -went in search of Emma Askell, her little friend of old--the impulsive -girl, who had amused her, and loved her, and worried her in former -times. Young Askell was Captain now, and better off, it was to be hoped: -but yet they were not well enough off to be in a handsome house, or have -everything proper about them, like the Colonel's wife. It was in the -outskirts of the town that Mary had to seek them, in a house with a -little bare garden in front, bare in its winter nakedness, with its -little grass-plot trodden down by many feet, and showing all those marks -of neglect and indifference which betray the stage at which poverty -sinks into a muddle of discouragement and carelessness, and forgets -appearances. It was a dirty little maid who opened the door, and the -house was another very inferior specimen of the furnished house so well -known to all unsettled and wandering people. The chances are, that -delicate and orderly as Mrs. Ochterlony was by nature, the sombre -shabbiness of the place would not have struck her in her younger days, -when she, too, had to take her chance of furnished houses, and do her -best, as became a soldier's wife. And then poor little Emma had been -married too early, and began her struggling, shifty life too soon, to -know anything about that delicate domestic order, which is half a -religion. Poor little Emma! she was as old now as Mary had been when she -came back to Kirtell with her boys, and it was difficult to form any -imagination of what time might have done for her. Mrs. Ochterlony went -up the narrow stairs with a sense of half-amused curiosity, guided not -only by the dirty little maid, but by the sound of a little voice crying -in a lamentable, endless sort of way. It was a kind of cry which in -itself told the story of the family--not violent, as if the result of a -sudden injury or fit of passion, which there was somebody by to console -or to punish, but the endless, tedious lamentation, which nobody took -any particular notice of, or cared about. - -And this was the scene that met Mrs. Ochterlony's eyes when she entered -the room. She had sent the maid away and opened the door herself, for -her heart was full. It was a shabby little room on the first floor, with -cold windows opening down to the floor, and letting in the cold -Cumberland winds to chill the feet and aggravate the temper of the -inhabitants. In the foreground sat a little girl with a baby sleeping on -her knee, one little brother in front of her and another behind her -chair, and that pretty air of being herself the domestic centre and -chief mover of everything, which it is at once sweet and sad to see in a -child. This little woman neither saw nor heard the stranger at the door. -She had been hushing and rocking her baby, and, now that it had -peaceably sunk to sleep, was about to hear her little brother's lesson, -as it appeared; while at the same time addressing a word of remonstrance -to the author of the cry, another small creature who sat rubbing her -eyes with two fat fists, upon the floor. Of all this group, the only one -aware of Mary's appearance was the little fellow behind his sister's -chair, who lifted wondering eyes to the door, and stared and said -nothing, after the manner of children. The little party was so complete -in itself, and seemed to centre so naturally in the elder sister, that -the spectator felt no need to seek further. It was all new and unlooked -for, yet it was a kind of scene to go to the heart of a woman who had -children of her own; and Mary stood and looked at the little ones, and -at the child-mother in the midst of them, without even becoming aware of -the presence of the actual mother, who had been lying on a sofa, in a -detached and separate way, reading a book, which she now thrust under -her pillow, as she raised herself on her cushions and gazed with -wide-open eyes at her visitor, who did not see her. It was a woman very -little like the pretty Emma of old times, with a hectic colour on her -cheeks, her hair hanging loosely and disordered by lying down, and the -absorbed, half-awakened look, natural to a mind which had been suddenly -roused up out of a novel into an actual emergency. The hushing of the -baby to sleep, the hearing of the lessons, the tedious crying of the -little girl at her feet, had all gone on without disturbing Mrs. Askell. -She had been so entirely absorbed in one of Jane Eyre's successors and -imitators (for that was the epoch of Jane Eyre in novels), and Nelly was -so completely responsible for all that was going on, that the mother had -never even roused up to a sense of what was passing round her, until -the door opened and the stranger looked in with a face which was not a -stranger's face. - -"Good gracious!" cried Mrs. Askell, springing up. "Oh, my Madonna, can -it be you? Are you sure it is you, you dear, you darling! Don't go -looking at the children as if they were the principal, but give me a -kiss and say it is you,--say you are sure it is you!" - -And the rapture of delight and welcome she went into, though it showed -how weak-minded and excitable she was, was in its way not disagreeable -to Mary, and touched her heart. She gave the kiss she was asked for, and -received a flood in return, and such embraces as nearly took her breath -away; and then Nelly was summoned to take "the things" off an easy -chair, the only one in the room, which stood near her mother's sofa. -Mary was still in Mrs. Askell's embrace when this command was given, but -she saw the girl gather up the baby in her arms, and moving softly not -to disturb the little sleeper, collect the encumbering articles together -and draw the chair forward. No one else moved or took any trouble. The -bigger boy stood and watched behind his sister's chair, and the younger -one turned round to indulge in the same inspection, and little Emma took -her fists out of her eyes. But there was nobody but the little woman -with the baby who could get for the guest the only comfortable chair. - -"Now sit down and be comfortable, and let me look at you; I could be -content just to look at you all day," said Emma. "You are just as you -always were, and not a bit changed. It is because you have not had all -our cares. I look a perfect fright, and as old as my grandmother, and I -am no good for anything; but you are just the same as you used to be. -Oh, it is just like the old times, seeing you! I have been in such a -state, I did not know what to do with myself since ever I knew we were -coming here." - -"But I do not think you are looking old, though you look delicate," said -Mary. "Let me make acquaintance with the children. Nelly, you used to be -in my arms as much as your mamma's when you were a baby. You are just -the same age as my Will, and you were the best baby that ever was. Tell -me their names and how old they all are. You know they are all strangers -to me." - -"Yes," said their mother, with a little fretfulness. "It was such a -mercy Nelly was the eldest. I never could have kept living if she had -been a boy. I have been such a suffering creature, and we have been -moved about so much, and oh, we have had so much to do! You can't fancy -what a life we have had," cried poor Emma; and the mere thought of it -brought tears to her eyes. - -"Yes, I know it is a troublesome life," said Mary; "but you are young, -and you have your husband, and the children are all so well----" - -"Yes, the children are all well," said Emma; "but then every new place -they come to, they take measles or something, and I am gone to a shadow -before they are right again; and then the doctors' bills--I think -Charley and Lucy and Emma have had _everything_," said the aggrieved -mother; "and they always take them so badly; and then Askell takes it -into his head it is damp linen or something, and thinks it is my fault. -It is bad enough when a woman is having her children," cried poor Emma, -"without all their illnesses, you know, and tempers and bills, and -everything besides. Oh, Madonna! you are so well off. You live quiet, -and you know nothing about all our cares." - -"I think I would not mind the cares," said Mary; "if you were quiet like -me, you would not like it. You must come out to Kirtell for a little -change." - -"Oh, yes, with all my heart," said Emma. "I think sometimes it would do -me all the good in the world just to be out of the noise for a little, -and where there was nothing to be found fault with. I should feel like a -girl again, my Madonna, if I could be with you." - -"And Nelly must come too," said Mrs. Ochterlony, looking down upon the -little bright, anxious, careful face. - -Nelly was thirteen--the same age as Wilfrid; but she was little, and -laden with the care of which her mother talked. Her eyes were hazel -eyes, such as would have run over with gladness had they been left to -nature, and her brown hair curled a little on her neck. She was uncared -for, badly dressed, and not old enough yet for the instinct that makes -the budding woman mindful of herself. But the care that made Emma's -cheek hollow and her life a waste, looked sweet out of Nelly's eyes. The -mother thought she bore it all, and cried and complained under it, while -the child took it on her shoulders unawares and carried it without any -complaint. Her soft little face lighted up for a moment as Mary spoke, -and then her look turned on the sleeping baby with that air half -infantile, half motherly, which makes a child's face like an angel's. - -"I do not think I could go," she said; "for the children are not used to -the new nurse; and it would make poor papa so uncomfortable; and then it -would do mamma so much more good to be quiet for a little without the -children----" - -Mary rose up softly just then, and, to Nelly's great surprise, bent over -her and kissed her. Nobody but such another woman could have told what a -sense of envy and yearning was in Mary's heart as she did it. How she -would have surrounded with tenderness and love that little daughter who -was but a domestic slave to Emma Askell! and yet, if she had been Mary's -daughter, and surrounded by love and tenderness, she would not have been -such a child. The little thing brightened and blushed, and looked up -with a gleam of sweet surprise in her eyes. "Oh, thank you, Mrs. -Ochterlony," she said, in that sudden flush of pleasure; and the two -recognised each other in that moment, and knitted between them, -different as their ages were, that bond of everlasting friendship which -is made oftener at sight than in any more cautious way. - -"Come and sit by me," said Emma, "or I shall be jealous of my own child. -She is a dear little thing, and so good with the others. Come and tell -me about your boys. And, oh, please, just one word--we have so often -spoken about it, and so often wondered. Tell me, dear Mrs. Ochterlony, -did it never do any harm?" - -"Did what never do any harm?" asked Mary, with once more a sudden pang -of thankfulness that Wilfrid was not there. - -Mrs. Askell threw her arms round Mary's neck and kissed her and clasped -her close. "There never was any one like you," she said; "you never even -would complain." - -This second assault made Mary falter and recoil, in spite of herself. -They had not forgot, though she might have forgotten. And, what was even -worse than words, as Emma spoke, the serious little woman-child, who had -won Mrs. Ochterlony's heart, raised her sweet eyes and looked with a -mixture of wonder and understanding in Mary's face. The child whom she -would have liked to carry away and make her own--did she, too, know and -wonder? There was a great deal of conversation after this--a great deal -about the Askells themselves, and a great deal about Winnie and her -husband, whom Mrs. Askell knew much more about than Mrs. Ochterlony did. -But it would be vain to say that anything she heard made as great an -impression upon Mary as the personal allusions which sent the blood -tingling through her veins. She went home, at last, with that most -grateful sense of home which can only be fully realized by those who -return from the encounter of an indifferent world, and from friends who, -though kind, are naturally disposed to regard everything from their own -point of view. It is sweet to have friends, and yet by times it is -bitter. Fortunately for Mary, she had the warm circle of her own -immediate belongings to return into, and could retire, as it were, into -her citadel, and there smile at all the world. Her boys gave her that -sweetest youthful adoration which is better than the love of lovers, and -no painful ghost lurked in their memory--or so, at least, Mrs. -Ochterlony thought. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - - -The Cottage changed its aspect greatly after the arrival of the -regiment, and it was a change which lasted a long time, for the depôt -was established at Carlisle, and Captain Askell got an appointment which -smoothed the stony way of life a little for himself and his wife. -Kirtell was very accessible and very pretty, and there was always a -welcome to be had at the Cottage; and the regiment returned in the -twinkling of an eye to its old regard for its Madonna Mary. The officers -came about the house continually, to the great enlivenment of the parish -in general. And Mrs. Kirkman came, and very soon made out that the vicar -and his curate were both very incompetent, and did what she could to -form a missionary nucleus, if not under Mrs. Ochterlony's wing, at least -protected by her shadow; and the little Askells came and luxuriated in -the grass and the flowers; and Miss Sorbette and the doctor, who were -still on the strength of the regiment, paid many visits, bringing with -them the new people whom Mary did not know. When Hugh and Islay came -home at vacation times, they found the house so lively, that it acquired -new attractions for them, and Aunt Agatha, who was not so old as to be -quite indifferent to society, said to herself with natural sophistry, -that it was very good for the boys, and made them happier than two -solitary women could have done by themselves, which no doubt was true. -As for Mrs. Ochterlony herself, she said frankly that she was glad to -see her friends; she liked to receive them in her own house. She had -been rather poor in India, and not able to entertain them very -splendidly; and though she was poor still, and the Cottage was a very -modest little dwelling-place, it could receive the visitors, and give -them pleasant welcome, and a pleasant meal, and pleasant faces, and -cheerful companionship. Mrs. Ochterlony was not yet old, and she had -lived a quiet life of late, so peaceful that the incipient wrinkles -which life had outlined in her face, had been filled up and smoothed out -by the quietness. She was in perfect health, and her eyes were bright, -and her complexion sweet, and her hair still gave by time a golden gleam -out of its brown masses. - -No wonder then that her old friends saw little or no change in her, and -that her new ones admired her as much as she had ever been admired in -her best days. Some women are sweet by means of being helpless, and -fragile, and tender; and some have a loftier charm by reason of their -veiled strength and composure, and calm of self-possession. Mary was one -of the last; she was a woman not to lean, but to be leant upon; soft -with a touch like velvet, and yet as steady as a rock--a kind of beauty -which wears long, and does not spoil even by growing old. - -It was a state of affairs very agreeable to everybody in the place, -except, perhaps, to Will, who was very jealous of his mother. Hugh and -Islay when they came home took it all for granted, in an open-handed -boyish way, and were no more afraid of anything Mrs. Ochterlony might -do, than for their own existence. But Will was always there. He haunted -the drawing-room, whoever might be in it at the moment; yet--though to -Aunt Agatha's consciousness, the boy was never absent from the big -Indian chair in the corner--he was at the same time always ready to -pursue his curate to the very verge of that poor gentleman's knowledge, -and give him all the excitement of a hairbreadth 'scape ten times in a -morning. Nobody could tell when he learned his lessons, or what time he -had for study--for there he was always, taking in everything, and making -comments in his own mind, and now and then interposing in the -conversation to Aunt Agatha's indignation. Mary would not see it, she -said; Mary thought that all her boys did was right--which was, perhaps, -to some extent true; and it was said in the neighbourhood, as was -natural, that so many gentlemen did not come to the Cottage for nothing; -that Mrs. Ochterlony was still a young woman; that she had devoted -herself to the boys for a long time, and that if she were to marry -again, nobody could have any right to object. Such reports spring up in -the country so easily, either with or without foundation; and Wilfrid, -who found out everything, heard them, and grew very watchful and -jealous, and even doubtful of his mother. Should such an idea have -entered into _her_ head, the boy felt that he would despise her; and yet -at the same time he was very fond of her and filled with unbounded -jealousy. While all the time, Mary herself was very glad to see her -friends, and, perhaps, was not entirely unconscious of exciting a -certain respectful admiration, but had as little idea of severing -herself from her past life, and making a new fictitious beginning, as if -she had been eighty; and it never occurred to her to imagine that she -was watched or doubted by her boy. - -It was a pleasant revival, but it had its drawbacks--for one thing, Aunt -Agatha did not, as she said, get on with all Mary's friends. There was -between Miss Seton and Mrs. Kirkman an enmity which was to the death. -The Colonel's wife, though she might be, as became her position, a good -enough conservative in secular politics, was a revolutionary, or more -than a revolutionary, an iconoclast, in matters ecclesiastical. She had -no respect for anything, Aunt Agatha thought. A woman who works under -the proper authorities, and reveres her clergyman, is a woman to be -regarded with a certain respect, even if she is sometimes zealous out of -season; but when she sets up on her own foundation, and sighs over the -shortcomings of the clergy, and believes in neither rector nor curate, -then the whole aspect of affairs is changed. "She believes in nobody but -herself," Aunt Agatha said; "she has no respect for anything. I wonder -how you can put up with such a woman, Mary. She talks to our good vicar -as if he were a boy at school--and tells him how to manage the parish. -If that is the kind of person you think a good woman, I have no wish to -be good, for my part. She is quite insufferable to me." - -"She is often disagreeable," said Mary, "but I am sure she is good at -the bottom of her heart." - -"I don't know anything about the bottom of her heart," said Aunt Agatha; -"from all one can see of the surface, it must be a very unpleasant -place. And then that useless Mrs. Askell; she is quite strong enough to -talk to the gentlemen and amuse them, but as for taking a little pains -to do her duty, or look after her children--I must say I am surprised at -your friends. A soldier's life is trying, I suppose," Miss Seton added. -"I have always heard it was trying; but the gentlemen should be the ones -to feel it most, and they are not spoiled. The gentlemen are very -nice--most of them," Aunt Agatha added with a little hesitation, for -there was one whom she regarded as Wilfrid did with jealous eyes. - -"The gentlemen are further off, and we do not see them so clearly," said -Mary; "and if you knew what it is to wander about, to have no settled -home, and to be ailing and poor----" - -"My dear love," said Aunt Agatha, with a little impatience, "you might -have been as poor, and you never would have been like that; and as for -sick---- You know I never thought you had a strong constitution--nor -your sister either--my pretty Winnie! Do you think that sickness, or -poverty, or anything else, could ever have brought down Winnie to be -like that silly little woman?" - -"Hush," said Mary, "Nelly is in the garden, and might hear." - -"Nelly!" said Aunt Agatha, who felt herself suddenly pulled up short. "I -have nothing to say against Nelly, I am sure. I could not help thinking -last night, that some of these days she would make a nice wife for one -of the boys. She is quite beginning to grow up now, poor dear. When I -see her sitting there it makes me think of my Winnie;--not that she will -ever be beautiful like Winnie. But Mary, my dear love, I don't think you -are kind to me. I am sure you must have heard a great deal about Winnie, -especially since she has come back to England, and you never tell me a -word." - -"My dear aunt," said Mary, with a little embarrassment, "you see all -these people as much as I do; and I have heard them telling you what -news of her they know." - -"Ah, yes," said Aunt Agatha, with a sigh. "They tell me she is here or -there, but I know that from her letters; what I want to know is, -something about her, how she looks, and if she is happy. She never -_says_ she is not happy, you know. Dear, dear! to think she must be past -thirty now--two-and-thirty her last birthday--and she was only eighteen -when she went away. You were not so long away, Mary----" - -"But Winnie has not had my reason for coming back upon your hands, Aunt -Agatha," said Mrs. Ochterlony, gravely. - -"No," said Aunt Agatha: and again she sighed; and this time the sigh was -of a kind which did not sound very complimentary to Captain Percival. It -seemed to say "More's the pity!" Winnie had never come back to see the -kind aunt who had been a mother to her. She said in her letters how -unlucky she was, and that they were to be driven all round the world, -she thought, and never to have any rest; but no doubt, if Winnie had -been very anxious, she might have found means to come home. And the -years were creeping on imperceptibly, and the boys growing up--even -Will, who was now almost as tall as his brothers. When such a change had -come upon these children, what a change there must be in the wilful, -sprightly, beautiful girl whose image reigned supreme in Aunt Agatha's -heart. A sudden thought struck the old lady as she sighed. The little -Askells were at Kirtell at the moment with the nurse, and Nelly, who was -more than ever the mother of the little party. Aunt Agatha sat still for -a little with her heart beating, and then she took up her work in a soft -stealthy way, and went out into the garden. "No, my dear, oh no, don't -disturb yourself," she said, with anxious deprecation to Mary, who would -have risen too, "I am only going to look at the lilies," and she was so -conscientious that she did go and cast an undiscerning, preoccupied -glance upon the lilies, though her real attraction was quite in an -opposite quarter. At the other side, audible but not visible, was a -little group which was pretty to look at in the afternoon sunshine. It -was outside the garden, on the other side of the hedge, in the pretty -green field, all white and yellow with buttercups and daisies, which -belonged to the Cottage. Miss Seton's mild cow had not been able to crop -down all that flowery fragrant growth, and the little Askells were -wading in it, up to their knees in the cool sweet grass, and feeding -upon it and drawing nourishment out of it almost as much as the cow did. -But in the corner close by the garden hedge there was a more advanced -development of youthful existence. Nelly was seated on the grass, -working with all her might, yet pausing now and then to lift her serious -eyes to Will, who leant upon an old stump of oak which projected out of -the hedge, and had the conversation all in his own hands. He was doing -what a boy under such circumstances loves to do; he was startling, -shocking, frightening his companion. He was saying a great deal that he -meant and some things that he did not mean, and taking a great secret -pleasure in the widening of Nelly's eyes and the consternation of her -face. Will had grown into a very long lank boy, with joints which were -as awkward as his brother's used to be, yet not in the same way, for the -limbs that completed them were thin and meagre, and had not the vigour -of Hugh's. His trousers were too short for him, and so were his sleeves. -His hair had no curls in it, and fell down over his forehead. He was -nearly sixteen, and he was thoroughly discontented--a misanthrope, -displeased with everything without knowing why. But time had been kinder -to Nelly, who was not long and lean like her companion, but little and -round and blooming, with the soft outlines and the fresh bloom of -earliest youth just emerging out of childhood. Her eyes were brown, very -serious, and sweet--eyes that had "seen trouble," and knew a great many -more things in the world than were dreamt of in Will's philosophy: but -then she was not so clever as Will, and his talk confused her. She was -looking up to him and taking all in with a mixture of willing faith and -instinctive scepticism which it was curious to see. - -"You two are always together, I think," said Aunt Agatha, putting down a -little camp-stool she had in her hand beside Nelly--for she had passed -the age when people think of sitting on the grass. "What are you talking -about? I suppose he brings all his troubles to you." - -"Oh, no," said Nelly, with a blush, which was on Aunt Agatha's account, -and not on Will's. He was a little older than herself actually; but -Nelly was an experienced woman, and could not but look down amiably on -such an unexercised inhabitant of the world as "only a boy." - -"Then I suppose, my dear, he must talk to you about Greek and Latin," -said Aunt Agatha, "which is a thing young ladies don't much care for: I -am very sure old ladies don't. Is that what you talk about?" - -"Oh, yes, often," said Nelly, brightening, as she looked at Will. That -was not the sort of talk they had been having, but still it was true. - -"Well," said Miss Seton, "I am sure he will go on talking as long as you -will listen to him. But he must not have you all to himself. Did he tell -you Hugh was coming home to see us? We expect him next week." - -"Yes," said Nelly, who was not much of a talker. And then, being a -little ashamed of her taciturnity, she added, "I am sure Mrs. Ochterlony -will be glad." - -"We shall all be glad," said Aunt Agatha. "Hugh is very nice. We must -have you to see a little more of him this time; I am sure you would like -him. Then you will be well acquainted with all our family," the old lady -continued, artfully approaching her real object; "for you know my dear -Winnie, I think--I ought to say, Mrs. Percival; she is the dearest girl -that ever was. You must have met her, my dear---- abroad." - -Nelly looked up a little surprised. "We knew Mrs. Percival," she said, -"but she---- was not a girl at all. She was as old--as old as -mamma--like all the other ladies," she added, hastily; for the word girl -had limited meanings to Nelly, and she would have laughed at its -application in such a case, if she had not been a natural gentlewoman -with the finest manners in the world. - -"Ah, yes," said Aunt Agatha, with a sigh, "I forget how time goes; and -she will always be a girl to me: but she was very beautiful, all the -same; and she had such a way with children. Were you fond of her, Nelly? -Because, if that were so, I should love you more and more." - -Nelly looked up with a frightened, puzzled look in Aunt Agatha's eyes. -She was very soft-hearted, and had been used to give in to other people -all her life; and she almost felt as if, for Aunt Agatha's sake, she -could persuade herself that she had been fond of Mrs. Percival; but yet -at the same time honesty went above all. "I do not think we knew them -very well," she said. "I don't think mamma was very intimate with Mrs. -Percival; that is, I don't think papa liked _him_," added Nelly, with -natural art. - -Aunt Agatha gave another sigh. "That might be, my dear," she said, with -a little sadness; "but even when gentlemen don't take to each other, it -is a great pity when it acts upon their families. Some of our friends -here even were not fond at first of Captain Percival, but for my darling -Winnie's sake---- You must have seen her often at least; I wonder I -never thought of asking you before. She was so beautiful, with such -lovely hair, and the sweetest complexion. Was she looking well--and--and -happy?" asked Aunt Agatha, growing anxious as she spoke, and looking -into Nelly's face. - -It was rather hard upon Nelly, who was one of those true women, young as -she was, who can see what other women mean when they put such questions, -and hear the heart beat under the words. Nelly had heard a great deal of -talk in her day, and knew things about Mrs. Percival that would have -made Aunt Agatha's hair stand on end with horror. But her heart -understood the other heart, and could not have breathed a whisper that -would wound it, for the world. - -"I was such a little thing," said Nelly; "and then I always had the -little ones to look after--mamma was so delicate. I remember the -people's names more than themselves." - -"You have always been a very good girl, I am sure," said Aunt Agatha, -giving her young companion a sudden kiss, and with perhaps a faint -instinctive sense of Nelly's forbearance and womanful skill in avoiding -a difficult subject; but she sighed once more as she did it, and -wondered to herself whether nobody would ever speak to her freely and -fully of her child. And silence ensued, for she had not the heart to ask -more questions. Will, who had not found the conversation amusing, had -gone in to find his mother, with a feeling that it was not quite safe to -leave her alone, which had something to do with his frequent presence in -the drawing room; so that the old lady and Nelly were left alone in the -corner of the fragrant field. The girl went on with her work, but Aunt -Agatha, who was seated on her camp-stool, with her back against the oak -stump, let her knitting fall upon her knee, and her eyes wander into -vacancy with a wistful look of abstraction that was not natural to them. -Nelly, who did not know what to say, and yet would have given a great -deal to be able to say something, watched her from under the shadow of -her curls, and at last saw Miss Seton's abstract eyes brighten up and -wake into attention and life. Nelly looked round, and her impulse was to -jump up in alarm when she saw it was her own mother who was -approaching--her mother, whom Nelly had a kind of adoration for as a -creature of divine helplessness, for whom everything had to be done, but -in whose judgment she had an instinctive want of confidence. She jumped -up and called to the children on the spur of this sudden impulse: "Oh! -here is mamma, we must go in," cried Nelly; and it gave her positive -pain to see that Miss Seton's attitude remained unchanged, and that she -had no intention of being disturbed by Mrs. Askell's approach. - -"Oh how deliciously comfortable you are here," cried Emma, throwing -herself down on the grass. "I came out to have a little fresh air and -see after those tiresome children. I am sure they have been teasing you -all day long; Nelly is not half severe enough, and nurse spoils them; -and after a day in the open air like this, they make my head like to -split when they come home at night." - -"They have not been teasing me," said Aunt Agatha; "they have been very -good, and I have been sitting here for a long time talking to Nelly. I -wanted her to tell me something about my dear child, Mary's own -sister--Mrs. Percival, you know." - -"Oh!" said Mrs. Askell, making a troubled pause,--"and I hope to -goodness you did not tell Miss Seton anything that was unpleasant," she -said sharply, turning to Nelly. "You must not mind anything she said," -the foolish little woman added; "she was only a child and she did not -know. You should have asked me." - -"What could there be that was not pleasant?" cried Aunt Agatha. "If -there is anything unpleasant that can be said about my Winnie, that is -precisely what I ought to hear." - -"Mamma!" cried Nelly, in what was intended to be a whisper of warning, -though her anxiety made it shrill and audible. But Emma was not a woman -to be kept back. - -"Goodness, child, you have pulled my dress out of the gathers," she -said. "Do you think _I_ don't know what I am talking about? When I say -unpleasant, I am sure I don't mean anything serious; I mean only, you -know, that---- and then her husband is such a man--I am sure I don't -wonder at it, for my part." - -"What is it your mamma does not wonder at, Nelly?" said Aunt Agatha, who -had turned white and cold, and leaned back all feeble and broken upon -the old tree. - -"Her husband neglected her shamefully," said Emma; "it was a great sin -for her friends to let her marry him; I am sure Mrs. Ochterlony knew -what a dreadful character he had. And, poor thing, when she found -herself so deserted---- Askell would never let me see much of her, and I -had always such wretched health; but I always stood up for Mrs. -Percival. She was young, and she had nobody to stand by her----" - -"Oh, mamma," cried Nelly, "don't you see what you are doing? I think she -is going to faint--and it will be all our fault." - -"Oh, no; I am not going to faint," said Aunt Agatha, feebly; but when -she laid back her head upon Nelly's shoulder, who had come to support -her, and closed her eyes, she was like death, so pale did she look and -ghastly; and then Mrs. Askell in her turn took fright. - -"Goodness gracious! run and get some water, Will," she cried to Wilfrid, -who had rejoined them. "I am sure there was nothing in what I said to -make anybody faint. She was talked about a little, that was all--there -was no harm in it. We have all been talked about, sometime or other. -Why, fancy what a talk there was about our Madonna, her very self." - -"About my mother?" said Wilfrid, standing bolt upright between Aunt -Agatha, in her half swoon, and silly little Emma, who sat, a heap of -muslin and ribbons, upon the grass. He had managed to hear more about -Mrs. Percival than anybody knew, and was very indifferent on the -subject. And he was not alarmed about Aunt Agatha; but he was jealous of -his mother, and could not bear even the smallest whisper in which there -was any allusion to her. - -"Goodness, boy, run and get some water!" cried Mrs. Askell, jumping up -from the grass in her fright. "I did not mean anything; there was -nothing to be put out about--indeed there was not, Miss Seton. It was -only a little silly talk; what happens to us all, you know: not half, -nor quarter so bad as---- Oh, goodness gracious, Nelly, don't make those -ridiculous signs, as if it was you that was my mother, and I did not -know what to say." - -"Will!" said Nelly. Her voice was perfectly quiet and steady, but it -made him start as he stood there jealous, and curious, and careless of -everybody else. When he met her eye, he grew red and frowned, and made -a momentary stand against her; but the next moment turned resolutely and -went away. If it was for water, Aunt Agatha did not need it. She came to -herself without any restorative; and she kissed Nelly, who had been -whispering in her ear. "Yes, my dear, I know you are right--it could -have been nothing," she said faintly, with a wan sort of smile; "but I -am not very strong, and the heat, you know----" And when she got up, she -took the girl's arm, to steady her. Thus they went back to the house, -Mrs. Askell following, holding up her hands in amazement and -self-justification. "Could I tell that she was so weak?" Emma said to -herself. "Goodness gracious, how could anybody say it was my fault?" As -for Nelly, she said nothing; but supported her trembling companion, and -held the soft old hand firm on her arm. And when they approached the -house, Nelly, carried away by her feelings, did, what in full possession -of herself she never would have done. She bent down to Aunt Agatha's -ear--for though she was not tall, she was a little taller at that moment -than the poor old lady who was bowed down with weakness and the blow she -had just received. "Mamma says things without meaning them," said Nelly, -with an undutiful frankness, which it is to be hoped was forgiven her. -"She does not mean any harm, and sometimes she says whatever comes into -her head." - -"Yes, my dear, your mamma is a very silly little woman," said Aunt -Agatha, with a little of her old spirit; and she gave Nelly, who was -naturally much startled by this unexpected vivacity, a kiss as she -reached the door of her room and left her. The door closed, and the girl -had no pretext nor right to follow. She turned away feeling as if she -had received a sudden prick which had stimulated all the blood in her -veins, but yet yearning in her good little heart over Aunt Agatha who -was alone. Miss Seton's room, to which she had retired, was on the -ground floor, as were all the sitting-rooms in the house, and Nelly, as -she turned away, suddenly met Wilfrid, and came to a stand-still before -him looking him severely in the face. - -"I say, Nell!" said Will. - -"And I say, Will!" said Nelly. "I will never like you nor care for you -any more. You are a shocking, selfish, disagreeable prig. To stand there -and never mind when poor Aunt Agatha was fainting--all for the sake of a -piece of gossip. I don't want ever to speak to you again." - -"It was not a piece of gossip,--it was something about my mother," said -Will, in self-defence. - -"And what if it were fifty times about your mother?" cried -Nelly,--"what right had you to stand and listen when there was something -to do? Oh, I am so ashamed! and after talking to you so much and -thinking you were not so bad----" - -"Nelly," said Wilfrid, "when there is anything said about my mother, I -have always a right to listen what it is----" - -"Well, then, go and listen," said Nelly, with indignation, "at the -keyhole if you like; but don't come afterwards and talk to me. There, -good-bye, I am going to the children. Mamma is in the drawing-room, and -if you like to go there I dare say you will hear a great many things; I -don't care for gossip myself, so I may as well bid you good-bye." - -And she went out by the open door with fine youthful majesty, leaving -poor Will in a very doubtful state of mind behind her. He knew that in -this particular Nelly did not understand him, and perhaps was not -capable of sympathizing in the jealous watch he kept over his mother. -But still Nelly was pleasant to look at and pleasant to talk to, and he -did not want to be cast off by her. He stood and hesitated for a -moment--but he could see the sun shining at the open door, and hear the -river, and the birds, and the sound of Nelly's step--and the end was -that he went after her, there being nothing in the present crisis, as -far as he could see, to justify a stern adoption of duty rather than -pleasure; and there was nobody in the world but Nelly, as he had often -explained to himself, by whom, when he talked, he stood the least chance -of being understood. - -This was how the new generation settled the matter. As for Aunt Agatha -she cried over it in the solitude of her chamber, but by-and-by -recovered too, thinking that after all it was only that silly woman. And -she wrote an anxious note to Mrs. Percival, begging her now she was in -England to come and see them at the Cottage. "I am getting old, my dear -love, and I may not be long for this world, and you must let me see you -before I die," Aunt Agatha said. She thought she felt weaker than usual -after her agitation, and regarded this sentence, which was in a high -degree effective and sensational, with some pride. She felt sure that -such a thought would go to her Winnie's heart. - -And so the Cottage lapsed once more into tranquillity, and into that -sense that everything _must_ go well which comes natural to the mind -after a long interval of peace. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - - -"I like all your people, mamma," said Hugh, "and I like little Nelly -best of all. She is a little jewel, and as fresh as a little rose." - -"And such a thing might happen as that she might make you a nice little -wife one of these days," said Aunt Agatha, who was always a match-maker -in her heart. - -Upon which Hugh nodded and laughed and grew slightly red, as became his -years. "I had always the greatest confidence in your good sense, my dear -Aunt," he said in his laughing way, and never so much as thought of -Wilfrid in the big Indian chair, who had been Nelly's constant companion -for at least one long year. - -"I should like to know what business he has with Nelly," said Will -between his teeth. "A great hulking fellow, old enough to be her -father." - -"She would never have _you_, Will," said Hugh, laughing; "girls always -despise a fellow of their own age. So you need not look sulky, old boy. -For that matter I doubt very much if she'd have me." - -"You are presumptuous boys," said Mrs. Ochterlony, "to think she would -have either of you. She has too much to do at home, and too many things -to think of. _I_ should like to have her all to myself," said Mary, with -a sigh. She sighed, but she smiled; for though her boys could not be -with her as Nelly might have been, still all was well with them, and the -heart of their mother was content. - -"My uncle wants you all to come over to Earlston," said Hugh. "I think -the poor old boy is beginning to give in. He looks very shaky in the -morning when he comes downstairs. I'd like to know what you think of -him, mamma; I don't think his wanting to see you all is a good sign. -He's awfully good when you come to know him," said Hugh, clearing his -throat. - -"Do you mean that Francis Ochterlony is ill?" said Aunt Agatha, with -sudden interest. "Your mother must go and see him, but you must not ask -me; I am an old woman, and I have old-fashioned notions, you know--but a -married lady can go anywhere. Besides he would not care for seeing me," -Aunt Agatha added, with a slightly-wistful look, "it is so very--very -many years since we used to----" - -"I know he wants to see you," said Hugh, who could not help laughing a -little; "and with so many people in the house I think you might risk it, -Aunt Agatha. He stands awfully in awe of you, I can tell you. And there -are to be a lot of people. It's a kind of coming of age affair," said -Hugh. "I am to be set up on Psyche's pedestal, and everybody is to look -at me and sing out, 'Behold the heir!' That's the sort of thing it's to -be. You can bring anybody you like, you two ladies--little Nelly Askell, -and all that sort of thing," he added, with a conscious laugh; and grew -red again, not at thought of Nelly Askell, but with the thrill which -"all that sort of thing" naturally brought into the young man's veins. - -The face of Wilfrid grew darker and darker as he sat and listened. It -was not a precocious passion for Nelly Askell that moved him. If Nelly -had been his sister, his heart might still have swelled with a very -similar sentiment. "He'll have _her_ too," was what the boy said to -himself. There was no sort of justice or distribution in it; Hugh was -the lucky fellow who had everything, while no personal appropriation -whatever was to be permitted to Wilfrid. He could not engross his mother -as he would have liked to do, for she loved Hugh and Islay just as well -as she loved himself, and had friends and acquaintances, and people who -came and talked, and occupied her time, and even one who was supposed to -have the audacity to admire her. And there was no one else to supply the -imperious necessity which existed in Will's mind, to be the chief object -of somebody's thoughts. His curate had a certain awe of him, which was -satisfactory enough in its way; but nobody watched and worshipped poor -Will, or did anything more than love him in a reasonable unadoring way; -and he had no sister whom he could make his slave, nor humble friend to -whom he could be the centre of interest. Nelly's coming had been a -God-send to the boy. She had found out his discontent, and taken to -comforting him instinctively, and had been introduced into a world new -to her by means of his fancies: and the budding woman had regarded the -budding man with that curiosity, and wonder, and respect, and interest, -which exists by nature between the two representatives of humanity. And -now here was Hugh, who, not content with being an Oxford scholar, and -the heir of Earlston, and his mother's eldest son, and Sir Edward's -favourite, and the most interesting member of the family to the parish -in general, was about to seize on Nelly too. Will, though he was perhaps -of a jealous temper, was not mean or envious, nor did he grudge his -brother his elevation. But he thought it hard that all should go to one, -and that there should be no shares: if he had had the arranging of it, -it would have been otherwise arranged; Hugh should still have had -Earlston, and any other advantages suited to his capacity--but as for -Oxford and Nelly---- It was unfair--that was the sting; all to one, and -nothing to the other. This sentiment made Wilfrid very unwilling to -accompany the rest of the family to Earlston. He did not want to go and -survey all the particulars of Hugh's good-fortune, and to make sure once -again, as he had already so often decided, that Hugh's capacities were -inferior to his luck, and that it was really of little advantage to him -to be so well off. But Will's inclinations, as it happened, were not -consulted on the subject; the expedition was all settled without any -room being left for his protest. Aunt Agatha was to go, though she had -very little desire to do so, being coy about Mr. Ochterlony's house, and -even not too well pleased to think that coyness was absurd in her case, -and that she was old enough to go to anybody's house, and indeed do what -she pleased. And Sir Edward was going, who was older than any of them, -and was still inclined to believe that Francis Ochterlony and Agatha -Seton might make it up; and then, though Mrs. Askell objected greatly, -and could not tell what she was to do with the children, and limited the -expedition absolutely to two days, Nelly was going too. Thus Will had to -give in, and withdraw his opposition. It was, as Hugh said, "a coming of -age sort of affair," but it was not precisely a coming of age, for that -important event had taken place some time before, when Hugh, whose -ambition was literary, had been working like a coal-heaver to take his -degree, and had managed to take it and please his uncle. But there was -to be a great dinner to introduce the heir of Earlston to his country -neighbours, and everything was to be conducted with as much solemnity as -if it had been the heir-apparent's birthday. It was so great an -occasion, that Mrs. Ochterlony got a new dress, and Aunt Agatha brought -forth among the sprigs of lavender her silver-grey which she wore at -Winnie's marriage. It was not Hugh's marriage, but it was an event -almost as important; and if his own people did not try to do him credit, -what was to be expected of the rest of the world? - -And for Nelly Askell it was a very important crisis. She was sixteen, -but up to this moment she had never had a dress "made long," and the -excitement of coming to this grandeur, and of finding Hugh Ochterlony by -her side, full of unspeakable politeness, was almost too much for Nelly; -the latter complication was something she did not quite understand. -Will, for his part, carried things with a high hand, and behaved to her -as a brother behaves to the sister whom he tyrannizes over. It is true -that she sometimes tyrannized over him in her turn, as has been seen, -but they did not think it necessary to be civil, nor did either of them -restrain their personal sentiments in case anything occurred they -disapproved of. But Hugh was altogether different--Hugh was one of "the -gentlemen;" he was grown up, he had been to the University, he rode, and -shot, and hunted, and did everything that the gentlemen are expected to -do--and he lowered his voice when he spoke to Nelly, and schemed to get -near her, and took bouquets from the Cottage garden which were not -intended for Mrs. Askell. Altogether, he was like the hero of a story to -Nelly, and he made her feel as if she, just that very moment as it were, -translated into a long dress, was a young lady in a story too. Will was -her friend and companion, but this was something quite different from -Will; and to be taken to see his castle, and his guardian, and his -future domains, and assist at the recognition of the young prince, was -but the natural continuation of the romance. Nelly's new long dresses -were only muslin, but they helped out the force of the situation, and -intensified that vague thrill of commencing womanhood and power -undreamed of, which Hugh's presence had helped to produce. Could it be -possible that she could forget the children, and her mamma's head which -was always so bad, and go off for two whole days from her duty? Mrs. -Askell could scarcely believe it, and Nelly felt guilty when she -realized the dreadful thought, but still she wanted to go; and she had -no patience with Will's objections, but treated them with summary -incivility. "Why shouldn't you like to go?" said Nelly, "you would like -it very much if you were your brother. And I would not be jealous like -you, not for all the world;" and then Nelly added, "it is not because it -is a party that I care for it, but because it is such a pleasure to dear -Mrs. Ochterlony, and to--Mr. Hugh----" - -"Ah, yes, I knew you would go over to Hugh's side," said Will; "I said -so the very day he came here." - -"Why should I go over to his side?" cried Nelly, indignantly; "but I am -pleased to see people happy; and I am Mr. Hugh's friend, just as I am -your friend," added the little woman, with dignity; "it is all for dear -Mrs. Ochterlony's sake." - -Thus it was that the new generation stepped in and took up all the -foreground of the stage, just as Winnie and her love affairs had done, -who was of the intermediate generation--thrusting the people whose play -was played out, and their personal story over, into the background. -Mary, perhaps, had not seen how natural it was, when her sister was the -heroine; but when she began to suspect that the everlasting romance -might, perhaps, begin again under her very eyes, with her children for -the actors, it gave her a sweet shock of surprise and amusement. She had -been in the shade for a long time, and yet she had still been the -central figure, and had everything in her hands. What if, now, perhaps, -Aunt Agatha's prophecy should come true, and Hugh, whose future was now -secure, should find the little waif all ready for him at the very outset -of his career? Such a possibility gave his mother, who had not yet -arrived at the age which can consent to be passive and superannuated, a -curious thrill--but still it might be a desirable event. When Mary saw -her son hanging over the fair young creature, whom she had coveted to be -her daughter, a true perception of what her own future must be came over -her. The boys _must_ go away, and would probably marry and set up -households, and the mother who had given up the best part of her life to -them _must_ remain alone. She was glad, and yet it went with a curious -penetrating pang to her heart. Some women might have been jealous of the -girl who had first revealed this possibility to them; but Mary, for her -part, knew better, and saw that it was Nature and not Nelly that was to -blame; and she was not a woman to go in the face of Nature. "Hugh will -marry early," she said to Aunt Agatha, with a smile; but her heart gave -a little flutter in her breast as she said it, and saw how natural it -was. Islay was gone already, and very soon Will would have to go; and -there would be no more for their mother to do but to live on, with her -occupation over, and her personal history at an end. The best thing to -do was to make up her mind to it. There was a little moisture in her -eyes as she smiled upon Nelly the night before they set out for -Earlston. The girl had to spend the previous night at the Cottage, to be -ready for their start next day; and Mrs. Ochterlony smiled upon and -kissed her, with a mingled yearning and revulsion. Ah, if she had but -been her own--that woman-child! and yet it required a little effort to -accept her for her own, at the cost, as it were, of her boy--for women -are inconsistent, especially when they are women who have children. But -one thing, at least, Mary was sure about, and that was, that her own -share of the world would henceforward be very slight. Nothing would ever -happen to her individually. Perhaps she regretted the agitations and -commotions of life, and felt as if she would prefer still to endure -them, and feel herself something in the world; but that was all over; -Will _must_ go. Islay was gone. Hugh would marry; and Mary's remaining -years would flow on by necessity like the Kirtell, until some day they -would come to a noiseless end. She said to herself that she ought to -accept, and make up her mind to it; that boys must go out into the -world, and quit the parent nest; and that she ought to be very thankful -for the calm and secure provision which had been made for the rest of -her life. - -And next morning they started for Earlston, on the whole a very cheerful -party. Nelly was so happy, that it did every one's heart good to see -her; and she had given Will what she called "such a talking to," that he -was as good as gold, and made no unpleasant remarks. And Sir Edward was -very suave and benign, though full of recollections which confused and -embarrassed Aunt Agatha. "I remember travelling along this same road -when we still thought it could be all arranged," he said; "and thinking -what a long way it would be to have to go to Earlston to see you; but -there was no railroad then, and everything is very much changed." - -"Yes, everything," said Aunt Agatha; and then she talked about the -weather in a tremulous way. Sir Edward would not have spoken as he did, -if he had not thought that even yet the two old lovers might make it up, -which naturally made it very confusing for Aunt Agatha to be the one to -go to Earlston, and make, as it were, the first advances. She felt just -the same heart thumping a little against her breast, and her white hair -and soft faded cheek could not be supposed to be so constantly visible -to her as they were to everybody else; and if Francis Ochterlony were to -take it into his head to imagine----For Miss Seton, though nothing would -have induced her to marry at her age, was not so certainly secure as her -niece was that nothing now would ever happen in her individual life. - -Nothing did happen, however, when they arrived at Earlston, where the -master of the house received them, not with open arms, which was not his -nature, but with all the enthusiasm he was capable of. He took them to -see all his collections, everything he had that was most costly and -rare. To go back to the house in this way, and see the scene of her -former tortures; tortures which looked so light to look back upon, and -were so amusing to think of, but which had been all but unbearable at -the time, was strange to Mary. She told the story of her miseries, and -they all laughed; but Mr. Ochterlony was still seen to change colour, -when she pointed out the Etruscan vase which Hugh had taken into his -hand, and the rococo chair which Islay had mounted. "This is the -chair," the master of Earlston said; and he did not laugh so frankly as -the rest, but turned aside to show Miss Seton his Henri II. porcelain. -"It was nothing to laugh at, at the time," he said, confidentially, in a -voice which sank into Aunt Agatha's heart; and, to restore her -composure, she paid great attention to the Henri Deux ware. She said she -remembered longing very much to have a set like that when she was a -girl. "I never knew you were fond of china," said Mr. Ochterlony. "Oh, -yes," Aunt Agatha replied; but she did not explain that the china she -had longed for was a toy service for her doll's and little companions' -tea. Mr. Ochterlony put the costly cups away into a little cabinet, and -locked it, after this; and he offered Aunt Agatha his arm, to lead her -to the library, to see his collection there. She took it, but she -trembled a little, the tender-hearted old woman. They looked such an old -couple as they walked out of the room together, and yet there was -something virginal and poetic about them, which they owed to their -lonely lives. It was as if the roses that Hugh had just gathered for -Nelly had been put away for half a century, and brought out again all -dried and faded, but still roses, and with a lingering pensive perfume. -And Sir Edward sat and smiled in a corner, and whispered to Mary to -leave them to themselves a little: such things had been as that they -might make it up. - -There was a great dinner in the evening, at which Hugh's health was -drunk, and everybody hoped to see him for many a happy year at Earlston, -yet prayed that it might be many a year before he had to take any other -place than the one he now occupied at his uncle's side. There were some -county ladies present, who were very gracious to Mary, and anxious to -know all about her boys, and whether she, too, was coming to Earlston; -but who were disposed to snub Nelly, who was not Mrs. Ochterlony's -daughter, nor "any relation," and who was clearly an interloper on such -an occasion. Nelly did not care much for being snubbed; but she was very -glad to seize the moment to propitiate Wilfrid, who had come into the -room looking in what Nelly called "one of his states of mind;" for it -must not be forgotten that she was a soldier's daughter, and had been -brought up exclusively in the regiment, and used many very colloquial -forms of speech. She managed to glide to the other end of the room where -Wilfrid was scowling over a collection of cameos without being noticed. -To tell the truth, Nelly was easier in her mind when she was at a little -distance from the Psyche and the Venus. She had never had any training -in art, and she would have preferred to throw a cloak or, at the least, -a lace shawl, or something, over those marble beauties. But she was, at -least, wise enough to keep her sentiments to herself. - -"Why have you come up so early, Will?" she said. - -"What need I stay for, I wonder?" said Will; "I don't care for their -stupid county talk. It is just as bad as parish talk, and not a bit more -rational. I suppose my uncle must have known better one time or other, -or he could not have collected all these things here." - -"Do you think they are very pretty?" said Nelly, looking back from a -safe distance, and thinking that, however pretty they might be, they -were not very suitable for a drawing-room, where people in general were -in the habit of putting on more decorous garments: by which it will be -perceived that she was a very ignorant little girl and knew nothing -about it, and had no natural feeling for art. - -"Pretty!" said Will, "you have only to look and see what they are--or to -hear their names would be enough. And to think of all those asses -downstairs turned in among them, that probably would like a few stupid -busts much better,--whereas there are plenty of other people that would -give their ears----" - -"Oh, Will!" cried Nelly, "you are always harping on the old string!" - -"I am not harping on any string," said Will. "All I want is, that people -should stick to what they understand. Hugh might know how much money it -was all worth, but I don't know what else he could know about it. If my -uncle was in his senses and left things in shares as they do in France -and everywhere where they have any understanding----" - -"And then what would become of the house and the family?" cried -Nelly,--"if you had six sons and Hugh had six sons--and then your other -brother. They would all come down to have cottages and be a sort of -clan--instead of going and making a fortune like a man, and leaving -Earlston to be the head----" Probably Nelly had somewhere heard the -argument which she stated in this bewildering way, or picked it out of a -novel, which was the only kind of literature she knew much about--for it -would be vain to assert that the principles of primogeniture had ever -been profoundly considered in her own thoughts--"and if you were the -eldest," she added, forsaking her argumentation, "I don't think you -would care so much for everybody going shares." - -"If I were the eldest it would be quite different," said Will. And then -he devoted himself to the cameos, and would enter into no further -explanation. Nelly sat down beside him in a resigned way, and looked at -the cameos too, without feeling very much interest in them, and wondered -what the children were doing, and whether mamma's head was bad; and her -own astonishing selfishness in leaving mamma's headache and the children -to take care of themselves, struck her vividly as she sat there in the -twilight and saw the Psyche and Venus, whom she did not approve of, -gleaming white in the grey gloaming, and heard the loud voices of the -ladies at the other end of the room. Then it began to come into her head -how vain pleasures are, and how to do one's duty is all one ought to -care for in the world. Mrs. Ochterlony was at the other end of the -drawing-room, talking to the other ladies, and "Mr. Hugh" was downstairs -with a quantity of stupid men, and Will was in one of his "states of -mind." And the chances were that something had gone wrong at home; that -Charley had fallen downstairs, or baby's bath had been too hot for her, -or something--a judgment upon Nelly for going away. At one moment she -got so anxious thinking of it all, that she felt disposed to get up and -run home all the way, to make sure that nothing had happened. Only that -just then Aunt Agatha came to join them in looking over the cameos, and -began to tell Nelly, as she often did, little stories about Mrs. -Percival, and to call her "my dear love," and to tell her her dress -looked very nice, and that nothing was so pretty as a sweet natural rose -in a girl's hair. "I don't care for artificial flowers at your age, my -dear," Aunt Agatha was saying, when the gentlemen came in and Hugh made -his appearance; and gradually the children's possible mischances and her -mamma's headache faded out of Nelly's thoughts. - -It was the pleasantest two days that had been spent at Earlston in the -memory of man. Mrs. Ochterlony went over all the house with very -different feelings from those she had felt when she was an inmate of the -place, and smiled at her own troubles and found her misery very comical; -and little Nelly, who never in all her life before had known what it was -to have two days to herself, was so happy that she was perfectly -wretched about it when she went to bed. For it had never yet occurred to -Nelly, as it does to so many young ladies, that she had a right to -everything that was delightful and pleasant, and that the people who -kept her out of her rights were ogres and tyrants. She was frightened -and rather ashamed of herself for being so happy; and then she made it -up by resolving to be doubly good and make twice as much a slave of -herself as ever as soon as she got home. This curious and unusual -development of feeling probably arose from the fact that Nelly had never -been brought up at all, so to speak, but had simply grown; and had too -much to do to have any time for thinking of herself--which is the best -of all possible bringings up for some natures. As for Aunt Agatha, she -went and came about this house, which could never be otherwise than -interesting to her, with a wistful look and a flickering unsteady colour -that would not have shamed even Nelly's sixteen-year old cheek. Miss -Seton saw ghosts of what might have been in every corner; she saw the -unborn faces shine beside the never-lighted fire. She saw herself as she -might have been, rising up to receive her guests, sitting at the head of -the long, full, cheerful table. It was a curious sensation, and made her -stop to think now and then which was the reality and which the shadow; -and yet there could be no doubt that there was in it a certain charm. - -And there could be no doubt, either, that a certain sadness fell upon -Mr. Ochterlony when they were all gone. He had a fire lighted in his -study that night, though it was warm, "to make it look a little more -cheerful," he said; and made Hugh sit with him long after the usual -time. He sat buried in his great chair, with his thin, long limbs -looking longer and thinner than ever, and his head a little sunk upon -his breast. And then he began to moralize and give his nephew good -advice. - -"I hope you'll marry, Hugh," he said. "I don't think it's good to shut -one's self out from the society of women; they're very unscientific, but -still---- And it makes a great difference in a house. When I was a young -fellow like you---- But, indeed, it is not necessary to go back so far. -A man has it in his power to amuse himself for a long time, but it -doesn't last for ever---- And there are always things that might have -been better otherwise----" Here Mr. Ochterlony made a long pause and -stared into the fire, and after a while resumed without any preface: -"When I'm gone, Hugh, you'll pack up all that Henri Deux ware and send -it over to--to your Aunt Agatha. I never thought she cared for china. -John will pack it for you--he is a very careful fellow for that sort of -thing. I put it all into the Louis Quinze cabinet; now mind you don't -forget." - -"Time enough for that, sir," said Hugh, cheerfully, and not without a -suppressed laugh; for the loves of Aunt Agatha and Francis Ochterlony -were slightly comical to Hugh. - -"That is all you know about it," said his uncle. "But I shall expect you -altogether to be of more use in the world than I have been, Hugh; and -you'll have more to do. Your father, you know, married when he was a -boy, and went out of my reach; but you'll have all your people to look -after. Don't play the generous prince and spoil the boys--mind you don't -take any stupid notions into your head of being a sort of Providence to -them. It's a great deal better for them to make their own way; but -you'll be always here, and you'll lend a helping hand. Stand by -them--that's the great thing; and as for your mother, I needn't -recommend her to your kindest care. She has done a great deal for you." - -"Uncle, I wish you would not talk like this," said Hugh; "there's -nothing the matter with you? What's the good of making a fellow uneasy -and sending him uncomfortable to bed? Leave those sort of things till -you're old and ill, and then I'll attend to what you say." - -Mr. Ochterlony softly shook his head. "You won't forget about the Henri -Deux," he said; and then he paused again and laughed as it were under -his breath, with a kind of laugh that was pathetic and full of quaint -tenderness. "If it had ever come to that, I don't think you would have -been any the worse," he added; "we were not the sort of people to have -heirs," and the laugh faded into a lingering, wistful smile, half sad, -half amused, with which on his face, he sat for a long time and gazed -into the fading fire. It was, perhaps, simply that the presence of such -visitors had stirred up the old recollections in his heart--perhaps that -it felt strange to him to look back on his own past life in the light -thrown upon it by the presence of his heir, and to feel that it was -ending, while yet, in one sense, it had never begun. As for Hugh, to -tell the truth, he was chiefly amused by his uncle's reflective mood. He -thought, which no doubt was to some extent true, that the old man was -thinking of an old story which had come to nothing, and of which old -Aunt Agatha was the heroine. There was something touching in it he could -not but allow, but still he gave a laugh within himself at the -superannuated romance. And all that immediately came of it, was the -injunction not to forget about the Henri Deux. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - - -Of the visit to Earlston, this was all that came immediately; but yet, -if anybody had been there with clear-sighted eyes, there might have been -other results perceptible and other symptoms of a great change at hand. -Such little shadows of an event might have been traced from day to day -if that once possible lady of the house, whose ghost Aunt Agatha had met -with in all the rooms, had been there to watch over its master. There -being nobody but Hugh, everything was supposed to go on in its usual -way. Hugh had come to be fond of his uncle, and to look up to him in -many ways; but he was young, and nothing had ever occurred to him to put -insight into his eyes. He thought Mr. Ochterlony was just as usual--and -so he was; and yet there were some things that were not as usual, and -which might have aroused an experienced observer. And in the meantime -something happened at the Cottage, where things did not happen often, -which absorbed everybody's thoughts for the moment, and threw Earlston -and Mr. Ochterlony entirely into the shade. - -It happened on the very evening after their return home. Aunt Agatha had -been troubled with a headache on the previous night--she said, from the -fatigue of the journey, though possibly the emotions excited at Earlston -had something to do with it--and had been keeping very quiet all day; -Nelly Askell had gone home, eager to get back to her little flock, and -to her mother, who was the greatest baby of all; Mary had gone out upon -some village business; and Aunt Agatha sat alone, slightly drowsy and -gently thoughtful, in the summer afternoon. She was thinking, with a -soft sigh, that perhaps everything was for the best. There are a great -many cases in which it is very difficult to say so--especially when it -seems the mistake or blindness of man, instead of the direct act of God, -that has brought the result about. Miss Seton had a meek and quiet -spirit; and yet it seemed strange to her to make out how it could be for -the best that her own life and her old lover's should thus end, as it -were, unfulfilled, and all through his foolishness. Looking at it in an -abstract point of view, she almost felt as if she could have told him of -it, had he been near enough to hear. Such a different life it might have -been to both; and now the moment for doing anything had long past, and -the two barren existences were alike coming to an end. This was what -Miss Seton could not help thinking; and feeling as she did that it was -from beginning to end a kind of flying in the face of Providence, it was -difficult to see how it could be for the best. If it had been her own -fault, no doubt she would have felt as Mr. Ochterlony did, a kind of -tender and not unpleasant remorse; but one is naturally less tolerant -and more impatient when one feels that it is not one's own, but -another's fault. The subject so occupied her mind, and her activity was -so lulled to rest by the soft fatigue and languor consequent upon the -ending of the excitement, that she did not take particular notice how -the afternoon glided away. Mary was out, and Will was out, and no -visitor came to disturb the calm. Miss Seton had cares of more immediate -force even at that moment--anxieties and apprehensions about Winnie, -which had brought of late many a sickening thrill to her heart; but -these had all died away for the time before the force of recollections -and the interest of her own personal story thus revived without any will -of her own; and the soft afternoon atmosphere, and the murmuring of the -bees, and the roses at the open windows, and the Kirtell flowing audible -but unseen, lulled Aunt Agatha, and made her forget the passage of time. -Then all at once she roused herself with a start. Perhaps--though she -did not like to entertain such an idea--she had been asleep, and heard -it in a dream; or perhaps it was Mary, whose voice had a family -resemblance. Miss Seton sat upright in her chair after that first start -and listened very intently, and said to herself that of course it must -be Mary. It was she who was a fantastical old woman to think she heard -voices which in the course of nature could not be within hearing. Then -she observed how late it was, and that the sunshine slanted in at the -west window and lay along the lawn outside almost in a level line. Mary -was late, later than usual; and Aunt Agatha blushed to confess, even to -herself, that she must have, as she expressed it, "just closed her -eyes," and had a little dream in her solitude. She got up now briskly to -throw this drowsiness off, and went out to look if Mary was coming, or -Will in sight, and to tell Peggy about the tea--for nothing so much -revives one as a cup of tea when one is drowsy in the afternoon. Miss -Seton went across the little lawn, and the sun shone so strongly in her -eyes as she reached the gate that she had to put up her hand to shade -them, and for the moment could see nothing. Was that Mary so near the -gate? The figure was dark against the sunshine, which shone right into -Aunt Agatha's eyes, and made everything black between her and the light. -It came drifting as it were between her and the sun, like the phantom -ship in the mariner's vision. She gazed and did not see, and felt as if -a kind of insanity was taking possession of her. "Is it Mary?" she said, -in a trembling voice, and at the same moment _felt_ by something in the -air that it was not Mary. And then Aunt Agatha gave such a cry as -brought Peggy, and indeed all the household, in alarm to the door. - -It was a woman who looked as old as Mary, and did not seem ever to have -been half so fair. She had a shawl drawn tightly round her shoulders, as -if she were cold, and a veil over her face. She was of a very thin -meagre form, with a kind of forlorn grace about her, as if she might -have been splendid under better conditions. Her eyes were hollow and -large, her cheek-bones prominent, her face worn out of all freshness, -and possessing only what looked like a scornful recollection of beauty. -The noble form had missed its development, the fine capabilities had -been checked or turned in a false direction. When Aunt Agatha uttered -that great cry which brought Peggy from the utmost depths of the house, -the new-comer showed no corresponding emotion. She said, "No; it is I," -with a kind of bitter rather than affectionate meaning, and stood -stock-still before the gate, and not even made a movement to lift her -veil. Miss Seton made a tremulous rush forward to her, but she did not -advance to meet it; and when Aunt Agatha faltered and was likely to -fall, it was not the stranger's arm that interposed to save her. She -stood still, neither advancing nor going back. She read the shock, the -painful recognition, the reluctant certainty in Miss Seton's eye. She -was like the returning prodigal so far, but she was not content with his -position. It was no happiness for her to go home, and yet it ought to -have been; and she could not forgive her aunt for feeling the shock of -recognition. When she roused herself, after a moment, it was not because -she was pleased to come home, but because it occurred to her that it was -absurd to stand still and be stared at, and make a scene. - -And when Peggy caught her mistress in her arms, to keep her from -falling, the stranger made a step forward and gave a hurried kiss, and -said, "It is I, Aunt Agatha. I thought you would have known me better. I -will follow you directly;" and then turned to take out her purse, and -give a shilling to the porter, who had carried her bag from the -station--which was a proceeding which they all watched in consternation, -as if it had been something remarkable. Winnie was still Winnie, though -it was difficult to realize that Mrs. Percival was she. She was coming -back wounded, resentful, remorseful to her old home; and she did not -mean to give in, nor show the feelings of a prodigal, nor gush forth -into affectionateness. To see her give the man the shilling brought Aunt -Agatha to herself. She raised her head upon Peggy's shoulder, and stood -upright, trembling, but self-restrained. "I am a silly old woman to be -so surprised," she said; "but you did not write to say what day we were -to expect you, my dear love." - -"I did not write anything about it," said Winnie, "for I did not know. -But let me go in, please; don't let us stay here." - -"Come in, my darling," said Aunt Agatha. "Oh, how glad, how thankful, -how happy I am, Winnie, my dear love, to see you again!" - -"I think you are more shocked than glad," said Winnie; and that was all -she said, until they had entered the room where Miss Seton had just left -her maiden dreams. Then the wanderer, instead of throwing herself into -Aunt Agatha's kind longing arms, looked all round her with a strange -passionate mournfulness and spitefulness. "I don't wonder you were -shocked," she said, going up to the glass, and looking at herself in it. -"You, all just the same as ever, and such a change in me!" - -"Oh, Winnie, my darling!" cried Aunt Agatha, throwing herself upon her -child with a yearning which was no longer to be restrained; "do you -think there can ever be any change in you to me? Oh, Winnie, my dear -love! come and let me look at you; let me feel I have you in my arms at -last, and that you have really come home." - -"Yes, I have come home," said Winnie, suffering herself to be kissed. "I -am sure I am very glad that you are pleased. Of course Mary is still -here, and her children? Is she going to marry again? Are her boys as -tiresome as ever? Yes, thank you, I will take my things off--and I -should like something to eat. But you must not make too much of me, Aunt -Agatha, for I have not come only for a day." - -"Winnie, dear, don't you know if it was for your good I would like to -have you for ever?" cried poor Aunt Agatha, trembling so that she could -scarcely form the words. - -And then for a moment, the strange woman, who was Winnie, looked as if -she too was moved. Something like a tear came into the corner of her -eye. Her breast heaved with one profound, unnatural, convulsive swell. -"Ah, you don't know me now," she said, with a certain sharpness of -anguish and rage in her voice. Aunt Agatha did not understand it, and -trembled all the more; but her good genius led her, instead of asking -questions as she was burning to do, to take off Winnie's bonnet and her -shawl, moving softly about her with her soft old hands, which shook yet -did their office. Aunt Agatha did not understand it, but yet it was not -so very difficult to understand. Winnie was abashed and dismayed to find -herself there among all the innocent recollections of her youth--and she -was full of rage and misery at the remembrance of all her injuries, and -to think of the explanation which she would have to give. She was even -angry with Aunt Agatha because she did not know what manner of woman her -Winnie had grown--but beneath all this impatience and irritation was -such a gulf of wretchedness and wrong that even the unreasonableness -took a kind of miserable reason. She did well to be angry with herself, -and all the world. Her friends ought to understand the difference, and -see what a changed creature she was, without exacting the humiliation of -an explanation; and yet at the same time the poor soul in her misery was -angry to perceive that Aunt Agatha did see a difference. She suffered -her bonnet and shawl to be taken off, but started when she felt Miss -Seton's soft caressing hand upon her hair. She started partly because it -was a caress she was unused to, and partly that her hair had grown thin -and even had some grey threads in it, and she did not like _that_ change -to be observed; for she had been proud of her pretty hair, and taken -pleasure in it as so many women do. She rose up as she felt that touch, -and took the shawl which had been laid upon a chair. - -"I suppose I can have my old room," she said. "Never mind coming with me -as if I was a visitor. I should like to go upstairs, and I ought to know -the way, and be at home here." - -"It is not for that, my darling," said Aunt Agatha, with hesitation; -"but you must have the best room, Winnie. Not that I mean to make a -stranger of you. But the truth is one of the boys---- and then it is too -small for what you ought to have now." - -"One of the boys--which of the boys?" said Winnie. "I thought you would -have kept my old room--I did not think you would have let your house be -overrun with boys. I don't mind where it is, but let me go and put my -things somewhere and make myself respectable. Is it Hugh that has my -room?" - -"No,--Will," said Aunt Agatha, faltering; "I could change him, if you -like, but the best room is far the best. My dear love, it is just as it -was when you went away. Will! Here is Will. This is the little one that -was the baby--I don't think that you can say he is not changed." - -"Not so much as I am," said Mrs. Percival, under her breath, as turning -round she saw the long-limbed, curious boy, with his pale face and -inquiring eyes, standing in the open window. Will was not excited, but -he was curious; and as he looked at the stranger, though he had never -seen her before, his quick mind set to work on the subject, and he put -two and two together and divined who it was. He was not like her in -external appearance--at least he had never been a handsome boy, and -Winnie had still her remains of wasted beauty--but yet perhaps they were -like each other in a more subtle, invisible way. Winnie looked at him, -and she gave her shoulders a shrug and turned impatiently away. "It must -be a dreadful nuisance to be interrupted like that, whatever you may be -talking about," she said. "It does not matter what room I am to have, -but I suppose I may go upstairs?" - -"My dear love, I am waiting for you," said poor Aunt Agatha, anxiously. -"Run, Will, and tell your mother that my dear Winnie has come home. Run -as fast as ever you can, and tell her to make haste. Winnie, my darling, -let me carry your shawl. You will feel more like yourself when you have -had a good rest; and Mary will be back directly, and I know how glad she -will be." - -"Will she?" said Winnie; and she looked at the boy and heard him receive -his instructions, and felt his quick eyes go through and through her. -"He will go and tell his mother the wreck I am," she said to herself, -with bitterness; and felt as if she hated Wilfrid. She had no children -to defend and surround her, or even to take messages. No one could say, -referring to her, "Go and tell your mother." It was Mary that was well -off, always the fortunate one, and for the moment poor Winnie felt as if -she hated the keen-eyed boy. - -Will, for his part, went off to seek his mother, leaving Aunt Agatha to -conduct her dear and welcome, but embarrassing and difficult, guest -upstairs. He did not run, nor show any symptoms of unnecessary haste, -but went along at a very steady, leisurely way. He was so far like -Winnie that he did not see any occasion for disturbing himself much on -account of other people. He went to seek Mrs. Ochterlony with his hands -in his pockets, and his mind working steadily on the new position of -affairs. Why this new-comer should have arrived so unexpectedly? why -Aunt Agatha should look so anxious, and helpless, and confused, as if, -notwithstanding her love, she did not know what to do with her visitor? -were questions which exercised all Will's faculties. He walked up to his -mother, who was coming quietly along the road from the village, and -joined her without disturbing himself. "Aunt Agatha sent me to look for -you," he said, and turned with her towards the Cottage in the calmest -way. - -"I am afraid she thought I was late," said Mary. - -"It was not that," said Will. "Mrs. Percival has just come, so far as I -could understand, and she sent me to tell you." - -"Mrs. Percival?" cried Mary, stopping short. "Whom do you mean? Not -Winnie? Not my sister? You must have made some mistake." - -"I think it was. It looked like her," said Will, in his calm way. - -Mary stood still, and her breath seemed to fail her for the moment; she -had what the French call a _serrement du coeur_. It felt as if some -invisible hand had seized upon her heart and compressed it tightly; and -her breathing failed, and a chill went through her veins. The next -moment her face flushed with shame and self-reproach. Could she be -thinking of herself and any possible consequences, and grudging her -sister the only natural refuge which remained to her? She was incapable -for the moment of asking any further questions, but went on with a -sudden hasty impulse, feeling her head swim, and her whole intelligence -confused. It seemed to Mary, for the moment, though she could not have -told how, as if there was an end of her peaceful life, of her comfort, -and all the good things that remained to her; a chill presentiment, -confounding and inexplicable, went to her heart; and at the same time -she felt utterly ashamed and horrified to be thinking of herself at all, -and not of poor Winnie, the returned wanderer. Her thoughts were so busy -and full of occupation that she had gone a long way before it occurred -to her to say anything to her boy. - -"You say it looked like her, Will," she began at last, taking up the -conversation where she had left off; "tell me, what did she look like?" - -"She looked just like other women," said Will; "I didn't remark any -difference. As tall as you, and a sort of a long nose. Why I thought it -looked like her, was because Aunt Agatha was in an awful way." - -"What sort of a way?" cried Mary. - -"Oh, well, I don't know. Like a hen, or something--walking round her, -and looking at her, and cluck-clucking; and yet all the same as if she'd -like to cry." - -"And Winnie," said Mrs. Ochterlony, "how did she look?--that is what I -want most to know." - -"Awfully bored," said Will. He was so sometimes himself, when Aunt -Agatha paid any special attentions to him, and he said it with feeling. -This was almost all the conversation that passed between them as Mrs. -Ochterlony hurried home. Poor Winnie! Mary knew better than Miss Seton -did what a dimness had fallen upon her sister's bright prospects--how -the lustre of her innocent name had been tarnished, and all the -freshness and beauty gone out of her life; and Mrs. Ochterlony's heart -smote her for the momentary reference to herself, which she had made -without meaning it, when she heard of Winnie's return. Poor Winnie! if -the home of her youth was not open to her, where could she find refuge? -if her aunt and her sister did not stand by her, who would? and yet---- -The sensation was altogether involuntary, and Mary resisted it with all -her might; but she could not help a sort of instinctive sense that her -peace was over, and that the storms and darkness of life were about to -begin again. - -When she went in hurriedly to the drawing-room, not expecting to see -anybody, she found, to her surprise, that Winnie was there, reclining in -an easy chair, with Aunt Agatha in wistful and anxious attendance upon -her. The poor old lady was hovering about her guest, full of wonder, and -pain, and anxious curiosity. Winnie as yet had given no explanation of -her sudden appearance. She had given no satisfaction to her perplexed -and fond companion. When she found that Aunt Agatha did not leave her, -she had come downstairs again, and dropped listlessly into the easy -chair. She wanted to have been left alone for a little, to have realized -all that had befallen her, and to feel that she was not dreaming, but -was actually in her own home. But Miss Seton would have thought it the -greatest unkindness, the most signal want of love and sympathy, and all -that a wounded heart required, to leave Winnie alone. And she was glad -when Mary came to help her to rejoice over, and overwhelm with kindness, -her child who had been lost and was found. - -"It is your dear sister, thank God!" she cried, with tears. "Oh, Mary! -to think we should have her again; to think she should be here after so -many changes! And our own Winnie through it all. She did not write to -tell us, for she did not quite know the day----" - -"I did not know things would go further than I could bear," said Winnie, -hurriedly. "Now Mary is here, I know you must have some explanation. I -have not come to see you; I have come to escape, and hide myself. Now, -if you have any kindness, you won't ask me any more just now. I came -off last night because he went too far. There! that is why I did not -write. I thought you would take me in, whatever my circumstances might -be." - -"Oh, Winnie, my darling! then you have not been happy?" said Aunt -Agatha, tearfully clasping Winnie's hands in her own, and gazing -wistfully into her face. - -"Happy!" she said, with something like a laugh, and then drew her hand -away. "Please, let us have tea or something, and don't question me any -more." - -It was then only that Mary interposed. Her love for her sister was not -the absorbing love of Aunt Agatha; but it was a wiser affection. And she -managed to draw the old lady away, and leave the new-comer to herself -for the moment. "I must not leave Winnie," Aunt Agatha said; "I cannot -go away from my poor child; don't you see how unhappy and suffering she -is? You can see after everything yourself, Mary, there is nothing to do; -and tell Peggy----" - -"But I have something to say to you," said Mary, drawing her reluctant -companion away, to Aunt Agatha's great impatience and distress. As for -Winnie, she was grateful for the moment's quiet, and yet she was not -grateful to her sister. She wanted to be alone and undisturbed, and yet -she rather wanted Aunt Agatha's suffering looks and tearful eyes to be -in the same room with her. She wanted to resume the sovereignty, and be -queen and potentate the moment after her return; and it did not please -her to see another authority, which prevailed over the fascination of -her presence. But yet she was glad to be alone. When they left her, she -lay back in her chair, in a settled calm of passion which was at once -twenty times more calm than their peacefulness, and twenty times more -passionate than their excitement. She knew whence she came, and why she -came, which they did not. She knew the last step which had been too far, -and was still tingling with the sense of outrage. She had in her mind -the very different scene she had left, and which stood out in flaming -outlines against the dim background of this place, which seemed to have -stopped still just where she left it, and in all these years to have -grown no older; and her head began to steady a little out of the whirl. -If he ventured to seek her here, she would turn to bay and defy him. She -was too much absorbed by active enmity, and rage, and indignation, to be -moved by the recollections of her youth, the romance that had been -enacted within these walls. On the contrary, the last exasperation which -had filled her cup to overflowing was so much more real than anything -that followed, that Aunt Agatha was but a pale ghost to Winnie, -flitting dimly across the fiery surface of her own thoughts; and this -calm scene in which she found herself, almost without knowing how, felt -somehow like a pasteboard cottage in a theatre, suddenly let down upon -her for the moment. She had come to escape and hide herself, she said, -and that was in reality what she intended to do; but at the same time -the thought of living there, and making the change real, had never -occurred to her. It was a sudden expedient, adopted in the heat of -battle; it was not a flight for her life. - -"She has come back to take refuge with us, the poor darling," said Aunt -Agatha. "Oh, Mary, my dear love, don't let us be hard upon her! She has -not been happy, you heard her say so, and she has come home; let me go -back to Winnie, my dear. She will think that we are not glad to see her, -that we don't sympathize---- And oh, Mary, her poor dear wounded heart! -when she looks upon all the things that surrounded her, when she was so -happy!----" - -And Mary could not succeed in keeping the tender old lady away, nor -stilling the thousand questions that bubbled from her kind lips. All she -could do was to provide for Winnie's comfort, and in her own person to -leave her undisturbed. And the night fell over a strangely disquieted -household. Aunt Agatha could not tell whether to cry for joy or -distress, whether to be most glad that Winnie had come home, or most -concerned and anxious how to account for her sudden arrival, and keep up -appearances, and prevent the parish from thinking that anything -unpleasant had happened. In Winnie's room there was such a silent tumult -of fury, and injury, and active conflict, as had never existed before -near Kirtell-side. Winnie was not thinking, nor caring where she was; -she was going over the last battle from which she had fled, and -anticipating the next, and instead of making herself wretched by the -contrast of her former happiness, felt herself only, as it were, in a -painted retirement, no more real than a dream. What was real was her own -feelings, and nothing else on earth. As for Mary, she too was strangely, -and she thought ridiculously affected by her sister's return. She tried -to explain to herself that except for her natural sympathy for Winnie, -it affected her in no other way, and was indignant, with herself for -dwelling upon a possible derangement of domestic peace, as if that could -not be guarded against, or even endured if it came about. But nature was -too strong for her. It was not any fear for the domestic peace that -moved her; it was an indescribable conviction that this unlooked-for -return was the onslaught signal for a something lying in wait--that it -was the touch of revolution, the opening of the flood-gates--and that -henceforward her life of tranquil confidence was over, and that some -mysterious trouble which she could not at present identify, had been let -loose upon her, let it come sooner or later, from that day. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - - -After that first bewildered night, and when the morning came, the -recollection that Winnie was in the house had a curious effect upon the -thoughts of the entire household. Even Aunt Agatha's uneasy joy was -mingled with many feelings that were not joyful. She had never had -anything to do before with wives who "were not happy." Any such cases -which might have come to her knowledge among her acquaintance she had -been in the way of avoiding and tacitly condemning. "A man may be bad," -she had been in the habit of saying, "but still if his wife had right -feelings"--and she was in the way of thinking that it was to a woman's -credit to endure all things, and to make no sign. Such had been the -pride and the principles of Aunt Agatha's generation. But now, as in so -many cases, principle and theory came right in the face of fact, and -gave way. Winnie must be right at whatever cost. Poor Winnie! to think -what she had been, to remember her as she left Kirtell splendid in her -bridal beauty, and to look at her now! Such arguments made an end of all -Aunt Agatha's old maiden sentiments about a wife's duty; but -nevertheless her heart still ached. She knew how she would herself have -looked upon a runaway wife, and she could not endure to think that other -people would so look upon Winnie; and she dried an indignant tear, and -made a vow to herself to carry matters with a high hand, and to maintain -her child's discretion, and wisdom, and perfect propriety of action, in -the face of all comers. "My dear child has come to pay me a visit, the -very first chance she has had," she said to herself, rehearsing her -part; "I have been begging and begging her to come, and at last she has -found an opportunity. And to give me a delightful surprise, she never -named the day. It was so like Winnie." This was what, omitting all -notice of the feelings which made the surprise far from delightful, Aunt -Agatha made up her mind to say. - -As for Winnie, when she woke up in the sunshine and stillness, and heard -nothing but the birds singing, and Kirtell in the distance murmuring -below her window, her heart stood still for a moment and wondered; and -then a few hot salt tears came scalding to her eyes; and then she began -over again in her own mind the recapitulation of her wrongs. She thought -very little indeed of Aunt Agatha, or of her present surroundings. What -she thought of was the late scenes of exciting strife she had gone -through, and future scenes which might still be before her, and what he -would say to her, and what she would say to him; for matters had gone so -far between them that the constantly progressing duel was as absorbing -as the first dream of love, and swallowed up every thought. It cost her -an effort to be patient with all the morning greetings, with Aunt -Agatha's anxious talk at the breakfast-table, and discussion of the old -neighbours, whom, doubtless, Winnie, she thought, would like to hear of. -Winnie did not care a great deal for the old neighbours, nor did she -take much interest in hearing of the boys. Indeed she did not know the -boys. They had been but babies when she went away, and she had no -acquaintance with the new creatures who bore their names. It gave her a -little pang when she looked at Mary and saw the results of peace and -tranquillity in her face, which seemed to have grown little older--but -that was almost the sole thing that drew Winnie from her own thoughts. -There was a subtle sort of connection between it and the wrongs which -were rankling at her heart. - -"There used to be twelve years between us," she said, abruptly. "I was -eighteen when Mary was thirty. I think anybody that saw us would ask -which was the eldest now." - -"My darling, you are thin," said poor Aunt Agatha, anxiously; "but a few -weeks of quiet and your native air will soon round out your dear -cheeks----" - -"Well," said Winnie, paying no attention, "I suppose it's because I have -been living all the time, and Mary hasn't. It is I that have the -wrinkles--but then I have not been like the Sleeping Beauty. I have been -working hard at life all this time." - -"Yes," said Mary, with a smile, "it makes a difference:--and of the two -I think I would rather live. It is harder work, but there is more -satisfaction in it." - -"Satisfaction!" Winnie said, bitterly. There had been no satisfaction in -it to her, and she felt fierce and angry at the word--and then her eye -fell upon Will, who had been listening as usual. "I wonder you keep -that great boy there," she said; "why isn't he doing something? You -ought to send him to the army, or put him to go through some -examinations. What does he want at his mother's lap? You should mind you -don't spoil them, Mary. Home is the ruin of boys. I have always heard so -wherever I have been." - -"My dear love," cried Aunt Agatha, fearful that Mary might be moved to -reply, "it is very interesting to hear you; but I want you to tell me a -little about yourself. Tell me about yourself, my darling--if you are -fixed _there_ now, you know; and all where you have been." - -"Before that boy?" said Winnie, with a kind of smile, looking Wilfrid in -the face with her great sunken eyes. - -"Now, Will, be quiet, and don't say anything impertinent," cried Aunt -Agatha. "Oh, my darling, never mind him. He is strange, but he is a good -boy at the bottom. I should like to hear about all my dearest child has -been doing. Letters never tell all. Oh, Winnie, what a pleasure it is, -my love, to see your dear face again." - -"I am glad you think so, aunt--nobody else does, that I know of; and you -are likely to have enough of it," said Winnie, with a certain look of -defiance at her sister and her sister's son. - -"Thank you, my dear love," said Aunt Agatha, trembling; for the maid was -in the room, and Miss Seton's heart quailed with fear lest the sharp -eyes of such a domestic critic should be opened to something strange in -the conversation. "I am so glad to hear you are going to pay me a long -visit; I did not like to ask you just the first morning, and I was -dreadfully frightened you might soon be going again; you owe me -something, Winnie, for staying away all these long years." - -Aunt Agatha in her fright and agitation continued this speech until she -had talked the maid safely out of the room, and then, being excited, she -fell, without knowing it, into tears. - -Winnie leant back in her chair and folded a light shawl she wore round -her, and looked at Miss Seton. In her heart she was wondering what Aunt -Agatha could possibly have to cry about; what could ever happen to -_her_, that made it worth her while to cry? But she did not put this -sentiment into words. - -"You will be tired of me before I go," she said, and that was all; not a -word, as Aunt Agatha afterwards explained to Mary, about her husband, or -about how she had been living, or anything about herself. And to take -her by the throat, as it were, and demand that she should account for -herself, was not to be thought of. The end was that they all dispersed -to their various occupations, and that the day went on almost as if -Winnie was not there. But yet the fact that Winnie was there tinged -every one's thoughts, and made a difference in every corner of the -house. They had all their occupations to betake themselves to, but she -had nothing to do, and unconsciously every individual in the place took -to observing the new-comer, with that curious kind of feminine -observation which goes so little way, and yet goes so far. She had -brought only a portmanteau with her, a gentleman's box, not a lady's, -and yet she made no move towards unpacking, but let her things remain in -it, notwithstanding that the wardrobe was empty and open, and her -dresses, if she had brought any, must have been crushed up like rags in -that tight enclosure. And she sat in the drawing-room with the open -windows, through which every one in the house now and then got a glimpse -of her, doing nothing, not even reading; she had her thin shawl round -her shoulders, though it was so warm, and she sat there with nothing to -occupy her, like a figure carved out of stone. Such an attitude, in a -woman's eyes, is the embodiment of everything that is saddest, and most -listless, and forlorn. Doing nothing, not trying to take an interest in -anything, careless about the books, indifferent to the garden, with no -curiosity about anybody or anything. The sight of her listless figure -filled Aunt Agatha with despair. - -And then, to make things worse, Sir Edward made his appearance the very -next day to inquire into it all. It was hard to make out how he knew, -but he did know, and no doubt all the parish knew, and were aware that -there was something strange about it. Sir Edward was an old man, about -eighty now, feeble but irreproachable, and lean limbs that now and then -were slightly unsteady, but a toilette which was always everything it -ought to be. He came in, cool and fresh in his summer morning dress, but -his brow was puckered with anxiety, and there was about him that -indescribable air of coming to see about it, which has so painful an -effect in general upon the nerves of the persons whose affairs are to be -put under investigation. When Sir Edward made his appearance at the open -window, Aunt Agatha instinctively rose up and put herself before Winnie, -who, however, did not show any signs of disturbance in her own person, -but only wound herself up more closely in her shawl. - -"So Winnie has come to see us at last," said Sir Edward, and he came up -to her and took both her hands, and kissed her forehead in a fatherly -way. He did so almost without looking at her, and then he gave an -unaffected start; but he had too much delicacy to utter the words that -came to his lips. He did not say how much changed she was, but he gave -Aunt Agatha a pitiful look of dismay and astonishment as he sat down, -and this Winnie did not fail to see. - -"Yes, at last," cried Aunt Agatha, eagerly. "I have begged and begged of -her to come, and was wondering what answer I should get, when she was -all the while planning me such a delightful surprise; but how did you -know?" - -"News travels fast," said Sir Edward, and then he turned to the -stranger. "You will find us much changed, Winnie. We are getting old -people now, and the boys whom you left babies--you must see a great deal -of difference." - -"Not so much difference," said Winnie, "as you see in me." - -"It was to be expected there should be a difference," said Sir Edward. -"You were but a girl when you went away. I hope you are going to make a -good long stay. You will find us just as quiet as ever, and as humdrum, -but very delighted to see you." - -To this Winnie made no reply. She neither answered his question, nor -gave any response to his expression of kindness, and the old man sat and -looked at her with a deeper wrinkle than ever across his brow. - -"She _must_ pay me a long visit," said poor Aunt Agatha, "since she has -been so long of coming. Now that I have her she shall not go away." - -"And Percival?" said Sir Edward. He had cast about in his own mind for -the best means of approaching this difficult subject, but had ended by -feeling there was nothing for it but plain speaking. And then, though -there were reports that they did not "get on," still there was nothing -as yet to justify suspicions of a final rupture. "I hope you left him -quite well; I hope we are to see him, too." - -"He was very well when I left him, thank you," said Winnie, with steady -formality; and then the conversation once more came to a dead stop. - -Sir Edward was disconcerted. He had come to examine, to reprove, and to -exhort, but he was not prepared to be met with this steady front of -unconsciousness. He thought the wanderer had most likely come home full -of complaints and outcries, and that it might be in his power to set her -right. He hemmed and cleared his throat a little, and cast about what he -should say, but he had no better inspiration than to turn to Aunt Agatha -and disturb her gentle mind with another topic, and for this moment let -the original subject rest. - -"Ah--have you heard lately from Earlston?" he said, turning to Miss -Seton. "I have just been hearing a report about Francis Ochterlony. I -hope it is not true." - -"What kind of report?" said Aunt Agatha, breathlessly. A few minutes -before she could not have believed that any consideration whatever would -have disturbed her from the one subject which was for the moment dearest -to her heart--but Sir Edward with his usual felicity had found out -another chord which vibrated almost as painfully. Her old delusion -recurred to Aunt Agatha with the swiftness of lightning. He might be -going to marry, and divert the inheritance from Hugh, and she did her -best to persuade her lips to a kind of smile. - -"They say he is ill," said Sir Edward; "but of course if _you_ have not -heard--I thought he did not look like himself when we were there. Very -poorly I heard--not anything violent you know, but a sort of breaking -up. Perhaps it is not true." - -Aunt Agatha's heart had been getting hard usage for some time back. It -had jumped to her mouth, and sunk into depths as deep as heart can sink -to, time after time in these eventful days. Now she only felt it -contract as it were, as if somebody had seized it violently, and she -gave a little cry, for it hurt her. - -"Oh, Sir Edward, it cannot be true," she said. "We had a letter from -Hugh on Monday, and he does not say a word. It cannot be true." - -"Hugh is very young," said Sir Edward, who did not like to be supposed -wrong in a point of fact. "A boy with no experience might see a man all -but dying, and as long as he did not complain would never know." - -"But he looked very well when we were there," said Aunt Agatha, -faltering. If she had been alone she would have shed silent tears, and -her thoughts would have been both sad and bitter; but this was not a -moment to think of her own feelings--nor above all to cry. - -Sir Edward shook his head. "I always mistrust those sort of looks for my -part," he said. "A big man has always an appearance of strength, and -that carries it off." - -"Is it Mr. Ochterlony?" said Winnie, interposing for the first time. -"What luck Mary has and her boys! And so Hugh will come into the -property without any waiting. It may be very sad of course, Aunt Agatha, -but it is great luck for him at his age." - -"Oh, Winnie, my dear love!" cried Aunt Agatha, feebly. It was a speech -that went to her heart, but she was dumb between the two people who did -not care for Francis Ochterlony, and could find nothing to say. - -"I hope that is not the way in which any of us look at it," said Sir -Edward with gentle severity; and then he added, "I always thought if you -had been left a little more to yourselves when we were at Earlston that -still you might have made it up." - -"Oh no, no!" said Aunt Agatha, "now that we are both old people--and he -was always far too sensible. But it was not anything of that sort. -Francis Ochterlony and I were--were always dear friends." - -"Well, you must let me know next time when Hugh writes," said Sir -Edward, "and I hope we shall have better news." When he said this he -turned again quite abruptly to Winnie, who had dropped once more into -her own thoughts, and expected no new assault. - -"Percival is coming to fetch you, I suppose?" he said. "I think I can -offer him some good shooting in a month or two. This may overcloud us -all a little if--if anything should happen to Francis Ochterlony. But -after what your Aunt Agatha says, I feel disposed to hope the best." - -"Yes, I hope so," said Winnie; which was a very unsatisfactory reply. - -"Of course you are citizens of the world, and we are very quiet people," -said Sir Edward. "I suppose promotion comes slow in these times of -peace. I should have thought he was entitled to another step by this -time; but we civilians know so little about military affairs." - -"I thought everybody knew that steps were bought," said Winnie; and once -more the conversation broke off dead. - -It was a relief to them all when Mary came into the room, and had to be -told about Mr. Ochterlony's supposed illness, and to take a reasonable -place between Aunt Agatha's panic-stricken assurance that it was not -true, and Sir Edward's calmly indifferent belief that it was. Mary for -the first time suggested that a man might be ill, and yet not at the -point of death, which was a conclusion to which the others had leapt. -And then they all made a little effort at ordinary talk. - -"You will have everybody coming to call," said Sir Edward, "now that -Winnie is known to have come home; and I daresay Percival will find -Mary's military friends a great resource when he comes. Love-making -being over, he will want some substitute----" - -"Who are Mary's military friends?" said Winnie, suddenly breaking in. - -"Only some people in our old regiment," said Mary. "It is stationed at -Carlisle, strangely enough. You know the Askells, I think, and----" - -"The Askells!" said Winnie, and her face grew dark. "Are they here, all -that wretched set of people?--Mary's friends. Ah, I might have -known----" - -"My dear love, she is a very silly little woman; but Nelly is -delightful, and he is very nice, poor man," cried Aunt Agatha, eager to -interfere. - -"Yes, poor man, he is very nice," said Winnie, with contempt; "his wife -is an idiot, and he doesn't beat her; I am sure I should, if I were he. -Who's Nelly? and that horrid Methodist of a woman, and the old maid that -reads novels? Why didn't you tell me of them? If I had known, I should -never have come here." - -"Oh, Winnie, my darling!" cried Aunt Agatha; "but I did mention them; -and so did Mary, I feel sure." - -"They are Mary's friends," said Winnie, with bitterness, and then she -stopped herself abruptly. The others were like an army of observation -round a beleaguered city, which was not guided by the most perfect -wisdom, but lost its temper now and then, and made injudicious sallies. -Now Winnie shut up her gates, and drew in her garrison once more; and -her companions looked at each other doubtfully, seeing a world of sore -and wounded feeling, distrust, and resistance, and mystery to which they -had no clue. She had gone away a girl, full of youthful bravado, and -fearing nothing. She had come back a stranger, with a long history -unknown to them, and with no inclination to make it clear. Her aunt and -sister were anxious and uneasy, and did not venture on direct assault; -but Sir Edward, who was a man of resolution, sat down before the -fortress, and was determined to fight it out. - -"You should have sent us word you were coming," he said; "and your -husband should have been with you, Winnie. It was he who took you away, -and he ought to have come back to give an account of his stewardship. I -shall tell him so when he comes." - -Again Winnie made no answer; her face contracted slightly; but soon -settled back again into its blank look of self-concentration, and no -response came. - -"He has no appointment, I suppose; no adjutantship, or anything to keep -him from getting away?" - -"No," said Winnie. - -"Perhaps he has gone to see his mother?" said Sir Edward, brightening -up. "She is getting quite an old woman, and longs to see him; and you, -my pretty Winnie, too. I suppose you will pay her your long-deferred -visit, now you have returned to this country? Percival is there?" - -"No--I think not," said Winnie, winding herself up in her shawl, as she -had done before. - -"Then you have left him at----, where he is stationed now," said Sir -Edward, becoming more and more point-blank in his attack. - -"Look here, Sir Edward," said Winnie; "we are citizens of the world, as -you say, and we have not lived such a tranquil life as you have. I did -not come here to give an account of my husband; he can take care of -himself. I came to have a little quiet and rest, and not to be asked -questions. If one could be let alone anywhere, it surely should be in -one's own home." - -"No, indeed," said Sir Edward, who was embarrassed, and yet more -arbitrary than ever; "for in your own home people have a right to know -all about you. Though I am not exactly a relative, I have known you all -your life; I may say I brought you up, like a child of my own; and to -see you come home like this, all alone, without baggage or attendant, as -if you had dropped from the skies, and nobody knowing where you come -from, or anything about it,--I think, Winnie, my dear, when you consider -of it, you will see it is precisely your own friends who ought to know." - -Then Aunt Agatha rushed into the _mêlée_, feeling in her own person a -little irritated by her old friend's lecture and inquisition. - -"Sir Edward is making a mistake, my dear love," she said; "he does not -know. Dear Winnie has been telling me everything. It is so nice to know -all about her. Those little details that can never go into letters; and -when--when Major Percival comes----" - -"It is very good of you, Aunt Agatha," said Winnie, with a certain quiet -disdain; "but I did not mean to deceive anybody--Major Percival is not -coming that I know of. I am old enough to manage for myself: Mary came -home from India when she was not quite my age." - -"Oh, my dear love, poor Mary was a widow," cried Aunt Agatha; "you must -not speak of that." - -"Yes, I know Mary has always had the best of it," said Winnie, under her -breath; "you never made a set against her as you do against me. If there -is an inquisition at Kirtell, I will go somewhere else. I came to have -a little quiet; that is all I want in this world." - -It was well for Winnie that she turned away abruptly at that moment, and -did not see Sir Edward's look, which he turned first upon Mary and then -on Aunt Agatha. She did not see it, and it was well for her. When he -went away soon after, Miss Seton went out into the garden with him, in -obedience to his signals, and then he unburdened his mind. - -"It seems to me that she must have run away from him," said Sir Edward. -"It is very well she has come here; but still it is unpleasant, to make -the best of it. I am sure he has behaved very badly; but I must say I am -a little disappointed in Winnie. I was, as you may remember, at the very -first when she made up her mind so soon." - -"There is no reason for thinking she has run away," said Aunt Agatha. -"Why should she have run away? I hope a lady may come to her aunt and -her sister without compromising herself in any way." - -Sir Edward shook his head. "A married woman's place is with her -husband," he said, sententiously. He was old, and he was more moral, and -perhaps less sentimental, in his remarks than formerly. "And how she is -changed! There must have been a great deal of excitement and late hours, -and bills and all that sort of thing, before she came to look like -that." - -"You are very hard upon my poor Winnie," said Aunt Agatha, with a -long-restrained sob. - -"I am not hard upon her. On the contrary, I would save her if I could," -said Sir Edward, solemnly. "My dear Agatha, I am sorry for you. What -with poor Francis Ochterlony's illness, and this heavy burden----" - -Miss Seton was seized with one of those passions of impatience and -indignation to which a man's heavy way of blundering over sore subjects -sometimes moves a woman. "It was all Francis Ochterlony's fault," she -said, lifting her little tremulous white hands. "It was his fault, and -not mine. He might have had some one that could have taken care of him -all these years, and he chose his marble images instead--and I will not -take the blame; it was no fault of mine. And then my poor darling -child----" - -But here Miss Seton's strength, being the strength of excitement solely, -gave way, and her voice broke, and she had to take both her hands to dry -her fast-coming tears. - -"Well, well, well!" said Sir Edward. "Dear me, I never meant to excite -you so. What I was saying was with the kindest intention. Let us hope -Ochterlony is better, and that all will turn out pleasantly for Winnie. -If you find yourself unequal to the emergency, you know--and want a -man's assistance----" - -"Thank you," said Aunt Agatha, with dignity; "but I do not think so much -of a man's assistance as I used to do. Mary is so very sensible, and if -one does the very best one can----" - -"Oh, of course I am not a person to interfere," said Sir Edward; and he -walked away with an air still more dignified than that which Aunt Agatha -had put on, but very shaky, poor old gentleman, about his knees, which -slightly diminished the effect. As for Aunt Agatha, she turned her back -upon him steadily, and walked back to the Cottage with all the -stateliness of a woman aggrieved. But nevertheless the pins and needles -were in her heart, and her mind was full of anxiety and distress. She -had felt very strongly the great mistake made by Francis Ochterlony, and -how he had spoiled both their lives--but that was not to say that she -could hear of his illness with philosophy. And then Winnie, who was not -ill, but whose reputation and position might be in deadly danger for -anything Miss Seton knew. Aunt Agatha knew nothing better to do than to -call Mary privately out of the room and pour forth her troubles. It did -no good, but it relieved her mind. Why was Sir Edward so suspicious and -disagreeable--why had he ceased "to understand people;"--and why was -Hugh so young and inexperienced, and incapable of judging whether his -uncle was or was not seriously ill;--and why did not "they" write? Aunt -Agatha did not know whom she meant by "they," nor why she blamed poor -Hugh. But it relieved her mind. And when she had pushed her burden off -on to Mary's shoulders, the weight was naturally much lightened on her -own. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - - -Hugh, however, it is quite true, was very inexperienced. He did not even -notice that his uncle was very ill. He sat with him at dinner and saw -that he did not eat anything, and yet never saw it; and he went with him -sometimes when he tottered about the garden in the morning, and never -found out that he tottered; and sat with him at night, and was very kind -and attentive, and was very fond of his uncle, and never remarked -anything the matter with his breathing. He was very young, and he knew -no better, and it never seemed to him that short breathing and unequal -steps and a small appetite were anything remarkable at Mr. Ochterlony's -age. If there had been a lady in the house it might have made a -wonderful difference; but to be sure it was Francis Ochterlony's own -doing that there was not a lady in the house. And he was not himself so -shortsighted as Hugh. His own growing weakness was something of which he -was perfectly well aware, and he knew, too, how his breath caught of -nights, and looking forward into the future saw the shadow drawing -nearer to his door, and was not afraid of it. Probably the first thought -went chill to his heart, the thought that he was mortal like other -people, and might have to die. But his life had been such a life as to -make him very much composed about it, and not disinclined to think that -a change might be for the better. He was not very clear about the unseen -world--for one thing, he had nobody there in particular belonging to him -except the father and mother who were gone ages ago; and it did not seem -very important to himself personally whether he was going to a long -sleep, or going to another probation, or into pure blessedness, which of -all the three was, possibly, the hypothesis which he understood least. -Perhaps, on the whole, if he had been to come to an end altogether he -would not have much minded; but his state of feeling was, that God -certainly knew all about it, and that He would arrange it all right. It -was a kind of pagan state of mind; and yet there was in it something of -the faith of the little child which was once set up as the highest model -of faith by the highest authority. No doubt Mr. Ochterlony had a great -many thoughts on the subject, as he sat buried in the deep chair in his -study, and gazed into the little red spark of fire which was lighted for -him all that summer through, though the weather was so genial. His were -not bright thoughts, but very calm ones; and perhaps his perfect -composure about it all was one reason why Hugh took it as a matter of -course, and went on quite cheerily and lightly, and never found out -there was anything the matter with him until the very last. - -It was one morning when Mr. Ochterlony had been later than usual of -coming downstairs. When he did make his appearance it was nearly noon, -and he was in his dressing-gown, which was an unheard-of thing for him. -Instead of going out to the garden, he called Hugh, and asked him to -give him his arm while he made a little _tour_ of the house. They went -from the library to the dining-room, and then upstairs to the great -drawing-room where the Venus and the Psyche were. When they had got that -length Mr. Ochterlony dropped into a chair, and gasped for breath, and -looked round upon his treasures. And then Hugh, who was looking on, -began to feel very uneasy and anxious for the first time. - -"One can't take them with one," said Mr. Ochterlony, with a sigh and a -smile; "and you will not care for them much, Hugh. I don't mean to put -any burden upon you: they are worth a good deal of money; but I'd rather -you did not sell them, if you could make up your mind to the sacrifice." - -"If they were mine I certainly should not sell them," said Hugh; "but as -they are yours, uncle, I don't see that it matters what I would do." - -Mr. Ochterlony smiled, and looked kindly at him, but he did not give him -any direct answer. "If they were yours," he said--"suppose the -case--then what would you do with them?" - -"I would collect them in a museum somewhere, and call them by your -name," said Hugh, on the spur of the moment. "You almost ought to do -that yourself, uncle, there are so few people to see them here." - -Mr. Ochterlony's languid eyes brightened a little. "They are worth a -good deal of money," he said. - -"If they were worth a mint of money, I don't see what that matters," -said Hugh, with youthful extravagance. - -His uncle looked at him again, and once more the languid eye lighted up, -and a tinge of colour came to the grey cheek. - -"I think you mean it, Hugh," he said, "and it is pleasant to think you -do mean it now, even if---- I have been an economical man, in every way -but this, and I think you would not miss it. But I won't put any bondage -upon you. By the way, they would belong to the personalty. Perhaps -there's a will wanted for that. It was stupid of me not to think of it -before. I ought to see about it this very day." - -"Uncle," said Hugh, who had been sitting on the arm of a chair looking -at him, and seeing, as by a sudden revelation, all the gradual changes -which he had not noticed when they began: the shortened breath, the -emaciated form, and the deep large circle round the eyes,--"Uncle, will -you tell me seriously what you mean when you speak to me like this?" - -"On second thoughts, it will be best to do it at once," said Mr. -Ochterlony. "Hugh, ring the bell---- What do I speak like this, for, my -boy? For a very plain reason; because my course is going to end, and -yours is only going to begin." - -"But, uncle!" cried Hugh. - -"Hush--the one ought to be a kind of continuation of the other," said -Mr. Ochterlony, "since you will take up where I leave off; but I hope -you will do better than that. If you should feel yourself justified in -thinking of the museum afterward---- But I would not like to leave any -burden upon you. John, let some one ride into Dalken directly, and ask -Mr. Preston, the attorney, to come to me--or his son will do. I should -like to see him to-day---- And stop," said Mr. Ochterlony, reluctantly, -"he may fetch the doctor, too." - -"Uncle, do you feel ill?" said Hugh. He had come up to his uncle's side, -and he had taken fright, and was looking at him wistfully as a woman -might have done--for his very inexperience which had prevented him from -observing gave him a tender anguish now, and filled him full of awe and -compunction, and made him in his wistfulness almost like a woman. - -"No," said Mr. Ochterlony, holding out his hand. "Not ill, my boy, only -dying--that's all. Nothing to make a fuss about--but sit down and -compose yourself, for I have a good deal to say." - -"Do you mean it, uncle?" asked Hugh, searching into the grey countenance -before him with his suddenly awakened eyes. - -Mr. Ochterlony gave a warm grasp to the young hand which held his -closely yet trembling. "Sit down," he said. "I'm glad you are sorry. A -few years ago there would have been nobody to mind--except the servants, -perhaps. I never took the steps I might have done, you know," he added, -with a certain sadness, and yet a sense of humour which was curious to -see, "to have an heir of my own---- And speaking of that, you will be -sure to remember what I said to you about the Henri Deux. I put it away -in the cabinet yonder, the very last day they were here." - -Then Mr. Ochterlony talked a great deal, and about many things. About -there being no particular occasion for making a will--since Earlston was -settled by his father's will upon his own heirs male, or those of his -brother--how he had bethought himself all at once, though he did not -know exactly how the law stood, that there was some difference between -real and personal property, and how, on the whole, perhaps, it was -better to send for Preston. "As for the doctor, I daren't take it upon -me to die without him, I suppose," Mr. Ochterlony said. He had never -been so playful before, as long as Hugh had known him. He had been -reserved--a little shy, even with his nephew. Now his own sense of -failure seemed to have disappeared. He was going to make a change, to -get rid of all his old disabilities, and incumbrances, and antecedents, -and no doubt it would be a change for the better. This was about the -substance of Mr. Ochterlony's thoughts. - -"But one can't take Psyche, you know," he said. "One must go alone to -look into the face of the Immortals. And I don't think your mother, -perhaps, would care to have her here--so if you should feel yourself -justified in thinking of the museum---- But you will have a great deal -to do. In the first place your mother--I doubt if she'll be so happy at -the Cottage, now Mrs. Percival has come back. I think you ought to ask -her to come here. And I shouldn't wonder if Will gave you some trouble. -He's an odd boy. I would not say he had not a sense of honour, but---- -And he has a jealous, dissatisfied temper. As for Islay, he's all safe, -I suppose. Always be kind to them, Hugh, and give Will his education. I -think he has abilities; but don't be too liberal. Don't take them upon -your shoulders. You have your own life to think of first of all." - -All this Mr. Ochterlony uttered, with many little breaks and pauses, but -with very little aid from his companion, who was too much moved to do -more than listen. He was not suffering in any acute way, and yet, -somehow, the sense of his approaching end seemed to have loosened his -tongue, which had been to some extent bound all his life. - -"For you must marry, you know," he said. "I consider _that_ a bargain -between us. Don't trust to your younger brother, as I did--not but what -it was the best thing for you. Some little bright thing like -_that_--that was with your mother. You may laugh, but I can remember -when Agatha Seton was as pretty a creature----" - -"I think she is pretty now," said Hugh, half because he did think so, -and half because he was anxious to find something he could say. - -Then Mr. Ochterlony brightened up in the strangest pathetic way, -laughing a little, with a kind of tender consciousness that he was -laughing at himself. He was so nearly separated from himself now that he -was tender as if it was the weakness of a dear old familiar friend at -which he was laughing. "She _is_ very pretty," he said. "I am glad you -have the sense to see it,--and good; and she'll go now and make a slave -of herself to that girl. I suppose that is my fault, too. But be sure -you don't forget about the Henri Deux." - -And then all of a sudden, while his nephew was sitting watching him, Mr. -Ochterlony fell asleep. When he was sleeping he looked so grey, and -worn, and emaciated, that Hugh's heart smote him. He could not explain -to himself why it was that he had never noticed it before; and he was -very doubtful and uncertain what he ought to do. If he sent for his -mother, which seemed the most natural idea, Mr. Ochterlony might not -like it, and he had himself already sent for the doctor. Hugh had the -good sense finally to conclude upon doing the one thing that was most -difficult--to do nothing. But it was not an enlivening occupation. He -went off and got some wraps and cushions, and propped his uncle up in -the deep chair he was reclining in, and then he sat down and watched -him, feeling a thrill run through him every time there was a little drag -in the breathing or change in his patient's face. He might die like -that, with the Psyche and the Venus gleaming whitely over him, and -nobody by who understood what to do. It was the most serious moment that -had ever occurred in Hugh's life; and it seemed to him that days, and -not minutes, were passing. When the doctor arrived, it was a very great -relief. And then Mr. Ochterlony was taken to bed and made comfortable, -as they said; and a consciousness crept through the house, no one could -tell how, that the old life and the old times were coming to a -conclusion--that sad change and revolution hung over the house, and that -Earlston would soon be no more as it had been. - -On the second day Hugh wrote to his mother, but that letter had not been -received at the time of Sir Edward's visit. And he made a very faithful -devoted nurse, and tended his uncle like a son. Mr. Ochterlony did not -die all at once, as probably he had himself expected and intended--he -had his spell of illness to go through like other people, and he bore it -very cheerfully, as he was not suffering much. He was indeed a great -deal more playful and at his ease than either the doctor or the -attorney, or Mrs. Gilsland, the housekeeper, thought quite right. - -The lawyer did not come until the following day; and then it was young -Mr. Preston who came, his father being occupied, and Mr. Ochterlony had -a distaste somehow to young Mr. Preston. He was weak, too, and not able -to go into details. All that he would say was, that Islay and Wilfrid -were to have the same younger brother's portion as their father had, and -that everything else was to go to Hugh. He would not suffer himself to -be tempted to say anything about the museum, though the suggestion had -gone to his heart--and to make a will with so little in it struck the -lawyer almost as an injury to himself. - -"No legacies?" he said--"excuse me, Mr. Ochterlony--nothing about your -beautiful collection? There ought to be some stipulation about that." - -"My nephew knows all my wishes," Mr. Ochterlony said, briefly, "and I -have no time now for details. Is it ready to be signed? Everything else -of which I die possessed to my brother, Hugh Ochterlony's eldest son. -That is what I want. The property is his already, by his grandfather's -will. Everything of which I die possessed, to dispose of according as -his direction and circumstances may permit." - -"But there are other friends--and servants," pleaded Mr. Preston; "and -then your wonderful collection----" - -"My nephew knows all my wishes," said Mr. Ochterlony; and his weakness -was so great that he sank back on his pillows. He took his own way in -this, while poor Hugh hung about the room wistfully looking on. It was -to Hugh's great advantage, but he was not thinking of that. He was -asking himself could he have done anything to stop the malady if he had -noticed it in time? And he was thinking how to arrange the Ochterlony -Museum. If it could only have been done in his lifetime, so that its -founder could see. When the doctor and the attorney were both gone, Hugh -sat down by his uncle's bedside, and, half afraid whether he was doing -right, began to talk of it. He was too young and too honest to pretend -to disbelieve what Mr. Ochterlony himself and the doctor had assured him -of. The room was dimly lighted, the lamp put away on a table in a corner -with a shade over it, and the sick room "made comfortable," and -everything arranged for the night. And then the two had an hour of very -affectionate, confidential, almost tender talk. Mr. Ochterlony was -almost excited about the museum. It was not to be bestowed on his -college, as Hugh at first thought, but to be established at Dalken, the -pretty town of which everybody in the Fells was proud. And then the -conversation glided off to more familiar subjects, and the old man who -was dying gave a great deal of very sound advice to the young man who -was about to begin to live. - -"Islay will be all right," said Mr. Ochterlony; "he will have what your -father had, and you will always make him at home in Earlston. It is Will -I am thinking about. I am not fond of Will. Don't be too generous to -him, or he will think it is his right. I know no harm of the boy, but I -would not put all my affairs into his hands as I put them into yours." - -"It will not be my fault if I don't justify your confidence, uncle," -said Hugh, with something swelling in his throat. - -"If I had not known that, I would not have trusted you, Hugh," said Mr. -Ochterlony. "Take your mother's advice--always be sure to take your -mother's advice. There are some of us that never understand women; but -after all it stands to reason that the one-half of mankind should not -separate itself from the other. We think we are the wisest; but I am not -so sure----" - -Mr. Ochterlony stopped short and turned his eyes, which were rather -languid, to the distant lamp, the one centre of light in the room. He -looked at it for a long time in a dreamy way. "I might have had a woman -taking care of me like the rest," he said. "I might have had the feeling -that there was somebody in the house; but you see I did not give my mind -to it, Hugh. Your father left a widow, and that's natural--I am leaving -only a collection. But it's better for you, my boy. If you should ever -speak to Agatha Seton about it, you can tell her _that_----" - -Then there was a pause, which poor young Hugh, nervous, and excited, and -inexperienced, did not know how to break, and Mr. Ochterlony continued -to look at the lamp. It was very dim and shaded, but still a pale ray -shone sideways between the curtains upon the old man who lay a-dying, -and cast an enlarged shadow of Hugh's head upon the wall. When Mr. -Ochterlony turned round a little, his eye caught that, and a tender -smile came over his face. - -"It looks like your father," he said to Hugh, who was startled, and did -not know what he meant. "It is more like him than you are. He was a good -fellow at the bottom--fidgety, but a very good fellow--as your mother -will tell you. I am glad it is you who are the eldest, and not one of -the others. They are fine boys, but I am glad it is you." - -"Oh, uncle," said Hugh, with tears in his eyes, "you are awfully good to -me. I don't deserve it. Islay is a far better fellow than I am. If you -would but get well again, and never mind who was the eldest----" - -Mr. Ochterlony smiled and shook his head. "I have lived my day," he -said, "and now it is your turn; and I hope you'll make Earlston better -than ever it was. Now go to bed, my boy; we've talked long enough. I -think if I were quiet I could sleep." - -"And you'll call me, uncle, if you want me? I shall be in the -dressing-room," said Hugh, whose heart was very full. - -"There is no need," said Mr. Ochterlony, smiling again. "But I suppose -it pleases you. You'll sleep as sound as a top wherever you are--that's -the privilege of your age; but John will be somewhere about, and nothing -is going to happen before morning. Good night." - -But he called Hugh back before he reached the door. "You'll be sure to -remember about the Henri Deux?" he said, softly. That was all. And the -young man went to the dressing-room, and John, who had just stolen in, -lay down on a sofa in the shadow, and sleep and quiet took possession of -the room. If Mr. Ochterlony slept, or if he still lay looking at the -lamp, seeing his life flit past him like a shadow, giving a sigh to what -might have been, and thinking with perhaps a little awakening thrill of -expectation of what was so soon to be, nobody could tell. He was as -silent as if he slept--almost as silent as if he had been dead. - -But Aunt Agatha was not asleep. She was in her room all alone, praying -for him, stopping by times to think how different it might have been. -She might have been with him then, taking care of him, instead of being -so far away; and when she thought of that, the tears stood in her eyes. -But it was not her fault. She had nothing to upbraid herself with. She -was well aware whose doing it was--poor man, and it was he who was the -sufferer now; but she said her prayers for him all the same. - -When a few days had passed, the event occurred of which there had never -been any doubt. Francis Ochterlony died very peaceably and quietly, -leaving not only all of which he died possessed, but his blessing and -thanks to the boy who had stood in the place of a son to him. He took no -unnecessary time about his dying, and yet he did not do anything hastily -to shock people. It was known he was ill, and everybody had the -satisfaction of sending to inquire for him, and testifying their respect -before he died. Such a thing was indeed seen on one day as seven -servants, all men on horseback, sent with messages of inquiry, which was -a great gratification to Mrs. Gilsland, and the rest of the servants. -"He went off like a lamb at the last," they all said; and though he was -not much like a lamb, there might have been employed a less appropriate -image. He made a little sketch with his own hands as to how the Museum -was to be arranged, and told Hugh what provision to make for the old -servants; and gave him a great many advices, such as he never had taken -himself; and was so pleasant and cheery about it, that they scarcely -knew the moment when the soft twilight sank into absolute night. He died -an old man, full of many an unexpressed philosophy, and yet, somehow, -with the sentiment of a young one: like a tree ripe and full of fruit, -yet with blossoms still lingering on the topmost branches, as you see on -orange-trees--sage and experienced, and yet with something of the -virginal and primal state. Perhaps it was not a light price to give for -this crowning touch of delicacy and purity--the happiness (so to speak) -of his own life and of Aunt Agatha's. And yet the link between the old -lovers, thus fancifully revived, was very sweet and real. And they had -not been at all unhappy apart, on the whole, either of them. And it is -something to preserve this quintessence of maidenhood and primal -freshness to the end of a long life, and leave the visionary perfume of -it among a community much given to marrying and giving in marriage. It -was thus that Francis Ochterlony died. - -Earlston, of course, was all shut up immediately, blinds drawn and -shutters closed, and what was more unusual, true tears shed, and a true -weight, so long as it lasted, upon the hearts of all the people about. -The servants, perhaps, were not quite uninfluenced by the thought that -all their legacies, &c., were left in the hands of their new master, who -was little more than a boy. And the Cottage, too, was closed, and the -inmates went about in a shadowed atmosphere, and were very sorry, and -thought a little of Mr. Ochterlony--not all as Aunt Agatha did, who kept -her room, and shed many tears; but still he was thought of in the house. -It is true that Mary could not help remembering that now her Hugh was no -longer a boy, dependent upon anybody's pleasure, but the master of the -house of his fathers--the house his own father was born in; and an -important personage. She could not help thinking of this, nor, in spite -of herself, feeling her heart swell, and asking herself if it was indeed -her Hugh who had come to this promotion. And yet she was very sorry for -Mr. Ochterlony's death. He had been good to her children, always -courteous and deferential to herself; and she was sorry for him as a -woman is sorry for a man _who has nobody belonging to him_--sorrier far, -in most cases, than the man is for himself. He was dead in his -loneliness, and the thought of it brought a quiet moisture to Mary's -eyes; but Hugh was living, and it was he who was the master of all; and -it was not in human nature that his mother's grief should be bitter or -profound. - -"Hugh is a lucky boy," said Mrs. Percival; "I think you are all lucky, -Mary, you and your children. To come into Earlston with so little -waiting, and have everything left in his own hands." - -"I don't think he will be thinking of that," said Mary. "He was fond of -his uncle; I am sure he will feel his loss." - -"Oh, yes, no doubt; I ought not to have said anything so improper," said -Winnie, with that restrained smile and uncomfortable inference which -comes so naturally to some people. She knew nothing and cared nothing -about Francis Ochterlony; and she was impatient of what she called Aunt -Agatha's nonsense; and she could not but feel it at once unreasonable -and monstrous that anything but the painful state of her own affairs -should occupy people in the house she was living in. Yet the fact was -that this event had to a certain extent eclipsed Winnie. The anxiety -with which everybody looked for a message or letter about Mr. -Ochterlony's state blinded them a little to her worn looks and listless -wretchedness. They did not neglect her, nor were they indifferent to -her; for, indeed, it would be difficult to be indifferent to a figure -which held so prominent a place in the foreground of everything; but -still when they were in such a state of suspense about what was -happening at Earlston, no doubt Winnie's affairs were to a certain -extent overlooked. It is natural for an old man to die: but it is not -natural for a young woman--a woman in the bloom and fulness of life--one -who has been, and ought still to be, a great beauty--to be driven by her -wrongs out of all that makes life endurable. This was how Winnie -reasoned; and she was jealous of the attention given to Mr. Ochterlony -as he accomplished the natural act of dying. What was that in comparison -with the terrible struggles of life? - -But naturally it made a great difference when it was all over, and when -Hugh, subdued and very serious, but still another man from the Hugh who -the other day was but a boy, came to the Cottage "for a little change," -and to give his mother all the particulars. He came all tender in his -natural grief, with eyes ready to glisten, and a voice that sometimes -faltered; but, nevertheless, there was something about him which showed -that it was he who was Mr. Ochterlony of Earlston now. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - - -This was the kind of crisis in the family history at which Uncle Penrose -was sure to make his appearance. He was the only man among them, he -sometimes said--or, at least, the only man who knew anything about -money; and he came into the midst of the Ochterlonys in their mourning, -as large and important as he had been when Winnie was married, looking -as if he had never taken his left hand out of his pocket all the time. -He had not been asked to the funeral, and he marked his consciousness of -that fact by making his appearance in buff waistcoats and apparel which -altogether displayed light-heartedness if not levity--and which was very -wounding to Aunt Agatha's feelings. Time, somehow, did not seem to have -touched him. If he was not so offensively and demonstratively a Man, in -the sweet-scented feminine house, as he used to be, it was no reticence -of his, but because the boys were men, or nearly so, and the character -of the household changed. And Hugh was Mr. Ochterlony of Earlston; -which, perhaps, was the fact that made the greatest difference of all. - -He came the day after Hugh's return, and in the evening there had been a -very affecting scene in the Cottage. In faithful discharge of his -promise, Hugh had carried the Henri Deux, carefully packed, as became -its value and fragile character, to Aunt Agatha; and she had received it -from him with a throbbing heart and many tears. "It was almost the last -thing he said to me," Hugh had said. "He put it all aside with his own -hand, the day you admired it so much; and he told me over and over -again, to be sure not to forget." Aunt Agatha had been sitting with her -hands clasped upon the arm of his chair, and her eyes fixed upon him, -not to lose a word; but when he said this, she covered her face with -those soft old hands, and was silent and did not even weep. It was the -truest grief that was in her heart, and yet with that, there was an -exquisite pang of delight, such as goes through and through a girl when -first she perceives that she is loved, and sees her power! She was as a -widow, and yet she was an innocent maiden, full of experience and -inexperience, feeling the heaviness of the evening shadows, and yet -still in the age of splendour in the grass and glory in the flower. The -sense of that last tenderness went through her with a thrill of joy and -grief beyond description. It gave him back to her for ever and ever, but -not with that sober appropriation which might have seemed natural to her -age. She could no more look them in the face while it was being told, -than had he been a living lover and she a girl. It was a supreme -conjunction and blending of the two extremes of life, a fusion of youth -and of age. - -"I never thought he noticed what I said," she answered at last with a -soft sob--and uncovered the eyes that were full of tears, and yet -dazzled as with a sudden light; and she would let no one touch the -precious legacy, but unpacked it herself, shedding tears that were -bitter and yet sweet, over its many wrappings. Though he was a man, and -vaguely buoyed up, without knowing it, by the strange new sense of his -own importance, Hugh could have found it in his heart to shed tears, -too, over the precious bits of porcelain, that had now acquired an -interest so much more near and touching than anything connected with -Henri Deux; and so could his mother. But there were two who looked on -with dry eyes: the one was Winnie, who would have liked to break it all -into bits, as she swept past it with her long dress, and could not put -up with Aunt Agatha's nonsense; the other was Will, who watched the -exhibition curiously with close observation, wondering how it was that -people were such fools, and feeling the shadow of his brother weigh upon -him with a crushing weight. But these two malcontents were not in -sympathy with each other, and never dreamt of making common cause. - -And it was when the house was in this condition, that Uncle Penrose -arrived. He arrived, as usual, just in time to make a fuss necessary -about a late dinner, and to put Peggy out of temper, which was a fact -that soon made itself felt through the house; and he began immediately -to speak to Hugh about Earlston, and about "your late uncle," without -the smallest regard for Aunt Agatha's feelings. "I know there was -something between him and Miss Agatha once," he said, with a kind of -smile at her, "but of course that was all over long ago." And this was -said when poor Miss Seton, who felt that the bond had never before been -so sweet and so close, was seated at the head of her own table, and had -to bear it and make no sign. - -"Probably there will be a great deal to be done on the estate," Mr. -Penrose said; "these studious men always let things go to ruin out of -doors; but there's a collection of curiosities or antiquities, or -something. If that's good, it will bring in money. When a man is known, -such things sell." - -"But it is not to be sold," said Hugh quickly. "I have settled all about -that." - -"Not to be sold?--nonsense!" said Mr. Penrose; "you don't mean to say -you are a collector--at your age? No, no, my boy; they're no good to him -where he is now; he could not take them into his vault with him. -Feelings are all very well, but you can't be allowed to lose a lot of -money for a prejudice. What kind of things are they--pictures and that -sort? or----" - -"I have made all the necessary arrangements," said Hugh with youthful -dignity. "I want you to go with me to Dalken, mother, to see some rooms -the mayor has offered for them--nice rooms belonging to the Town Hall. -They could have 'Ochterlony Museum' put up over the doors, and do better -than a separate building, besides saving the expense." - -Mr. Penrose gave a long whistle, which under any circumstances would -have been very indecorous at a lady's table. "So that is how it's to -be!" he said; "but we'll talk that over first, with your permission, Mr. -Ochterlony of Earlston. You are too young to know what you're doing. I -suppose the ladies are at the bottom of it; they never know the value of -money. And yet we know what it costs to get it when it is wanted, Miss -Agatha," said the insolent man of money, who never would forget that -Miss Seton herself had once been in difficulties. She looked at him with -a kind of smile, as politeness ordained, but tears of pain stood in Aunt -Agatha's eyes. If ever she hated anybody in her gentle life, it was Mr. -Penrose; and somehow he made himself hateful in her presence to -everybody concerned. - -"It costs more to get it than it is ever worth," said Winnie, indignant, -and moved for the first time, to make a diversion, and come to Aunt -Agatha's aid. - -"Ah, I have no doubt you know all about it," said Mr. Penrose, turning -his arms upon her. "You should have taken my advice. If you had come to -Liverpool, as I wanted you, and married some steady-going fellow with -plenty of money, and gone at a more reasonable pace, you would not have -changed so much at your age. Look at Mary, how well preserved she is: I -don't know what you can have been doing with yourself to look so -changed." - -"I am sorry you think me a fright," said Winnie, with an angry sparkle -in her eye. - -"You are not a fright," said Uncle Penrose; "one can see that you've -been a very handsome woman, but you are not what you were when I saw you -last, Winnie. The fault of your family is that you are extravagant,--I -am sure you did not get it from your mother's side;--extravagant of your -money and your hospitality, and your looks and everything. I am sure -Mary has nothing to spare, and yet I've found people living here for -weeks together. _I_ can't afford visitors like that--I have my family to -consider, and people that have real claims upon me--no more than I could -afford to set up a museum. If I had a lot of curiosities thrown on my -hands, I should make them into money. It is not everybody that can -appreciate pictures, but everybody understands five per cent. And then -he might have done something worth while for his brothers: not that I -approve of a man impoverishing himself for the sake of his friends, but -still two thousand pounds isn't much. And he might have done something -for his mother, or looked after Will's education. It's family pride, I -suppose; but I'd rather give my mother a house of her own than set up an -Ochterlony Museum. Tastes differ, you know." - -"His mother agrees with him entirely in everything he is doing," said -Mary, with natural resentment. "I wish all mothers had sons as good as -mine." - -"Hush," said Hugh, who was crimson with indignation and anger: "I -decline to discuss these matters with Uncle Penrose. Because he is your -uncle, mother, he shall inquire into the estates as much as he likes; -but I am the head of the house, and I am responsible only to God and to -those who are dead--and, mother, to you," said Hugh, with his eyes -glistening and his face glowing. - -Uncle Penrose gave another contemptuous prolonged whistle at this -speech, but the others looked at the young man with admiration and love; -even Winnie, whose heart could still be touched, regarded the young -paladin with a kind of tender envy and admiration. She was too young to -be his mother, but she did not feel herself young; and her heart yearned -to have some one who would stand by her and defend her as such a youth -could. A world of softer possibilities than anything she would permit -herself to think of now, came into her mind, and she looked at him. If -she too had but been the mother of children like her sister! but it -appeared that Mary was to have the best of it, always and in every way. - -As for Will, he looked at the eldest son with very different feelings. -Hugh was not particularly clever, and his brother had long entertained a -certain contempt for him. He thought what _he_ would have done had he -been the head of the house. He was disposed to sneer, like Mr. Penrose, -at the Ochterlony Museum. Was it not a confession of a mean mind, an -acknowledgment of weakness, to consent to send away all the lovely -things that made Will's vision of Earlston like a vision of heaven? If -it had been Will he would not have thought of five per cent., but -neither would he have thought of making a collection of them at Dalken, -where the country bumpkins might come and stare. He would have kept them -all to himself, and they would have made his life beautiful. And he -scorned Hugh for dispossessing himself of them, and reducing the -Earlston rooms into rooms of ordinary habitation. Had they but been -his--had he but been the eldest, the head of the house--then the world -and the family and Uncle Penrose would have seen very different things. - -But yet Hugh had character enough to stand firm. He made his mother get -her bonnet and go out with him after dinner; and everybody in the house -looked after the two as they went away--the mother and her -firstborn--he, with his young head towering above her, though Mary was -tall, and she putting her arm within his so proudly--not without a -tender elation in his new importance, a sense of his superior place and -independent rank, which was strangely sweet. Winnie looked after them, -envying her sister, and yet with an envy which was not bitter; and Will -stood and looked fiercely on this brother who, by no virtue of his own, -had been born before him. As for Aunt Agatha, who was fond of them all, -she went to her own room to heal her wounds; and Mr. Penrose, who was -fond of none of them, went up to the Hall to talk things over with Sir -Edward, whom he had once talked over to such purpose. And the only two -who could stray down to the soft-flowing Kirtell, and listen to the -melody of the woods and waters, and talk in concert of what they had -wished and planned, were Mary and Hugh. - -"The great thing to be settled is about Will," the head of the house was -saying. "You shall see, mother, when he is in the world and knows -better, all _that_ will blow away. His two thousand pounds is not much, -as Uncle Penrose says; but it was all my father had: and when he wants -it, and when Islay wants it, there can always be something added. It is -my business to see to that." - -"It was all your father had," said Mary, "and all your uncle intended; -and I see no reason why you should add to it, Hugh. There will be a -little more when I am gone; and in the meantime, if we only knew what -Will would like to do----" - -"Why, they'll make him a fellow of his college," said Hugh. "He'll go in -for all sorts of honours. He's awfully clever, mother; there's no fear -of Will. The best thing I can see is to send him to read with -somebody--somebody with no end of a reputation, that he would have a -sort of an awe for--and then the University. It would be no use doing it -if he was just like other people; but there's everything to be made of -Will." - -"I hope so," said Mary, with a little sigh. And then she added, "So I -shall be left quite alone?" - -"No; you are coming to Earlston with me," said Hugh; "that is quite -understood. There will be a great deal to do; and I don't think things -are quite comfortable at the Cottage, with Mrs. Percival here." - -"Poor Winnie!" said Mrs. Ochterlony. "I don't think I ought to leave -Aunt Agatha--at least, while she is so much in the dark about my sister. -And then you told me you had promised to marry, Hugh?" - -"Yes," said the young man; and straightway the colour came to his cheek, -and dimples to the corners of his mouth; "but she is too y---- I mean, -there is plenty of time to think of that." - -"She is too young?" said Mary, startled. "Do I know her, I wonder? I did -not imagine you had settled on the person as well as the fact. Well; and -then, you know, I should have to come back again. I will come to visit -you at Earlston: but I must keep my head-quarters here." - -"I don't see why you should have to come back again," said Hugh, -somewhat affronted. "Earlston is big enough, and you would be sure to be -fond of _her_. No, I don't know that the person is settled upon. Perhaps -she wouldn't have me; perhaps---- But, anyhow, you are coming to -Earlston, mother dear. And, after a while, we could have some visitor -perhaps--your friends: you know I am very fond of your friends, mamma." - -"All my friends, Hugh?" said his mother, with a smile. - -This was the kind of talk they were having while Mr. Penrose was laying -the details of Hugh's extravagance before Sir Edward, and doing all he -could to incite him to a solemn cross-examination of Winnie. Whether she -had run away from her husband, or if not exactly that, what were the -circumstances under which she had left him; and whether a reconciliation -could be brought about;--all this was as interesting to Sir Edward as it -was to Uncle Penrose; but what the latter gentleman was particularly -anxious about was, what they had done with their money, and if the -unlucky couple were very deeply in debt. "I suspect that is at the -bottom of it," he said. And they were both concerned about Winnie, in -their way--anxious to keep her from being talked about, and to preserve -to her a place of repentance. Mrs. Percival, however, was not so simple -as to subject herself to this ordeal. When Sir Edward called in an -accidental way next morning, and Uncle Penrose drew a solemn chair to -her side, Winnie sprang up and went away. She went off, and shut herself -up in her own room, and declined to go back, or give any further account -of herself. "If they want to drive me away, I will go away," she said -to Aunt Agatha, who came up tremulously to her door, and begged her to -go downstairs. - -"My darling, they can't drive you away; you have come to see me," said -Aunt Agatha. "It would be strange if any one wanted to drive you from my -house." - -Winnie was excited, and driven out of her usual self-restraint. Perhaps -she had begun to soften a little. She gave way to momentary tears, and -kissed Aunt Agatha, whose heart in a moment forsook all other -pre-occupations, and returned for ever and ever to her child. - -"Yes, I have come to see _you_," she cried; "and don't let them come and -hunt me to death. I have done nothing to them. I have injured nobody; -and I will not be put upon my trial for anybody in the wide world." - -"My dear love! my poor darling child!" was all that Aunt Agatha said. - -And then Winnie dried her eyes. "I may as well say it now," she said. "I -will give an account of myself to nobody but you; and if _he_ should -come after me here----" - -"Yes, Winnie darling?" said Aunt Agatha, in great suspense, as Mrs. -Percival stopped to take breath. - -"Nothing in the world will make me see him--nothing in the world!" cried -Winnie. "It is best you should know. It is no good asking me--nothing in -the world!" - -"Oh, Winnie, my dear child!" cried Aunt Agatha in anxious remonstrance, -but she was not permitted to say any more. Winnie kissed her again in a -peremptory way, and led her to the door, and closed it softly upon her. -She had given forth her _ultimatum_, and now it was for her defender to -carry on the fight. - -But within a few days another crisis arose of a less manageable kind. -Uncle Penrose made everybody highly uncomfortable, and left stings in -each individual mind, but fortunately business called him back after two -days to his natural sphere. And Sir Edward was affronted, and did not -return to the charge; and Mrs. Percival, with a natural yearning, had -begun to make friends with her nephew, and draw him to her side to -support her if need should be. And Mary was preparing to go with her boy -after a while to Earlston; and Hugh himself found frequent business at -Carlisle, and went and came continually; when it happened one day that -her friends came to pay Mrs. Ochterlony a visit, to offer their -condolences and congratulations upon Hugh's succession and his uncle's -death. - -They came into the drawing-room before any one was aware; and Winnie was -there, with her shawl round her as usual. All the ladies of the Cottage -were there: Aunt Agatha seated within sight of her legacy, the precious -Henri Deux, which was all arranged in a tiny little cupboard, shut in -with glass, which Hugh had found for her; and Mary working as usual for -her boys. Winnie was the one who never had anything to do; instead of -doing anything, poor soul, she wound her arms closer and closer into her -shawl. It was not a common visit that was about to be paid. There was -Mrs. Kirkman, and Mrs. Askell, and the doctor's sister, and the wife of -a new Captain, who had come with them; and they all swept in and kissed -Mary, and took possession of the place. They kissed Mary, and shook -hands with Aunt Agatha; and then Mrs. Kirkman stopped short, and looked -at Winnie, and made her a most stately curtsey. The others would have -done the same, had their courage been as good; but both Mrs. Askell and -Miss Sorbette were doubtful how Mary would take it, and compromised, and -made some sign of recognition in a distant way. Then they all subsided -into chairs, and did their best to talk. - -"It is a coincidence that brings us all here together to-day," said Mrs. -Kirkman; "I hope it is not too much for you, my dear Mary. How affecting -was poor Mr. Ochterlony's death! I hope you have that evidence of his -spiritual state which is the only consolation in such a case." - -"He was a good man," said Mary; "very kind, and generous, and just. -Hugh, who knew him best, was very fond of him----" - -"Ah, fond of him; We are all fond of our friends," said Mrs. Kirkman; -"but the only real comfort is to know what was their spiritual state. Do -you know I am very anxious about your parish here. If you would but take -up the work, it would be a great thing. And I would like to have a talk -with Hugh: he is in an important position now; he may influence for good -so many people. Dear Miss Seton, I am sure you will help me all you can -to lead him in the right way." - -"He is such a dear!" said Emma Askell. "He has been to see us four or -five times: it was so good of him. _I_ didn't know Mr. Ochterlony, -Madonna dear; so you need not be vexed if I say right out that I am so -glad. Hugh will make a perfect Squire; and he is such a dear. Oh, Miss -Seton, I know _you_ will agree with me--isn't he a dear?" - -"He's a very fine young fellow," said Miss Sorbette. "I remember him -when he was only _that_ height, so I think I may speak. It seems like -yesterday when he was at that queer marriage, you know--such a funny, -wistful little soul. I daresay you recollect, Mary, for it was rather -hard upon you." - -"We all recollect," said Mrs. Kirkman; "don't speak of it. Thank Heaven, -it has done those dear children no harm." - -There was something ringing in Mary's ears, but she could not say a -word. Her voice seemed to die on her lips, and her heart in her breast. -If her boys were to hear, and demand an explanation! Something almost as -bad happened. Winnie, who was looking on, whom nobody had spoken to, now -took it upon herself to interpose. - -"What marriage?" she said. "It must have been something of consequence, -and I should like to know." - -This question fluttered the visitors in the strangest way; none of them -looked at Winnie, but they looked at each other, with a sudden movement -of skirts and consultation of glances. Mrs. Kirkman put her -bonnet-strings straight, slowly, and sighed; and Miss Sorbette bent down -her head with great concern, and exclaimed that she had lost the button -of her glove; and Emma Askell shrank behind backs, and made a great -rustling with her dress. "Oh, it was nothing at all," she said; being by -nature the least hard-hearted of the three. That was all the answer they -gave to Winnie, who was the woman who had been talked about. And the -next moment all three rushed at Mary, and spoke to her in the same -breath, in their agitation; for at least they were agitated by the bold -_coup_ they had made. It was a stroke which Winnie felt. She turned very -red and then very pale, but she did not flinch: she sat there in the -foreground, close to them all, till they had said everything they had to -say; and held her head high, ready to meet the eye of anybody who dared -to look at her. As for the other members of the party, Mary had been -driven _hors du combat_, and for the first moment was too much occupied -with her own feelings to perceive the insult that had been directed at -her sister; and Aunt Agatha was too much amazed to take any part. Thus -they sat, the visitors in a rustle of talk and silk and agitation and -uneasiness, frightened at the step they had taken, with Winnie immovable -and unflinching in the midst of them, until the other ladies of the -house recovered their self-possession. Then an unquestionable chill fell -upon the party. When such visitors came to Kirtell on ordinary -occasions, they were received with pleasant hospitality. It was not a -ceremonious call, it was a frank familiar visit, prolonged for an hour -or two; and though five o'clock tea had not then been invented, it was -extemporized for the occasion, and fruit was gathered, and flowers, and -all the pleasant country details that please visitors from a town. And -when it was time to go, everybody knew how many minutes were necessary -for the walk to the station, and the Cottage people escorted their -visitors, and waved their hands to them as the train started. Such had -been the usual routine of a visit to Kirtell. But matters were changed -now. After that uneasy rustle and flutter, a silence equally uneasy fell -upon the assembly. The new Captain's wife, who had never been there -before, could not make it out. Mrs. Percival sat silent, the centre of -the group, and nobody addressed a word to her; and Aunt Agatha leaned -back in her chair and never opened her lips; and even Mary gave the -coldest, briefest answers to the talk which everybody poured upon her at -once. It was all quite mysterious and unexplicable to the Captain's -wife. - -"I am afraid we must not stay," Mrs. Kirkman said at last, who was the -superior officer. "I hope we have not been too much for you, my dear -Mary. I want so much to have a long talk with you about the parish and -the work that is to be done in it. If I could only see you take it up! -But I see you are not able for it now." - -"I am not the clergyman," said Mary, whose temper was slightly touched. -"You know that never was my _rôle_." - -"Ah, my dear friend!" said Mrs. Kirkman, and she bent her head forward -pathetically to Mrs. Ochterlony's, and shook it in her face, and kissed -her, "if one could always feel ones' self justified in leaving it in the -hands of the clergyman! But you are suffering, and I will say no more -to-day." - -And Miss Sorbette, too, made a pretence of having something very -absorbing to say to Mrs. Ochterlony; and the exit of the visitors was -made in a kind of scuffle very different from their dignified entrance. -They had to walk back to the station in the heat of the afternoon, and -to sit there in the dusty waiting-room an hour and a half waiting for -the train. Seldom is justice so promptly or poetically executed. And -they took to upbraiding each other, as was natural, and Emma Askell -cried, and said it was not her fault. And the new Captain's wife asked -audibly, if that was the Madonna Mary the gentlemen talked about, and -the house that was so pleasant? Perhaps the three ladies in the Cottage -did not feel much happier; Aunt Agatha rose up tremblingly when they -were gone, and went to Winnie and kissed her. "Oh, what does it all -mean?" Miss Seton cried. It was the first time she had seen any one -belonging to her pointed at by the finger of scorn. - -"It means that Mary's friends don't approve of me," said Winnie; but her -lip quivered as she spoke. She did not care! But yet she was a woman, -and she did care, whatever she might say. - -And then Mary, too, came and kissed her sister. "My poor Winnie!" she -said, tenderly. She could not be her sister's partizan out and out, like -Aunt Agatha. Her heart was sore for what she knew, and for what she did -not know; but she could not forsake her own flesh and blood. The -inquisition of Uncle Penrose and Sir Edward was a very small matter -indeed in comparison with this woman's insult, but yet it drew Winnie -imperceptibly closer to her only remaining friends. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - - -It was not likely that Will, who had speculated so much on the family -history, should remain unmoved by all these changes. His intellect was -very lively, and well developed, and his conscience was to a great -extent dormant. If he had been in the way of seeing, or being tempted -into actual vices, no doubt the lad's education would have served him in -better stead, and his moral sense would have been awakened. But he had -been injured in his finer moral perceptions by a very common and very -unsuspected agency. He had been in the way of hearing very small -offences indeed made into sins. Aunt Agatha had been almost as hard upon -him forgetting a text as if he had told a lie--and his tutor, the -curate, had treated a false quantity, or a failure of memory, as a moral -offence. That was in days long past, and it was Wilfrid now who found -out his curate in false quantities, and scorned him accordingly; and who -had discovered that Aunt Agatha herself, if she remembered the text, -knew very little about it. This system of making sins out of trifles had -passed quite harmlessly over Hugh and Islay; but Wilfrid's was the -exceptional mind to which it did serious harm. And the more he -discovered that the sins of his childhood were not sins, the more -confused did his mind become, and the more dull his conscience, as to -those sins of thought and feeling, which were the only ones at present -into which he was tempted. What had any one to do with the complexion of -his thoughts? If he felt one way or another, what matter was it to any -one but himself? Other people might dissemble and take credit for the -emotions approved of by public opinion, but he would be true and -genuine. And accordingly he did not see why he should pretend to be -pleased at Hugh's advancement. He was not pleased. He said to himself -that it went against all the rules of natural justice. Hugh was no -better than he; on the contrary, he was less clever, less capable of -mental exertion, which, so far as Will knew, was the only standard of -superiority; and yet he was Mr. Ochterlony of Earlston, with a house and -estate, with affairs to manage, and tenants to influence, and the Psyche -and the Venus to do what he liked with: whereas Will was nobody, and was -to have two thousand pounds for all his inheritance. He had been -talking, too, a great deal to Mr. Penrose, and that had not done him any -good; for Uncle Penrose's view was that nothing should stand in the way -of acquiring money or other wealth--nothing but the actual law. To do -anything dishonest, that could be punished, was of course pure -insanity--not to say crime; but to let any sort of false honour, or -pride, or delicacy stand between you and the acquisition of money was -almost as great insanity, according to his ideas. "Go into business and -keep at it, and you may buy him up--him and his beggarly estate"--had -been Uncle Penrose's generous suggestion; and it was a good deal in -Wilfrid's mind. To be sure it was quite opposed to the intellectual -tendency which led him to quite a different class of pursuits. But what -was chiefly before him in the meantime was Hugh, preferred to so much -distinction, and honour, and glory; and yet if the truth were known, a -very stupid fellow in comparison with himself--Will. And it was not only -that he was Mr. Ochterlony of Earlston. He was first with everybody. Sir -Edward, who took but little notice of Will, actually consulted Hugh, and -he was the first to be thought of in any question that occurred in the -Cottage; and, what went deepest of all, Nelly--Nelly Askell whom Will -had appropriated, not as his love, for his mind had not as yet opened to -that idea, but as his sympathizer-in-chief--the listener to all his -complaints and speculations--his audience whom nobody had any right to -take from him--Nelly had gone over to his brother's side. And the idea -of going into business, even at the cost of abandoning all his favourite -studies, and sticking close to it, and buying him up--him and his -beggarly estate--was a good deal at this moment in Wilfrid's thoughts. -Even the new-comer, Winnie, who might if she pleased have won him to -herself, had preferred Hugh. So that he was alone on his side, and -everybody was on his brother's--a position which often confuses right -and wrong, even to minds least set upon their own will and way. - -He was sauntering on Kirtell banks a few days after the visit above -recorded, in an unusually uncomfortable state of mind. Mrs. Askell had -felt great compunction about her share in that event, and she had sent -Nelly, who was known to be a favourite at the cottage, with a very -anxious letter, assuring her dear Madonna that it was not her fault. -Mary had not received the letter with much favour, but she had welcomed -Nelly warmly; and Hugh had found means to occupy her attention; and -Will, who saw no place for him, had wandered out, slightly sulky, to -Kirtell-side. He was free to come and go as he liked. Nobody there had -any particular need of him; and a solitary walk is not a particularly -enlivening performance when one has left an entire household occupied -and animated behind. As he wound his way down the bank he saw another -passenger on the road before him, who was not of a description of man -much known on Kirtell-side. It seemed to Will that he had seen this -figure somewhere before. It must be one of the regiment, one of the -gentlemen of whom the Cottage was a little jealous, and who were thought -to seek occasions of visiting Kirtell oftener than politeness required. -As Will went on, however, he saw that the stranger was somebody whom he -had never seen before, and curiosity was a lively faculty in him, and -readily awakened. Neither was the unknown indifferent to Will's -appearance or approach; on the contrary, he turned round at the sound of -the youth's step and scrutinized him closely, and lingered that he might -be overtaken. He was tall, and a handsome man, still young, and with an -air which only much traffic with the world confers. No man could have -got that look and aspect who had lived all his life on Kirtell; and even -Will, inexperienced as he was, could recognise this. It did not occur to -him, quick as his intellect was at putting things together, who it was; -but a little expectation awoke in his mind as he quickened his steps to -overtake the stranger, who was clearly waiting to be overtaken. - -"I beg your pardon," he said, as soon as Wilfrid had come up to him; -"are you young Ochterlony? I mean, one of the young Ochterlonys?" - -"No," said Will, "and yet yes; I am not young Ochterlony, but I am one -of the young Ochterlonys, as you say." - -Upon this his new companion gave a keen look at him, as if discerning -some meaning under the words. - -"I thought so," he said; "and I am Major Percival, whom you may have -heard of. It is a queer question, but I suppose there is no doubt that -my wife is up there?" - -He gave a little jerk with his hand as he spoke in the direction of the -Cottage. He was standing on the very same spot where he had seen Winnie -coming to him the day they first pledged their troth; and though he was -far from being a good man, he remembered it, having still a certain love -for his wife, and the thought gave bitterness to his tone. - -"Yes, she is there," said Will. - -"Then I will thank you to come back with me," said Percival. "I don't -want to go and send in my name, like a stranger. Take me in by the -garden, where you enter by the window. I suppose nobody can have any -objection to my seeing my wife: your aunt, perhaps, or your mother?" - -"Perhaps _she_ does not wish to see you," said Will. - -The stranger laughed. - -"It is a pleasant suggestion," he said; "but at least you cannot object -to admit me, and let me try." - -Wilfrid might have hesitated if he had been more fully contented with -everybody belonging to him; but, to tell the truth, he knew no reason -why Winnie's husband should not see her. He had not been sufficiently -interested to wish to fathom the secret, and he had accepted, not caring -much about it, Aunt Agatha's oft-repeated declaration, that their -visitor had arrived so suddenly to give her "a delightful surprise." -Wilfrid did not care much about the matter, and he made no inquiries -into it. He turned accordingly with the new-comer, not displeased to be -the first of the house to make acquaintance with him. Percival had all a -man's advantage over his wife in respect to wear and tear. She had lost -her youth, her freshness, and all that gave its chief charm to her -beauty, but he had lost very little in outward appearance. Poor Winnie's -dissipations were the mildest pleasures in comparison with his, and yet -he had kept even his youth, while hers was gone for ever. And he had not -the air of a bad man--perhaps he was not actually a bad man. He did -whatever he liked without acknowledging any particular restraint of -duty, or truth, or even honour, except the limited standard of honour -current among men of his class--but he had no distinct intention of -being wicked; and he was, beyond dispute, a little touched by seeing, as -he had just done, the scene of that meeting which had decided Winnie's -fate. He went up the bank considerably softened, and disposed to be very -kind. It was he who had been in the wrong in their last desperate -struggle, and he found it easy to forgive himself; and Aunt Agatha's -garden, and the paths, and flower-pots he remembered so well, softened -him more and more. If he had gone straight in, and nothing had happened, -he would have kissed his wife in the most amiable way, and forgiven -her, and been in perfect amity with everybody--but this was not how it -was to be. - -Winnie was sitting as usual, unoccupied, indoors. As she was not doing -anything her eyes were free to wander further than if they had been more -particularly engaged, and at that moment, as it happened, they were -turned in the direction of the window from which she had so often -watched Sir Edward's light. All at once she started to her feet. It was -what she had looked for from the first; what, perhaps, in the stagnation -of the household quiet here she had longed for. High among the roses and -waving honeysuckles she caught a momentary glimpse of a head which she -could have recognised at any distance. At that sight all the excitement -of the interrupted struggle rushed back into her heart. A pang of fierce -joy, and hatred, and opposition moved her. There he stood who had done -her so much wrong; who had trampled on all her feelings and insulted -her, and yet pretended to love her, and dared to seek her. Winnie did -not say anything to her companions; indeed she was too much engrossed at -the moment to remember that she had any companions. She turned and fled -without a word, disappearing swiftly, noiselessly, in an instant, as -people have a gift of doing when much excited. She was shut up in her -room, with her door locked, before any one knew she had stirred. It is -true he was not likely to come upstairs and assail her by force; but she -did not think of that. She locked her door and sat down, with her heart -beating, and her breath coming quick, expecting, hoping--she would -herself have said fearing--an attack. - -Winnie thought it was a long time before Aunt Agatha came, softly, -tremulously, to her door, but in reality it was but a few minutes. He -had come in, and had taken matters with a high hand, and had demanded to -see his wife. "He will think it is we who are keeping you away from him. -He will not believe you do not want to come," said poor Aunt Agatha, at -the door. - -"Nothing shall induce me to see him," said Winnie, admitting her. "I -told you so: nothing in the world--not if he were to go down on his -knees--not if he were----" - -"My dear love, I don't think he means to go down on his knees," said -Aunt Agatha, anxiously. "He does not think he is in the wrong. Oh, -Winnie, my darling!--if it was only for the sake of other people--to -keep them from talking, you know----" - -"Aunt Agatha, you are mistaken if you think I care," said Winnie. "As -for Mary's friends, they are old-fashioned idiots. They think a woman -should shut herself up like an Eastern slave when her husband is not -there. I have done nothing to be ashamed of. And he--Oh, if you knew how -he had insulted me!--Oh, if you only knew! I tell you I will not consent -to see him, for nothing in this world." - -Winnie was a different woman as she spoke. She was no longer the worn -and faded creature she had been. Her eyes were sparkling, her cheeks -glowing. It was a clouded and worn magnificence, but still it was a -return to her old splendour. - -"Oh, Winnie, my dear love, you are fond of him in spite of all," said -Aunt Agatha. "It will all come right, my darling, yet. You are fond of -each other in spite of all." - -"You don't know what you say," said Winnie, in a blaze of -indignation.--"Fond of him!--if you could but know! Tell him to think of -how we parted. Tell him I will never more trust myself near him again." - -It was with this decision, immovable and often repeated, that Miss Seton -at last returned to her undesired guest. But she sent for Mary to come -and speak to her before she went into the drawing-room. Aunt Agatha was -full of schemes and anxious desires. She could not make people do what -was right, but if she could so plot and manage appearances as that they -should seem to do what was right, surely that was better than nothing. -She sent for Mrs. Ochterlony into the dining-room, and she began to take -out the best silver, and arrange the green finger-glasses, to lose no -time. - -"What is the use of telling all the world of our domestic troubles?" -said Aunt Agatha. "My dear, though Winnie will not see him, would it not -be better to keep him to dinner, and show that we are friendly with him -all the same? So long as he is with us, nobody is to know that Winnie -keeps in her own room. After the way these people behaved to the poor -dear child----" - -"They were very foolish and ill-bred," said Mary; "but it was because -she had herself been foolish, not because she was away from her husband: -and I don't like him to be with my boys." - -"But for your dear sister's sake! Oh, Mary, my love, for Winnie's sake!" -said Aunt Agatha; and Mary yielded, though she saw no benefit in it. It -was her part to go back into the drawing-room, and make the best of -Winnie's resistance, and convey the invitation to this unlooked-for -guest, while Aunt Agatha looked after the dinner, and impressed upon -Peggy that perhaps Major Percival might not be able to stay long; and -was it not sad that the very day her husband came to see her, Mrs. -Percival should have such a very bad headache? "She is lying down, poor -dear, in hopes of being able to sit up a little in the evening," said -the anxious but innocent deceiver--doubly innocent since she deceived -nobody, not even the housemaid, far less Peggy. As for Major Percival, -he was angry and excited, as Winnie was, but not to an equal extent. He -did not believe in his wife's resistance. He sat down in the familiar -room, and expected every moment to see Winnie rush down in her impulsive -way, and throw herself into his arms. Their struggles had not terminated -in this satisfactory way of late, but still she had gone very far in -leaving him, and he had gone very far in condescending to come to seek -her; and there seemed no reason why the monster quarrel should not end -in a monster reconciliation, and all go on as before. - -But it was bad policy to leave him with Mary. The old instinctive -dislike that had existed between them from the first woke up again -unawares. Mrs. Ochterlony could not conceal the fact that she took no -pleasure in his society, and had no faith in him. She stayed in the room -because she could not help it, but she did not pretend to be cordial. -When he addressed himself to Will, and took the boy into his confidence, -and spoke to him as to another man of the world, he could see, and was -pleased to see, the contraction in Mary's forehead. In this one point -she was afraid of him, or at least he thought so. Winnie stayed upstairs -with the door locked, watching to see him go away; and Hugh, to whom -Winnie had been perhaps more confidential than to any one else in the -house, went out and in, in displeasure ill-concealed, avoiding all -intercourse with the stranger. And Mary sat on thorns, bearing him -unwilling company, and Nelly watched and marvelled. Poor Aunt Agatha all -the time arranged her best silver, and filled the old-fashioned épergne -with flowers, thinking she was doing the very best for her child, saving -her reputation, and leaving the way open for a reconciliation between -her and her husband, and utterly unconscious of any other harm that -could befall. - -When the dinner-hour arrived, however (which was five o'clock, an hour -which Aunt Agatha thought a good medium between the early and the late), -Major Percival's brow was very cloudy. He had waited and listened, and -Winnie had not come, and now, when they sat down at table, she was still -invisible. "Does not my wife mean to favour us with her company?" he -asked, insolently, incredulous after all that she could persevere so -long, and expecting to hear that she was only "late as usual;" upon -which Aunt Agatha looked at Mary with anxious beseeching eyes. - -"My sister is not coming down to-day," said Mary, with hesitation, "at -least I believe----" - -"Oh, my dear love, you know it is only because she has one of her bad -headaches!" Aunt Agatha added, precipitately, with tears of entreaty in -her eyes. - -Percival looked at them both, and he thought he understood it all. It -was Mary who was abetting her sister in her rebellion, encouraging her -to defy him. It was she who was resisting Miss Seton's well-meant -efforts to bring them together. He saw it all as plain, or thought he -saw it, as if he had heard her tactics determined upon. He had let her -alone, and restrained his natural impulse to injure the woman he -disliked, but now she had set herself in his way, and let her look to -it. This dinner, which poor Aunt Agatha had brought about against -everybody's will, was as uncomfortable a meal as could be imagined. She -was miserable herself, dreading every moment that he might burst out -into a torrent of rage against Winnie before "the servants," or that -Winnie's bell would ring violently and she would send a message--so rash -and inconsiderate as she was--to know when Major Percival was going -away. And nobody did anything to help her out of it. Mary sat at the -foot of the table as stately as a queen, showing the guest only such -attentions as were absolutely necessary. Hugh, except when he talked to -Nelly, who sat beside him, was as disagreeable as a young man who -particularly desires to be disagreeable and feels that his wishes have -not been consulted, can be. And as for the guest himself, his -countenance was black as night. It was a heavy price to pay for the -gratification of saying to everybody that Winnie's husband had come to -see her, and had spent the day at the Cottage. But then Aunt Agatha had -not the remotest idea that beyond the annoyance of the moment it -possibly could do any harm. - -It was dreadful to leave him with the boys after dinner, who -probably--or at least Hugh--might not be so civil as was to be wished; -but still more dreadful ten minutes after to hear Hugh's voice with -Nelly in the garden. Why had he left his guest? - -"He left me," said Hugh. "He went out under the verandah to smoke his -cigar. I don't deny I was very glad to get away." - -"But I am sure, Hugh, you are very fond of smoking cigars," said Aunt -Agatha, in her anxiety and fright. - -"Not always," Hugh answered, "nor under all circumstances." And he -laughed and coloured a little, and looked at Nelly by his side, who -blushed too. - -"So there is nobody with him but Will?" said Aunt Agatha with dismay, as -she went in to where Mary was sitting; and the news was still more -painful to Mary. Will was the only member of the family who was really -civil to the stranger, except Aunt Agatha, whose anxiety was plainly -written in her countenance. He was sitting now under the verandah which -shaded the dining-room windows, quite at the other side of the house, -smoking his cigar, and Will sat dutifully and not unwillingly by, -listening to his talk. It was a new kind of talk to Will--the talk of a -man _blasé_ yet incapable of existing out of the world of which he was -sick--a man who did not pretend to be a good man, nor even possessed of -principles. Perhaps the parish of Kirtell in general would not have -thought it very edifying talk. - -"It is he who has come into the property, I suppose," said Percival, -pointing lazily with his cigar towards the other end of the garden, -where Hugh was visible far off with Nelly. "Get on well with him, eh? I -should say not if the question was asked of me?" - -"Oh yes, well enough," said Will, in momentary confusion, and with a -clouding of his brows. "There is nothing wrong with _him_. It's the -system of the eldest sons that is wrong. I have nothing to say against -Hugh." - -"By Jove," said Percival, "the difficulty is to find out which is -anybody's eldest son. I never find fault with systems, for my part." - -"Oh, about that there can't be any doubt," said Will; "he is six years -older than I am. I am only the youngest; though I don't see what it -matters to a man, for my part, being born in '32 or '38." - -"Sometimes it makes a great deal of difference," said Percival; and then -he paused: for a man, even when he is pushed on by malice and hate and -all uncharitableness, may hesitate before he throws a firebrand into an -innocent peaceful house. However, after his pause he resumed, making a -new start as it were, and doing it deliberately, "sometimes it may make -a difference to a man whether he was born in '37 or '38. You were born -in '38 were you? Ah! I ought to recollect." - -"Why ought _you_ to recollect?" asked Will, startled by the meaning of -his companion's face. - -"I was present at a ceremony that took place about then," said Percival; -"a curious sort of story. I'll tell it you some time. How is the -property left, do you know? Is it to him in particular as being the -favourite, and that sort of thing?--or is it simply to the eldest son?" - -"Simply to the eldest son," said Will, more and more surprised. - -Percival gave such a whistle as Uncle Penrose had given when he heard of -the museum, and nodded his head repeatedly. "It would be good fun to -turn the tables," he said, as if he were making a remark to himself. - -"How could you turn the tables? What do you mean? What do you know about -it?" cried Will, who by this time was getting excited. Hugh came within -his line of vision now and then, with Nelly--always with Nelly. It was -only the younger brother, the inferior member of the household, who was -left with the unwelcome guest. If any one could turn the tables! And -again he said, almost fiercely, "What do you mean?" - -"It is very easy to tell you what I mean; and I wonder what your opinion -will be of systems then?" said Percival. "By Jove! it's an odd position, -and I don't envy you. You think you're the youngest, and you were born -as you say in '38." - -"Good heavens! what is that to do with it?" cried Wilfrid. "Of course I -was born in '38. Tell me what you mean." - -"Well, then, I'll tell you what I mean," said Percival, tossing away the -end of his cigar, "and plainly too. That fellow there, who gives himself -such airs, is no more the eldest son than I am. The property belongs to -_you_." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. - - -Wilfrid was so stunned by the information thus suddenly given him, that -he had but a confused consciousness of the explanations which followed. -He was aware that it was all made clear to him, and that he uttered the -usual words of assent and conviction; but in his mind he was too -profoundly moved, too completely shaken and unsettled, to be aware of -anything but the fact thus strangely communicated. It did not occur to -him for a moment that it was not a fact. He saw no improbability, -nothing unnatural in it. He was too young to think that anything was -unlikely because it was extraordinary, or to doubt what was affirmed -with so much confidence. But, in the meantime, the news was so -startling, that it upset his mental balance, and made him incapable of -understanding the details. Hugh was not the eldest son. It was he who -was the eldest son. This at the moment was all that his mind was capable -of taking in. He stayed by Percival as long as he remained, and had the -air of devouring everything the other said; and he went with him to the -railway station when he went away. Percival, for his part, having once -made the plunge, showed no disinclination to explain everything, but for -his own credit told his story most fully, and many particulars undreamt -of when the incident took place. But he might have spared his pains so -far as Will was concerned. He was aware of the one great fact stated to -him to begin with, but of nothing more. - -The last words which Percival said as he took leave of his young -companion at the railway were, however, caught by Wilfrid's -half-stupefied ears. They were these: "I will stay in Carlisle for some -days. You can hear where I am from Askell, and perhaps we may be of use -to each other." This, beyond the startling and extraordinary piece of -news which had shaken him like a sudden earthquake, was all Percival had -said, so far as Will was aware. "That fellow is no more the eldest son -than I am--the property is _yours_;" and "I will stay in Carlisle for -some days--perhaps we may be of use to each other." The one expression -caught on the other in his mind, which was utterly confused and stunned -for the first time in his life. He turned them over and over as he -walked home alone, or rather, _they_ turned over and over in his memory, -as if possessed of a distinct life; and so it happened that he had got -home again and opened the gate and stumbled into the garden before he -knew what the terrific change was which had come over everything, or had -time to realize his own sensations. It was such a moment as is very -sweet in a cottage-garden. They had all been watering the flowers in the -moment of relief after Percival's departure, and the fragrance of the -grateful soil was mounting up among the other perfumes of the hour. Hugh -and Nelly were still sprinkling a last shower upon the roses, and in the -distance in the field upon which the garden opened were to be seen two -figures wandering slowly over the grass--Winnie, whom Aunt Agatha had -coaxed out to breathe the fresh air after her self-imprisonment, and -Miss Seton herself, with a shawl over her head. And the twilight was -growing insensibly dimmer and dimmer, and the dew falling, and the young -moon sailing aloft. When Mary came across the lawn, her long dress -sweeping with a soft rustle over the grass, a sudden horror seized -Wilfrid. It took him all his force of mind and will to keep his face to -her and await her coming. His face was not the treacherous kind of face -which betrays everything; but still there was in it a look of -preoccupation which Mary could not fail to see. - -"Is he gone?" she said, as she came up. "You are sure he has gone, Will? -It was kind of you to be civil to him; but I am almost afraid you are -interested in him too." - -"Would it be wrong to be interested in him?" said Will. - -"I don't like him," said Mary, simply; and then she added, after a -pause, "I have no confidence in him. I should be very sorry to see any -of my boys attracted by the society of such a man." - -And it was at this moment that his new knowledge rushed upon Wilfrid's -mind and embittered it; any of her boys, of whom he was the youngest and -least important; and yet she must know what his real position was, and -that he ought to be the chief of all. - -"I don't care a straw for _him_," said Will, hastily; "but he knows a -great many things, and I was interested in his talk." - -"What was he saying to you?" said Mrs. Ochterlony. - -He looked into her face, and he saw that there was uneasiness in it, -just as she, looking at him, saw signs of a change which he was himself -unaware of; and in his impetuosity he was very near saying it all out -and betraying himself. But then his uncertainty of all the details stood -him in good stead. - -"He was saying lots of things," said Will. "I am sure I can't tell you -all that he was saying. If I were Hugh I would not let Nelly make a mess -of herself with those roses. I am going in-doors." - -"A lovely evening like this is better than the best book in the world," -said Mary. "Stay with me, and talk to me, Will. You see I am the only -one who is left alone." - -"I don't care about lovely evenings," said Will; "I think you should all -come in. It is getting dreadfully cold. And as for being alone, I don't -see how that can be, when they are all there. Good night, mother. I -think I shall go to bed." - -"Why should you go to bed so early?" said Mary; but he was already gone, -and did not hear her. And as he went, he turned right round and looked -at Hugh and Nelly, who were still together. When Mrs. Ochterlony -remarked that look, she was at once troubled and comforted. She thought -her boy was jealous of the way in which his brother engrossed the young -visitor, and she was sorry, but yet knew that it was not very -serious--while, at the same time, it was a comfort to her to attribute -his pre-occupation to anything but Percival's conversation. So she -lingered about the lawn a little, and looked wistfully at the soft -twilight country, and the wistful moon. She was the only one who was -alone. The two young creatures were together, and they were happy; and -poor Winnie, though she was far from happy, was buoyed up by the -absorbing passion and hostility which had to-day reached one of its -climaxes, and had Aunt Agatha for her slave, ready to receive all the -burning outburst of grievance and misery. This fiery passion which -absorbed her whole being was almost as good as being happy, and gave her -mind full occupation. But as for Mary, she was by herself, and all was -twilight with her; and the desertion of her boy gave her a little chill -at her heart. So she, too, went in presently, and had the lamp lighted, -and sat alone in the room, which was bright and yet dim--with a clear -circle of light round the table, yet shadowy as all the corners are of a -summer evening, when there is no fire to aid the lamp. But she did not -find her son there. His discontent had gone further than to be content -with a book, as she had expected; and he had really disappeared for the -night. - -"I can't have you take possession of Nelly like this," she said to Hugh, -when, after a long interval, they came in. "We all want a share of her. -Poor Will has gone to bed quite discontented. You must not keep her all -to yourself." - -"Oh! is he jealous?" said Hugh, laughing; and there was no more said -about it; for Will's jealousy in this respect was not a thing to alarm -anybody much. - -But Will had not gone to bed. He was seated in his room at the table, -leaning his head upon both his hands, and staring into the flame of his -candle. He was trying to put what he had heard into some sort of shape. -That Hugh, who was downstairs so triumphant and successful, was, after -all, a mere impostor; that it was he himself, whom nobody paid any -particular attention to, who was the real heir; that his instinct had -not deceived him, but from his birth he had been ill-used and oppressed: -these thoughts went all circling through his mind as the moths circled -round his light, taking now a larger, and now a shorter flight. This -strange sense that he had been right all along was, for the moment, the -first feeling in his mind. He had been disinherited and thrust aside, -but still he had felt all along that it was he who was the natural heir; -and there was a satisfaction in having it thus proved and established. -This was the first distinct reflection he was conscious of amid the -whirl of thoughts; and then came the intoxicating sense that he could -now enter upon his true position, and be able to arrange everybody's -future wisely and generously, without any regard for mere proprieties, -or for the younger brother's two thousand pounds. Strange to say, in the -midst of this whirlwind of egotistical feeling, Will rushed all at once -into imaginations that were not selfish, glorious schemes of what he -would do for everybody. He was not ungenerous, nor unkind, but only it -was a necessity with him that generosity and kindness should come from -and not to himself. - -All this passed through the boy's mind before it ever occurred to him -what might be the consequences to others of his extraordinary discovery, -or what effect it must have upon his mother, and the character of the -family. He was self-absorbed, and it did not occur to him in that light. -Even when he did come to think of it, he did it in the calmest way. No -doubt his mother would be annoyed; but she deserved to be annoyed--she -who had so long kept him out of his rights; and, after all, it would -still be one of her sons who would have Earlston. And as for Hugh, -Wilfrid had the most generous intentions towards him. There was, indeed, -nothing that he was not ready to do for his brothers. As soon as he -believed that all was to be his, he felt himself the steward of the -family. And then his mind glanced back upon the Psyche and the Venus, -and upon Earlston, which might be made into a fitter shrine for these -fair creations. These ideas filled him like wine, and went to his head, -and made him dizzy; and all the time he was as unconscious of the moral -harm, and domestic treachery, as if he had been one of the lower -animals; and no scruple of any description, and no doubt of what it was -right and necessary to do, had so much as entered into his primitive and -savage mind. - -We call his mind savage and primitive because it was at this moment -entirely free from those complications of feeling and dreadful conflict -of what is desirable, and what is right, which belong to the civilized -and cultivated mind. Perhaps Will's affections were not naturally -strong; but, at all events, he gave in to this temptation as a man might -have given in to it in the depths of Africa, where the "good old rule" -and "simple plan" still exist and reign; and where everybody takes what -he has strength to take, and he keeps who can. This was the real state -of the case in Wilfrid's mind. It had been supposed to be Hugh's right, -and he had been obliged to give in; now it was his right, and Hugh would -have to make up his mind to it. What else was there to say? So far as -Will could see, the revolution would be alike certain and -instantaneous. It no more occurred to him to doubt the immediate effect -of the new fact than to doubt its truth. Perhaps it was his very -egotism, as well as his youth and inexperience, which made him so -credulous. It had been wonder enough to him how anybody _could_ leave -him in an inferior position, even while he was only the youngest; to -think of anybody resisting his rights, now that he had rights, was -incredible. - -Yet when the morning came, and the sober daylight brightened upon his -dreams, Will, notwithstanding all his confidence, began to see the -complication of circumstances. How was he to announce his discovery to -his mother? How was he to acquaint Hugh with the change in their mutual -destinies? What seemed so easy and simple to him the night before, -became difficult and complicated now. He began to have a vague sense -that they would insist, that Mrs. Ochterlony would fight for her honour, -and Hugh for his inheritance, and that in claiming his own rights, he -would have to rob his mother of her good name, and put a stigma -ineffaceable upon his brother. This idea startled him, and took away his -breath; but it did not make him falter; Uncle Penrose's suggestion about -buying up him and his beggarly estate, and Major Percival's evident -entire indifference to the question whether anything it suited him to do -was right or wrong, had had their due effect on Will. He did not see -what call he had to sacrifice himself for others. No doubt, he would be -sorry for the others, but after all it was his own life he had to take -care of, and his own rights that he had to assert. But he mused and -knitted his brows over it as he had never done before in his life. -Throughout it will be seen that he regarded the business in a very -sober, matter-of-fact way--not in the imaginative way which leads you to -enter into other people's position, and analyse their possible feelings. -As for himself, he who had been so jealous of his mother's visitors, and -watched over her so keenly, did not feel somehow that horror which might -have been expected at the revelation that she was not the spotless woman -he thought her. Perhaps it was the importance of the revelation to -himself--perhaps it was a secret disbelief in any guilt of hers--perhaps -it was only the stunned condition in which the announcement left him. At -all events, he was neither horrified at the thought, nor profoundly -impressed by the consciousness that to prove his own rights, would be to -take away everything from her, and to shut her up from all intercourse -with the honourable and pure. When the morning roused him to a sense of -the difficulties as well as the advantages of his discovery, the only -thing he could think of was to seek advice and direction from Percival, -who was so experienced a man of the world. But it was not so easy to do -this without betraying his motive. The only practical expedient was that -of escorting Nelly home; which was not a privilege he was anxious for of -itself; for though he was jealous that she had been taken away from him, -he shrank instinctively from her company in his present state of mind. -Yet it was the only thing that could be done. - -When the party met at the breakfast-table, there were three of them who -were ill at ease. Winnie made her appearance in a state of headache, -pale and haggard as on the day of her arrival; and Aunt Agatha was pale -too, and could not keep her eyes from dwelling with a too tender -affectionateness upon her suffering child. And as for Will, the colour -of his young face was indescribable, for youth and health still -contended in it with those emotions which contract the skin and empty -the veins. But on the other hand, there were Hugh and Nelly handsome and -happy, with hearts full of charity to everybody, and confidence in the -brightness of their own dawning lot. Mary sat at the head of the table, -with the urn before her, superintending all. The uneasiness of last -night had passed from her mind; her cheek was almost as round and fair -as that of the girl by her side--fairer perhaps in its way; her eyes -were as bright as they had ever been; her dress, it is true, was still -black, but it had not the shadowy denseness of her widow's garb of old. -It was silk, that shone and gave back subdued reflections to the light, -and in her hair there were still golden gleams, though mixed with here -and there a thread of silver. Her mourning, which prevented any -confusion of colours, but left her a sweet-complexioned woman, rich in -the subdued tints of nature, in the soft austerity of black and white, -did all for her that toilette could do. This was the figure which her -son Wilfrid saw at the head of a pretty country breakfast-table, between -the flowers and the sunshine--an unblemished matron and a beloved -mother. He knew, and it came into his mind as he looked at her, that in -the parish, or even in the country, there was nobody more honoured; and -yet---- He kept staring at her so, and had so scared a look in his eyes, -that Mrs. Ochterlony herself perceived it at last. - -"What is the matter, Will?" she said. "I could think there was a ghost -standing behind you, from your eyes. Why do you look so startled?" - -"Nothing," said Will, hastily; "I didn't know I looked startled. A -fellow can't help how he looks. Look here, Nelly, if you're going home -to-day, I'll go with you, and see you safe there." - -"You'll go with her?" said Hugh, with a kind of good-natured -elder-brotherly contempt. "Not quite so fast, Will. We can't trust young -ladies in _your_ care. I am going with Nelly myself." - -"Oh! I am sure Will is very kind," said Nelly; and then she stopped -short, and looked first at Mrs. Ochterlony and then at Hugh. Poor Nelly -had heard of brothers being jealous of each other, and had read of it in -books, and was half afraid that such a case was about to come under her -own observation. She was much frightened, and her impulse was to accept -Will's guardianship, that no harm might come of it, though the sacrifice -to herself would be considerable; but then, what if Hugh should be -jealous too? - -"I see no reason why you should not both go," said Mrs. Ochterlony: "one -of you shall take care of Nelly, and one shall do my commissions; I -think that had better be Will--for I put no confidence, just now, in -Hugh." - -"Of course it must be Will," said Hugh. "A squire of dames requires age -and solidity. It is not an office for a younger brother. Your time will -come, old fellow; it is mine now." - -"Yes, I suppose it is yours now," said Will. - -He did not mean to put any extraordinary significance in his tone, but -yet he was in such a condition of mind that his very voice betrayed him -against his will. Even Winnie, preoccupied as she was, intermitted her -own thoughts a moment to look at him, and Hugh reddened, though he could -not have told why. There was a certain menace, a certain implication of -something behind, which the inexperienced boy had no intention of -betraying, but which made themselves apparent in spite of him. And Hugh -too grew crimson in spite of himself. He said "By Jove!" and then he -laughed, and cleared his mind of it, feeling it absurd to be made angry -by the petulance of his boy-brother. Then he turned to Nelly, who had -drawn closer to him, fearing that the quarrel was about to take place as -it takes place in novels, trembling a little, and yet by the aid of her -own good sense, feeling that it could not be so serious after all. - -"If we are going to the Lady's Well we must go early," he said; and his -face changed when he turned to her. She was growing prettier every -day,--every day at least she spent in Hugh's society,--opening and -unfolding as to the sun. Her precocious womanliness, if it had been -precocious, melted under the new influence, and all the natural -developments were quickened. She was more timid, more caressing, less -self-reliant, and yet she was still as much as ever head of the house at -home. - -"But not if it will vex Will," she said, almost in a whisper, in his -ear; and the close approach which this whisper made necessary, effaced -in an instant all unbrotherly feelings towards Wilfrid from Hugh's mind. -They both looked at Will, instinctively, as they spoke, the girl with a -little wistful solicitude in case he might be disturbed by the sight of -their confidential talk. But Will was quite unmoved. He saw the two draw -closer together, and perceived the confidential communication that -passed between them, but his countenance did not change in the slightest -degree. By this time he was far beyond that. - -"You see he does not mind," said Hugh, carrying on the half-articulate -colloquy, of which one half was done by thoughts instead of words; and -Nelly, with the colour a little deepened on her cheek, looked up at him -with a look which Hugh could not half interpret. He saw the soft -brightness, the sweet satisfaction in it tinged by a certain gleam of -fun, but he did not see that Nelly was for a moment ashamed of herself, -and was asking herself how she ever could, for a moment, have supposed -Will was jealous. It was a relief to her mind to see his indifference, -and yet it filled her with shame. - -When the meal was over, and they all dispersed with their different -interests, it was Mary who sought to soften what she considered the -disappointment of her boy. She came to him as he stood at the window -under the verandah, where the day before Percival had given him his -fatal illumination, and put her arm within his, and did her best to draw -his secret from his clouded and musing eyes. - -"My dear boy, let us give in to Hugh," said Mary; "he is only a guest -now, you know, and you are at home." She was smiling when she said this, -and yet it made her sigh. "And then I think he is getting fond of Nelly, -and you are far too young for anything of that sort," Mrs. Ochterlony -said, with anxiety and a little doubt, looking him in the face all the -time. - -"There are some things I am not too young for," said Will. "Mamma, if I -were Hugh I would be at home nowhere unless _you_ were at home there as -well." - -"My dear Will, that is my own doing," said Mary. "Don't blame your -brother. I have refused to go to Earlston. It will always be best for -me, for all your sakes, to have a house of my own." - -"If Earlston had been mine, I should not have minded your refusal," said -Will. Perhaps it was as a kind of secret atonement to her and to his own -heart that he said so, and yet it was done instinctively, and was the -utterance of a genuine feeling. He was meditating in his heart her -disgrace and downfall, and yet the first effects of it, if he could -succeed, would be to lay everything that he had won by shaming her, at -her feet. He would do her the uttermost cruelty and injury without -flinching, and then he would overwhelm her with every honour and -grandeur that his ill-got wealth could supply. And he did not see how -inconsistent those two things were. - -"But my boys _must_ mind when I make such a decision," said Mary; and -yet she was not displeased with the sentiment. "You shall go to Carlisle -for me," she added. "I want some little things, and Hugh very likely -would be otherwise occupied. If you would like to have a little change, -and go early, do not wait for them, Will. There is a train in half an -hour." - -"Yes, I would like a little change," he answered vaguely--feeling -somehow, for that moment solely, a little prick of conscience. And so it -was by his mother's desire to restore his good-humour and cheerfulness, -that he was sent upon his mission of harm and treachery. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. - - -While Hugh showed Nelly the way to the Lady's Well with that mixture of -brotherly tenderness and a dawning emotion of a much warmer kind, which -is the privileged entrance of their age into real love and passion; and -while Will made his with silent vehemence and ardour to Carlisle, Winnie -was left very miserable in the Cottage. It was a moment of reaction -after the furious excitement of the previous day. She had held him at -bay, she had shown him her contempt and scorn, she had proved to him -that their parting was final, and that she would never either see or -listen to him again; and the excitement of doing this had so supported -her that the day which Aunt Agatha thought a day of such horrible trial -to her poor Winnie, was, in short, the only day in which she had -snatched a certain stormy enjoyment since she returned to the Cottage. -But _the day after_ was different. He was gone; he had assented to her -desire, and accepted her decision to all appearance, and poor Winnie was -very miserable. For the moment all seemed to her to be over. She had -felt sure he would come, and the sense of the continued conflict had -buoyed her up; but she did not feel so sure that he would come again, -and the long struggle which had occupied her life and thoughts for so -many years seemed to have come to an abrupt end, and she had nothing -more to look forward to. When she realized this fact, Winnie stood -aghast. It is hard when love goes out of a life; but sometimes, when it -is only strife and opposition which go out of it, it is almost as hard -to bear. She thought she had sighed for peace for many a long day. She -had said so times without number, and written it down, and persuaded -herself that was what she wanted; but now that she had got it she found -out that it was not that she wanted. The Cottage was the very home of -peace, and had been so for many years. Even the growth of young life -within it, the active minds and varied temperaments of the three boys, -and Will's cloudy and uncomfortable disposition, had not hitherto -interfered with its character. But so far from being content, Winnie's -heart sank within her when she realized the fact, that War had marched -off in the person of her husband, and that she was to be "left in -peace"--horrible words that paralysed her very soul. - -This event, however, if it had done nothing else, had opened her mouth. -Her history, which she had kept to herself, began to be revealed. She -told her aunt and her sister of his misdeeds, till the energy of her -narrative brought something like renewed life to her. She described how -she had herself endured, how she had been left to all the dangers that -attend a beautiful young woman whose husband has found superior -attractions elsewhere; and she gave such sketches of the women whom she -imagined to have attracted him, as only an injured wife in a chronic -state of wrath and suffering could give. She was so very miserable on -that morning that she had no alternative but to speak or die; and as she -could not die, she gave her miseries utterance. "And if he can do you -any harm--if he can strike me through my friends," said Winnie, "if you -know of any point on which he could assail you, you had better keep -close guard." - -"Oh, my dear love!" said Aunt Agatha, with a troubled smile, "what harm -could he do us? He could hurt us only in wounding you; and now we have -you safe, my darling, and can defend you, so he never can harm us." - -"Of course I never meant _you_," said Winnie. "But he might perhaps harm -Mary. Mary is not like you; she has had to make her way in the world, -and no doubt there may be things in her life, as in other people's, that -she would not care to have known." - -Mary was startled by this speech, which was made half in kindness, half -in anger; for the necessity of having somebody to quarrel with had been -too great for Winnie. Mrs. Ochterlony was startled, but she could not -help feeling sure that her secret was no secret for her sister, and she -had no mind for a quarrel, though Winnie wished it. - -"There is but one thing in my life that I don't wish to have known," she -said, "and Major Percival knows it, and probably so do you, Winnie. But -I am here among my own people, and everybody knows all about me. I don't -think it would be possible to do me harm here." - -"It is because you don't know him," said Winnie. "He would do the Queen -harm in her own palace. You don't know what poison he can put on his -arrows, and how he shoots them. I believe he will strike me through my -friends." - -All this time Aunt Agatha looked at the two with her lips apart, as if -about to speak; but in reality it was horror and amazement that moved -her. To hear them talking calmly of something that must be concealed! of -something, at least, that it was better should not be known!--and that -in a house which had always been so spotless, so respectable, and did -not know what mystery meant! - -Mary shook her head, and smiled. She had felt a little anxious the night -before about what Percival might be saying to Wilfrid; but, somehow, all -that had blown away. Even Will's discontent with his brother had taken -the form of jealous tenderness for herself, which, in her thinking, was -quite incompatible with any revelation which could have lowered her in -his eyes; and it seemed to her as if the old sting, which had so often -come back to her, which had put it in the power of her friends in "the -regiment" to give her now and then a prick to the heart, had lost its -venom. Hugh was peacefully settled in his rights, and Will, if he had -heard anything, must have nobly closed his ears to it. Sometimes this -strange feeling of assurance and confidence comes on the very brink of -the deadliest danger, and it was so with Mary at the present moment that -she had no fear. - -As for Winnie, she too was thinking principally of her own affairs, and -of her sister's only as subsidiary to them. She would have rather -believed in the most diabolical rage and assault than in her husband's -indifference and the utter termination of hostilities between them. "He -will strike me through my friends," she repeated; and perhaps in her -heart she was rather glad that there still remained this oblique way of -reaching her, and expressed a hope rather than a fear. This conversation -was interrupted by Sir Edward, who came in more cheerfully and alertly -than usual, taking off his hat as soon as he became visible through the -open window. He had heard what he thought was good news, and there was -satisfaction in his face. - -"So Percival is here," he said. "I can't tell you how pleased I was. -Come, we'll have some pleasant days yet in our old age. Why hasn't he -come up to the Hall?" - -There was an embarrassed pause--embarrassed at least on the part of Miss -Seton and Mrs. Ochterlony; while Winnie fixed her eyes, which looked so -large and wild in their sunken sockets, steadily upon him, without -attempting to make any reply. - -"Yes, Major Percival was here yesterday," said Aunt Agatha with -hesitation; "he spent the whole day with us---- I was very glad to have -him, and I am sure he would have gone up to the Hall if he had had -time---- But he was obliged to go away." - -How difficult it was to say all this under the gaze of Winnie's eyes, -and with the possibility of being contradicted flatly at any moment, may -be imagined. And while Aunt Agatha made her faltering statement, her own -look and voice contradicted her; and then there was a still more -embarrassed pause, and Sir Edward looked from one to another with amazed -and unquiet eyes. - -"He came and spent the day with you," said their anxious neighbour, "and -he was obliged to go away! I confess I think I merited different -treatment. I wish I could make out what you all mean----" - -"The fact is, Sir Edward," said Winnie, "that Major Percival was sent -away.... He is a very important person, no doubt; but he can't do just -as he pleases. My aunt is so good that she tries to keep up a little -fiction, but he and I have done with each other," said Winnie in her -excitement, notwithstanding that she had been up to this moment so -reticent and self-contained. - -"Who sent him away?" asked Sir Edward, with a pitiful, confidential look -to Aunt Agatha, and a slight shake of his head over the very bad -business--a little pantomime which moved Winnie to deeper wrath and -discontent. - -"_I_ sent him away," said Mrs. Percival, with as much dignity as this -ebullition of passion would permit her to assume. - -"My dear Winnie," said Sir Edward, "I am very, very sorry to hear this. -Think a little of what is before you. You are a young woman still; you -are both young people. Do you mean to live here all the rest of your -life, and let him go where he pleases--to destruction, I suppose, if he -likes? Is that what you mean? And yet we all remember when you would not -hear a word even of advice--would not listen to anybody about him. He -had not been quite _sans reproche_ when you married him, my dear; and -you took him with a knowledge of it. If that had not been the case, -there might have been some excuse. But what I want you to do is to look -it in the face, and consider a little. It is not only for to-day, or -to-morrow--it is for your life." - -Winnie gave a momentary shudder, as if of cold, and drew her shawl -closer around her. "I had rather not discuss our private affairs," she -replied: "they are between ourselves." - -"But the fact is, they are not between yourselves," said Sir Edward, who -was inspired by the great conviction of doing his duty. "You have taken -the public into your confidence by coming here. I am a very old friend, -both of yours and his, and I might do some good, if you let me try. I -dare say he is not very far from here; and if I might mediate between -you----" - -A sudden gleam shot out from Winnie's eyes--perhaps it was a sudden wild -hope--perhaps it was merely the flash of indignation; but still the -proposal moved her. "Mediate!" she said, with an air which was intended -for scorn; but her lips quivered as she repeated the word. - -"Yes," said Sir Edward, "I might, if you would have confidence in me. No -doubt there are wrongs on both sides. He has been impatient, and you -have been exacting, and---- Where are you going?" - -"It is no use continuing this conversation," said Winnie. "I am going to -my room. If I were to have more confidence in you than I ever had in any -one, it would still be useless. I have not been exacting. I have -been---- But it is no matter. I trust, Aunt Agatha, that you will -forgive me for going to my own room." - -Sir Edward shook his head, and looked after her as she withdrew. He -looked as if he had said, "I knew how it would be;" and yet he was -concerned and sorry. "I have seen such cases before," he said, when -Winnie had left the room, turning to Aunt Agatha and Mary, and once -more shaking his head: "neither will give in an inch. They know that -they are in a miserable condition, but it is neither his fault nor hers. -That is how it always is. And only the bystanders can see what faults -there are on both sides." - -"But I don't think Winnie is so exacting," said Aunt Agatha, with -natural partisanship. "I think it is worse than that. She has been -telling me two or three things----" - -"Oh, yes," said Sir Edward, with mild despair, "they can tell you dozens -of things. No doubt _he_ could, on his side. It is always like that; and -to think that nothing would have any effect on her!--she would hear no -sort of reason--though you know very well you were warned that he was -not immaculate before she married him: nothing would have any effect." - -"Oh, Sir Edward!" cried Aunt Agatha, with tears in her eyes: "it is -surely not the moment to remind us of that." - -"For my part, I think it is just the moment," said Sir Edward; and he -shook his head, and made a melancholy pause. Then, with an obvious -effort to change the subject, he looked round the room, as if that -personage might, perhaps, be hidden in some corner, and asked where was -Hugh? - -"He has gone to show Nelly Askell the way to the Lady's Well," said -Mary, who could not repress a smile. - -"Ah! he seems disposed to show Nelly Askell the way to a great many -things," said Sir Edward. "There it is again you see! Not that I have a -word to say against that little thing. She is very nice, and pretty -enough; though no more to be compared to what Winnie was at her age---- -But you'll see Hugh will have engaged himself and forestalled his life -before we know where we are." - -"It would have been better had they been a little older," said Mary; -"but otherwise everything is very suitable; and Nelly is very good, and -very sweet----" - -Again Sir Edward sighed. "You must know that Hugh might have done a very -great deal better," he said. "I don't say that I have any particular -objections, but only it is an instance of your insanity in the way of -marriage--all you Setons. You go and plunge into it head foremost, -without a moment's reflection; and then, of course, when leisure -comes---- I don't mean you, Mary. What I was saying had no reference to -you. So far as I am aware, you were always very happy, and gave your -friends no trouble. Though in one way, of course, it ought to be -considered that you did the worst of all." - -"Captain Askell's family is very good," said Mary, by the way of turning -off too close an inquiry into her own affairs; "and he is just in the -same position as Hugh's father was; and I love Nelly like a child of my -own. I feel as if she ought to have been a child of my own. She and Will -used to lie in the same cradle----" - -"Ah, by the way," said Sir Edward, looking round once more into the -corners, "where is Will?" - -And then it had to be explained where Will had gone, which the old man -thought very curious. "To Carlisle? What did he want to go to Carlisle -for? If he had been out with his fishing rod, or out with the keepers, -looking after the young pheasants---- But what could he want going into -Carlisle? Is Percival there?" - -"I hope not," said Mary, with sudden anxiety. It was an idea which had -not entered into her mind before. - -"Why should you hope not? If he really wants to make peace with Winnie, -I should think it very natural," said Sir Edward; "and Will is a curious -sort of boy. He might be a very good sort of auxiliary in any -negotiation. Depend upon it that's why he is gone." - -"I think not. I think he would have told me," said Mary, feeling her -heart sink with sudden dread. - -"I don't see why he should have told you," said Sir Edward, who was in -one of his troublesome moods, and disposed to put everybody at sixes and -sevens. "He is old enough to act a little for himself. I hope you are -not one of the foolish women, Mary, that like to keep their boys always -at their apron-strings?" - -With this reproach Sir Edward took his leave, and made his way placidly -homeward, with the tranquillity of a man who has done his duty. He felt -that he had discharged the great vocation of man, at least for the past -hour. Winnie had heard the truth, whether she liked it or not, and so -had the other members of the family, over whom he shook his head kindly -but sadly as he went home. Their impetuosity, their aptitude to rush -into any scrape that presented itself--and especially their madness in -respect to marriage, filled him with pity. There was Charlie Seton, for -example, the father of these girls, who had married that man Penrose's -sister. Sir Edward's memory was so long, that it did not seem to him a -very great stretch to go back to that. Not that the young woman was -amiss in herself, but the man who, with his eyes open, burdened his -unborn descendants with such an uncle, was worse then lunatic--he was -criminal. This was what Sir Edward thought as he went quietly home, with -a rather comfortable dreary sense of satisfaction in his heart in the -thought that his own behaviour had been marked by no such aberrations; -and, in the meantime, Winnie was fanning the embers of her own wrath, -and Mary had sickened somehow with a sense of insecurity and -unexplainable apprehension. On the other hand, the two young creatures -were very happy on the road to the Lady's Well, and Will addressed -himself to his strange business with resolution: and, painful as its -character was, was not pained to speak of, but only excited. So ran the -course of the world upon that ordinary summer day. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV. - - -Of the strangest kind were Wilfrid's sensations when he found himself in -the streets of Carlisle on his extraordinary mission. It was the first -time he had ever taken any step absolutely by himself. To be sure, he -had been brought up in full possession of the freedom of an English boy, -in whose honour everybody has confidence--but never before had he been -moved by an individual impulse to independent action, nor had he known -what it was to have a secret in his mind, and an enterprise which had to -be conducted wholly according to his own judgment, and in respect to -which he could ask for no advice. When he emerged out of the railway -station, and found himself actually in the streets, a thrill of -excitement, sudden and strange, came over him. He had known very well -all along what he was coming to do, and yet he seemed only to become -aware of it at that moment, when he put his foot upon the pavement, and -was appealed to by cab-drivers, eager to take him somewhere. Here there -was no time or opportunity for lingering; he had to go somewhere, and -that instantly, were it only to the shops to execute his mother's -innocent commissions. It might be possible to loiter and meditate on the -calm country roads about Kirtell, but the town and the streets have -other associations. He was there to do something, to go somewhere, and -it had to be begun at once. He was not imaginative, but yet he felt a -kind of palpable tearing asunder as he took his first step onward. He -had hesitated, and his old life seemed to hold out its arms to him. It -was not an unhappy life; he had his own way in most things, he had his -future before him unfettered, and he knew that his wishes would be -furthered, and everything possible done to help and encourage him. All -this passed through his mind like a flash of lightning. He would be -helped and cared for and made much of, but yet he would only be Will, -the youngest, of whom nobody took particular notice, and who sat in the -lowest room; whereas, by natural law and justice, he was the heir. After -he had made that momentary comparison, he stepped on with a firm foot, -and then it was that he felt like the tearing asunder of something that -had bound him. He had thrown the old bonds, the old pleasant ties, to -the wind; and now all that he had to do was to push on by himself and -gain his rights. This sensation made his head swim as he walked on. He -had put out to sea, as it were, and the new movement made him giddy--and -yet it was not pain; love was not life to him, but he had never known -what it was to live without it. There seemed no reason why he should not -do perfectly well for himself; Hugh would be affronted, of course--but -it could make no difference to Islay, for example, nor much to his -mother, for it would still be one of her sons. These were the thoughts -that went through Wilfrid's mind as he walked along; from which it will -be apparent that the wickedness he was about to do was not nearly so -great in intention as it was in reality; and that his youth, and -inexperience, and want of imagination, his incapacity to put himself -into the position of another, or realize anything but his own wants and -sentiments, pushed him unawares, while he contemplated only an act of -selfishness, into a social crime. - -But yet the sense of doing this thing entirely alone, of doing it in -secret, which was contrary to all his habitudes of mind, filled him with -a strange inquietude. It hurt his conscience more to be making such a -wonderful move for himself, out of the knowledge of his mother and -everybody belonging to him, than to be trying to disgrace his mother and -overthrow her good name and honour; of the latter, he was only dimly -conscious, but the former he saw clearly. A strange paradox, apparently, -but yet not without many parallels. There are poor creatures who do not -hesitate at drowning themselves, and yet shrink from the chill of the -"black flowing river" in which it is to be accomplished. As for Will, he -did not hesitate to throw dark anguish and misery into the peaceful -household he had been bred in--he did not shrink from an act which would -embitter the lives of all who loved him, and change their position, and -disgrace their name--but the thought of taking his first great step in -life out of anybody's knowledge, made his head swim, and the light fail -in his eyes--and filled him with a giddy mingling of excitement and -shame. He did not realize the greater issue, except as it affected him -solely--but he did the other in its fullest sense. Thus he went on -through the common-place streets, with his heart throbbing in his ears, -and the blood rushing to his head; and yet he was not remorseful, nor -conscience-stricken, nor sorry, but only strongly excited, and moved by -a certain nervous shyness and shame. - -Notwithstanding this, a certain practical faculty in Wilfrid led him, -before seeking out his tempter and first informant, to seek independent -testimony. It would be difficult to say what it was that turned his -thoughts towards Mrs. Kirkman; but it was to her he went. The colonel's -wife received him with a sweet smile, but she was busy with much more -important concerns; and when she had placed him at a table covered with -tracts and magazines, she took no further notice of Will. She was a -woman, as has been before mentioned, who laboured under a chronic -dissatisfaction with the clergy, whether as represented in the person of -a regimental chaplain, or of a Dean and Chapter; and she was not content -to suffer quietly, as so many people do. Her discontent was active, and -expressed itself not only in lamentation and complaint, but in very -active measures. She could not reappoint to the offices in the -Cathedral, but she could do what was in her power, by Scripture-readers, -and societies for private instruction, to make up the deficiency; and -she was very busy with one of her agents when Will entered, who -certainly had not come about any evangelical business. As time passed, -however, and it became apparent to him that Mrs. Kirkman was much more -occupied with her other visitor than with any curiosity about his own -boyish errand, whatever it might be, Will began to lose patience. When -he made a little attempt to gain a hearing in his turn, he was silenced -by the same sweet smile, and a clasp of the hand. "My dear boy, just a -moment; what we are talking of is of the greatest importance," said Mrs. -Kirkman. "There are so few real means of grace in this benighted town, -and to think that souls are being lost daily, hourly--and yet such a -show of services and prayers--it is terrible to think of it. In a few -minutes, my dear boy." - -"What I want is of the greatest importance, too," said Wilfrid, turning -doggedly away from the table and the magazines. - -Mrs. Kirkman looked at him, and thought she saw spiritual trouble in his -eye. She was flattered that he should have thought of her under such -interesting circumstances. It was a tardy but sweet compensation for all -she had done, as she said to herself, for his mother; and going on this -mistaken idea she dismissed the Scripture-reader, having first filled -him with an adequate sense of the insufficiency of the regular clergy. -It was, as so often happens, a faithful remnant, which was contending -alone for religion against all the powers of this world. They were sure -of one thing at least, and that was that everybody else was wrong. This -was the idea with which her humble agent left Mrs. Kirkman; and the same -feeling, sad but sweet, was in her own mind as she drew a chair to the -table and sat down beside her dear young friend. - -"And so you have come all the way from Kirtell to see _me_, my dear -boy?" she said. "How happy I shall be if I can be of some use to you. I -am afraid you won't find very much sympathy there." - -"No," said Wilfrid, vaguely, not knowing in the least what she meant. "I -am sorry I did not bring you some flowers, but I was in a hurry when I -came away." - -"Don't think of anything of the kind," said the colonel's wife, pressing -his hand. "What are flowers in comparison with the one great object of -our existence? Tell me about it, my dear Will; you know I have known you -from a child." - -"You knew I was coming then," said Will, a little surprised, "though I -thought nobody knew? Yes, I suppose you have known us all our lives. -What I want is to find out about my mother's marriage. I heard you knew -all about it. Of course you must have known all about it. That is what I -want to understand." - -"Your mother's marriage!" cried Mrs. Kirkman; and to do her justice she -looked aghast. The question horrified her, and at the same time it -disappointed her. "I am sure that is not what you came to talk to me -about," she said coaxingly, and with a certain charitable wile. "My -dear, dear boy, don't let shyness lead you away from the greatest of all -subjects. I know you came to talk to me about your soul." - -"I came to ask you about my mother's marriage," said Will. His giddiness -had passed by this time, and he looked her steadily in the face. It was -impossible to mistake him now, or think it a matter of unimportance or -mere curiosity. Mrs. Kirkman had her faults, but she was a good woman at -the bottom. She did not object to make an allusion now and then which -vexed Mary, and made her aware, as it were, of the precipice by which -she was always standing. It was what Mrs. Kirkman thought a good moral -discipline for her friend, besides giving herself a pleasant -consciousness of power and superiority; but when Mary's son sat down in -front of her, and looked with cold but eager eyes in his face, and -demanded this frightful information, her heart sank within her. It made -her forget for the moment all about the clergy and the defective means -of grace; and brought her down to the common standing of a natural -Christian woman, anxious and terror-stricken for her friend. - -"What have you to do with your mother's marriage?" she said, trembling a -little. "Do you know what a very strange question you are asking? Who -has told you anything about that? O me! you frighten me so, I don't know -what I am saying. Did Mary send you? Have you just come from your -mother? If you want to know about her marriage, it is of her that you -should ask information. Of course she can tell you all about it--she and -your Aunt Agatha. What a very strange question to ask of me!" - -Wilfrid looked steadily into Mrs. Kirkman's agitated face, and saw it -was all true he had heard. "If you do not know anything about it," he -said, with pitiless logic, "you would say so. Why should you look so put -out if there was nothing to tell?" - -"I am not put out," said Mrs. Kirkman, still more disturbed. "Oh, Will, -you are a dreadful boy. What is it you want to know? What is it for? Did -you tell your mother you were coming here?" - -"I don't see what it matters whether I told my mother, or what it is -for," said Will. "I came to you because you were good, and would not -tell a lie. I can depend on what you say to me. I have heard all about -it already, but I am not so sure as I should be if I had it from you." - -This compliment touched the colonel's wife on a susceptible point. She -calmed a little out of her fright. A boy with so just an appreciation of -other people's virtues could not be meditating anything unkind or -unnatural to his mother. Perhaps it would be better for Mary that he -should know the rights of it; perhaps it was providential that he should -have come to her, who could give him all the details. - -"I don't suppose you can mean any harm," she said. "Oh, Will, our hearts -are all desperately wicked. The best of us is little able to resist -temptation. You are right in thinking I will tell you the truth if I -tell you anything; but oh, my dear boy, if it should be to lead you to -evil and not good----" - -"Never mind about the evil and the good," said Will impatiently. "What I -want is to know what is false and what is true." - -Mrs. Kirkman hesitated still; but she began to persuade herself that he -might have heard something worse than the truth. She was in a great -perplexity; impelled to speak, and yet frightened to death at the -consequences. It was a new situation for her altogether, and she did not -know how to manage it. She clasped her hands helplessly together, and -the very movement suggested an idea which she grasped at, partly because -she was really a sincere, good woman who believed in the efficacy of -prayer, and partly, poor soul, to gain a little time, for she was at her -wits' end. - -"I will," she said. "I will, my dear boy; I will tell you everything; -but oh, let us kneel down and have a word of prayer first, that we may -not make a bad use of--of what we hear." - -If she had ever been in earnest in her life it was at that moment; the -tears were in her eyes, and all her little affectations of solemnity had -disappeared. She could not have told anybody what it was she feared; and -yet the more she looked at the boy beside her, the more she felt their -positions change, and feared and stood in awe, feeling that she was for -the moment his slave, and must do anything he might command. - -"Mrs. Kirkman," said Will, "I don't understand that sort of thing. I -don't know what bad use you can think I am going to make of it;--at all -events it won't be your fault. I shall not detain you five minutes if -you will only tell me what I want to know." - -And she did tell him accordingly, not knowing how to resist, and warmed -in the telling in spite of herself, and could not but let him know that -she thought it was for Mary's good, and to bring her to a sense of the -vanity of all earthly things. She gave him scrupulously all the details. -The story flowed out upon Will's hungry ears with scarcely a pause. She -told him all about the marriage, where it had happened, and who had -performed it, and who had been present. Little Hugh had been present. -She had no doubt he would remember, if it was recalled to his memory. -Mrs. Kirkman recollected perfectly the look that Mary had thrown at her -husband when she saw the child there. Poor Mary! she had thought so much -of reputation and a good name. She had been so much thought of in the -regiment. They all called her by that ridiculous name, Madonna Mary--and -made so much of her, before---- - -"And did they not make much of her after?" said Will, quickly. - -"It is a different thing," said Mrs. Kirkman, softly shaking her long -curls and returning to herself. "A poor sinner returning to the right -way ought to be more warmly welcomed than even the best, if we can call -any human creature good; but----" - -"Is it my mother you call a poor sinner?" asked Will. - -Then there was a pause. Mrs. Kirkman shook her head once more, and shook -the long curls that hung over her cheeks; but it was difficult to -answer. "We are all poor sinners," she said. "Oh, my dear boy, if I -could only persuade you how much more important it is to think of your -own soul. If your poor dear mamma has done wrong, it is God who is her -judge. I never judged her for my part, I never made any difference. I -hope I know my own shortcomings too well for that." - -"I thought I heard you say something odd to her once," said Will. "I -should just like to see any one uncivil to my mother. But that's not the -question. I want that Mr. Churchill's address, please." - -"I can truly say I never made any difference," said Mrs. Kirkman; "some -people might have blamed me--but I always thought of the Mary that loved -much---- Oh, Will, what comforting words! I hope your dear mother has -long, long ago repented of her error. Perhaps your father deceived her, -as she was so young; perhaps it was all true the strange story he told -about the register being burnt, and all that. We all thought it was best -not to inquire into it. We know what we saw; but remember, you have -pledged your word not to make any dispeace with what I have told you. -You are not to make a disturbance in the family about it. It is all over -and past, and everybody has agreed to forget it. You are not going to -make any dispeace----" - -"I never thought of making any dispeace," said Will; but that was all he -said. He was brief, as he always was, and uncommunicative, and inclined, -now he had got all he wanted, to get up abruptly and go away. - -"And now, my dear young friend, you must do something for me," said Mrs. -Kirkman, "in repayment for what I have done for you. You must read -these, and you must not only read them, but think over them, and seek -light where it is to be found. Oh, my dear boy, how anxious we are to -search into any little mystery in connection with ourselves, and how -little we think of the mysteries of eternity! You must promise to give a -little attention to this great theme before this day has come to an -end." - -"Oh, yes, I'll read them," said Will, and he thrust into his pocket a -roll of tracts she gave him without any further thought what they were. -The truth was, that he did not pay much attention to what she was -saying; his head had begun to throb and feel giddy again, and he had a -rushing in his ears. He had it all in his hands now, and the sense of -his power overwhelmed him. He had never had such an instrument in his -hands before, he had never known what it was to be capable of moving -anybody, except to momentary displeasure or anxiety; and he felt as a -man might feel in whose hand there had suddenly been placed the most -powerful of weapons, with unlimited license to use it as he would--to -break down castles with it or crowns, or slay armies at a blow--and only -his own absolute pleasure to decide when or where it should fall. -Something of intoxication and yet of alarm was in that first sense of -power. He was rapt into a kind of ecstacy, and yet he was alarmed and -afraid. He thrust the tracts into his pocket, and he received, -cavalierly enough, Mrs. Kirkman's parting salutations. He had got all he -wanted from her, and Will's was not a nature to be very expansive in the -way of gratitude. Perhaps even, any sort of dim moral sense he might -have on the subject, made him feel that in the news he had just heard -there was not much room for gratitude. Anyhow he made very little -pretence at those hollow forms of courtesy which are current in the -elder world. He went away having got what he wanted, and left the -colonel's wife in a state of strange excitement and growing compunction. -Oddly enough, Will's scanty courtesy roused more compunctions in her -mind than anything else had done. She had put Mary's fate, as it were, -into the hands of a boy who had so little sense of what was right as to -withdraw in the most summary and abrupt way the moment his curiosity was -satisfied; who had not even grace enough, or self-control enough, to go -through the ordinary decorums, or pay common attention to what she said -to him; and now this inexperienced undisciplined lad had an incalculable -power in his hands--power to crush and ruin his own family, to -dispossess his brother and disgrace his mother: and nothing but his own -forbearance or good pleasure to limit him. What had she done? - -Will walked about the streets for a full hour after, dizzy with the same -extraordinary, intoxicating, alarming sense of power. Before, it had all -been vague, now it was distinct and clear; and even beyond his desire to -"right" himself, came the inclination to set this strange machine in -motion, and try his new strength. He was still so much a boy, that he -was curious to see the effect it would produce, eager to ascertain how -it would work, and what it could do. He was like a child in possession -of an infernal machine, longing to try it, and yet not unconscious of -the probable mischief. The sense of his power went to his head, and -intoxicated him like wine. Here it was all ready in his hands, an -instrument which could take away more than life, and he was afraid of -it, and of the strength of the recoil: and yet was full of eagerness to -see it go off, and see what results it would actually bring forth. He -walked about the town, not knowing where he was going, forgetting all -about his mother's commissions, and all about Percival, which was more -extraordinary--solely occupied with the sensation that the power was in -his hands. He went into the cathedral, and walked all round it, and -never knew he had been there; and when at last he found himself at the -railway station again, he woke up again abruptly, as if he had been in a -dream. Then making an effort he set his wits to work about Percival, and -asked himself what he was to do. Percival was nothing to Will: he was -his Aunt Winnie's husband, and perhaps had not used her well, and he -could furnish no information half so clear or distinct as that which -Mrs. Kirkman had given. Will did not see any reason in particular why he -should go out of his way to seek such a man out. He had been no doubt -his first informant, but in his present position of power and -superiority, he did not feel that he had any need of Percival. And why -should he seek him out? When he had sufficiently recovered his senses to -go through this reasoning, Will went deliberately back to town again, -and executed his mother's commissions. He went to several shops, and -gave orders which she had charged him with, and even took the trouble to -choose the things she wanted, in the most painstaking way, and was as -concerned that they should be right as if he had been the most dutiful -and tender of sons; and all the while he was thinking to ruin her, and -disgrace her, and put the last stigma upon her name, and render her an -outcast from the peaceful world. Such was the strange contradiction that -existed within him; he went back without speaking to any one, without -seeing anybody, knitting his brows and thinking all the way. The train -that carried him home, with his weapon in his hands, passed with a rush -and shriek the train which was conveying Nelly, with a great basket of -flowers in her lap, and a vague gleam of infinite content in her eyes, -back to her nursery and her duties, with Hugh by her side, who was -taking care of her, and losing himself, if there had been any harm in -it. That sweet loss and gain was going on imperceptibly in the carriage -where the one brother sat happy as a young prince, when the other -brother shot past as it were on wings of flame like a destroying angel. -Neither thought of the other as they thus crossed, the one being busy -with the pre-occupation of young love, the other lost in a passion, -which was not hate, nor even enmity, which was not inconsistent with a -kind of natural affection, and yet involved destruction and injury of -the darkest and most overwhelming kind. Contrasts so sharply and clearly -pointed occur but seldom in a world so full of modifications and -complicated interests; yet they do occur sometimes. And this was how it -was with Mary's boys. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI. - - -When Wilfrid reached home, he found his mother by herself in the -drawing-room. Winnie had a headache, or some other of those aches which -depend upon temper and the state of the mind, and Aunt Agatha was -sitting by her, in the darkened room, with bottles of eau de Cologne, -and sal volatile, and smelling salts, and all the paraphernalia of this -kind of indisposition. Aunt Agatha had been apt to take headaches -herself in her younger days when she happened to be crossed, and she was -not without an idea that it was a very orthodox resource for a woman -when she could not have her own way. And thus they were shut up, -exchanging confidences. It did poor Winnie good, and it did not do Miss -Seton any harm. And Mary was alone downstairs. She was not looking so -bright as when Wilfrid went away. The idea which Sir Edward had -suggested to her, even if it had taken no hold of her mind, had breathed -on her a possible cloud; and she looked up wistfully at her boy as he -came in. Wilfrid, too, bore upon his face, to some extent, the marks of -what he had been doing; but then his mother did not know what he had -been doing, and could not guess what the dimness meant which was over -his countenance. It was not a bright face at any time, but was often -lost in mists, and its meaning veiled from his mother's eyes; and she -could not follow him, this time any more than other times, into the -uncertain depths. All she could do was to look at him wistfully, and -long to see a little clearer, and wonder, as she had so often wondered, -how it was that his thoughts and ways were so often out of her ken--how -it was that children could go so far away, and be so wholly sundered, -even while at the very side of those who had nursed them on their -knees, and trained them to think and feel. A standing wonder, and yet -the commonest thing in nature. Mary felt it over again with double force -to-day, as he came and brought her her wool and bits of ribbon, and she -looked into his face and did not know what its meaning was. - -As for Will, it was a curious sensation for him, too, on his part. It -was such an opportunity as he could scarcely have looked for, for -opening to his mother the great discovery he had made, and the great -changes that might follow. He could have had it all out with her and put -his power into operation, and seen what its effects were, without fear -of being disturbed. But he shrank from it, he could not tell why. He was -not a boy of very fastidious feelings, but still to sit there facing her -and look into her face, and tell her that he had been inquiring into her -past life, and had found out her secret, was more than Will was capable -of. To meditate doing it, and to think over what he would say, and to -arrange the words in which he would tell her that it was still one of -her sons who would have Earlston--was a very different thing from fairly -looking her in the face and doing it. He stared at her for a moment in a -way which startled Mary; and then the impossibility became evident to -him, and he turned his eyes away from her and sat down. - -"You look a little strange, Will," said Mary. "Are you tired, or has -anything happened? You startled me just now, you looked so pale." - -"No, I am not tired," said Will, in his curt way. "I don't know anything -about being pale." - -"Well, you never were very rosy," said Mrs. Ochterlony. "I did not -expect you so soon. I thought you would have gone to the Askells', and -come home with Hugh." - -"I never thought of that. I thought you wanted your wool and things," -said Will. - -It was very slight, ordinary talk, and yet it was quivering with meaning -on both sides, though neither knew what the other's meaning was. Will, -for his part, was answering his mother's questions with something like -the suppressed mania of homicide within him, not quite knowing whether -at any moment the subdued purpose might not break out, and kill, and -reveal itself; whereas his mother, totally unsuspecting how far things -had gone, was longing to discover whether Percival had gained any power -over him, and what that adversary's tactics were. - -"Have you seen anybody?" she said. "By the way, Sir Edward was talking -of Major Percival--he seemed to think that he might still be in -Carlisle. Did you by any chance see anything of him there?" - -She fixed her eyes full upon him as she spoke, but Will did not in any -way shrink from her eyes. - -"No," he said carelessly. "I did not see him. He told me he was going to -stay a day or two in Carlisle, but I did not look out for him, -particularly. He gets to be a bore after the first." - -When Mary heard this, her face cleared up like the sky after a storm. It -had been all folly, and once more she had made herself unhappy about -nothing. How absurd it was! Percival was wicked, but still he had no -cause to fix any quarrel upon her, or poison the mind of her son. It was -on Winnie's account he came, and on Winnie's account, no doubt, he was -staying; and in all likelihood Mrs. Ochterlony and her boys were as -utterly unimportant to him, as in ordinary circumstances he was to them. -Mary made thus the mistake by which a tolerant and open mind, not too -much occupied about itself, sometimes goes astray. People go wrong much -more frequently from thinking too much of themselves, and seeing their -own shadow across everybody's way; but yet there may be danger even in -the lack of egotism: and thus it was that Mary's face cleared up, and -her doubts dispersed, just at the moment when she had most to dread. - -Then there was a pause, and the homicidal impulse, so to speak, took -possession of Will. He was playing with the things he had bought, -putting them into symmetrical and unsymmetrical shapes on the table, and -when he suddenly said "Mother," Mrs. Ochterlony turned to him with a -smile. He said "Mother," and then he stopped short, and picked to pieces -the construction he was making, but at the same time he never raised his -eyes. - -"Well, Will?" said Mary. - -And then there was a brief, but sharp, momentary struggle in his mind. -He meant to speak, and wanted to speak, but could not. His throat seemed -to close with a jerk when he tried; the words would not come from his -lips. It was not that he was ashamed of what he was going to do, or that -any sudden compunction for his mother seized him. It was a kind of spasm -of impossibility, as much physical as mental. He could no more do it, -then he could lift the Cottage from its solid foundations. He went on -arranging the little parcels on the table into shapes, square, oblong, -and triangular, his fingers busy, but his mind much more busy, his eyes -looking at nothing, and his lips unable to articulate a single word. - -"Well, Will, what were you going to say?" said Mary, again. - -"Nothing," said Will; and he got up and went away with an abruptness -which made his mother wonder and smile. It was only Willy's way; but it -was an exaggerated specimen of Will's way. She thought to herself when -he was gone, with regret, that it was a great pity he was so abrupt. It -did not matter at home, where everybody knew him; but among strangers, -where people did not know him, it might do him so much injury. Poor -Will! but he knew nothing about Percival, and cared nothing, and Mary -was ashamed of her momentary fear. - -As for the boy himself, he went out, and took himself to task, and felt -all over him a novel kind of tremor, a sense of strange excitement, the -feeling of one who had escaped a great danger. But that was not all the -feeling which ought to have been in his mind. He had neglected and lost -a great opportunity, and though it was not difficult to make -opportunities, Will felt by instinct that his mother's mere presence had -defeated him. He could not tell her of the discovery he had made. He -might write her a letter about it, or send the news to her at -secondhand; but to look in her face and tell her, was impossible. To sit -down there by her side, and meet her eyes, and tell her that he had been -making inquiries into her character, and that she was not the woman she -was supposed to be, nor was the position of her children such as the -world imagined, was an enterprise which Wilfrid had once and for ever -proved impossible. He stood blank before this difficulty which lay at -the very beginning of his undertaking; he had not only failed, but he -saw that he must for ever fail. It amazed him, but he felt it was final. -His mouth was closed, and he could not speak. - -And then he thought he would wait until Hugh came home. Hugh was not his -mother, nor a woman. He was no more than Will's equal at the best, and -perhaps even his inferior; and to him, surely, it could be said. He -waited for a long time, and kept lingering about the roads, wondering -what train his brother would come by, and feeling somehow reluctant to -go in again, so long as his mother was alone. For in Mrs. Ochterlony's -presence Will could not forget that he had a secret--that he had done -something out of her knowledge, and had something of the most momentous -character to tell her, and yet could not tell it to her. It would be -different with Hugh. He waited loitering about upon the dusty summer -roads, biting his nails to the quick, and labouring hard through a sea -of thought. This telling was disagreeable, even it was only Hugh that -had to be told--more disagreeable than anything else about the business, -far more disagreeable, certainly, than he had anticipated it would be; -and Wilfrid did not quite make out how it was that a simple fact should -be so difficult to communicate. It enlarged his views so far, and gave -him a glimpse into the complications of maturer life, but it did not in -any way divert him from his purpose, or change his ideas about his -rights. At length the train appeared by which it was certain Hugh must -come home. Wilfrid sauntered along the road within sight of the little -station to meet his brother, and yet when he saw Hugh actually -approaching, his heart gave a jump in his breast. The moment had come, -and he must do it, which was a very different thing from thinking it -over, and planning what he was to say. - -"You here, Will!" said Hugh. "I looked for you in Carlisle. Why didn't -you go to Mrs. Askell's and wait for me?" - -"I had other things to do," said Will, briefly. - -Hugh laughed. "Very important things, I have no doubt," he said; "but -still you might have waited for me, all the same. How is Aunt Winnie? I -saw that fellow,--that husband of hers,--at the station. I should like -to know what he wants hanging about here." - -"He wants _her_, perhaps," said Will, though with another jump of his -heart. - -"He had better not come and bother her," said Hugh. "She may not be -perfect herself, but I won't stand it. She is my mother's sister, after -all, and she is a woman. I hope you won't encourage him to hang about -here." - -"_I!_" cried Will, with amazement and indignation. - -"Yes," said Hugh, with elder-brotherly severity. "Not that I think you -would mean any harm by it, Will; it is not a sort of thing you can be -expected to understand. A fellow like that should be kept at a distance. -When a man behaves badly to a woman--to his wife--to such a beautiful -creature as she has been----" - -"I don't see anything very beautiful about her," said Will. - -"That doesn't matter," said Hugh, who was hot and excited, having been -taken into Winnie's confidence. "She has been beautiful, and that's -enough. Indeed, she ought to be beautiful now, if that fellow hadn't -been a brute. And if he means to come back here----" - -"Perhaps it is not her he wants," said Will, whose profound -self-consciousness made him play quite a new part in the dialogue. - -"What could he want else?" said Hugh, with scorn. "You may be sure it is -no affection for any of _us_ that brings him here." - -Here was the opportunity, if Will could but have taken it. Now was the -moment to tell him that something other than Winnie might be in -Percival's mind--that it was his own fortune, and not hers, that hung in -the balance. But Will was dumb; his lips were sealed; his tongue clove -to the roof of his mouth. It was not his will that was in fault. It was -a rebellion of all his physical powers, a rising up of nature against -his purpose. He was silent in spite of himself; he said not another word -as they walked on together. He suffered Hugh to stray into talk about -the Askells, about the Museum, about anything or nothing. Once or twice -he interrupted the conversation abruptly with some half-dozen words, -which brought it to a sudden stop, and gave him the opportunity of -broaching his own subject. But when he came to that point he was struck -dumb. Hugh, all innocent and unconscious, in serene elderly-brotherly -superiority, good humoured and condescending, and carelessly -affectionate, was as difficult to deal with as Mary herself. Without -withdrawing from his undertaking, or giving up his "rights," Wilfrid -felt himself helpless; he could not say it out. It seemed to him now -that so far from giving in to it, as he once imagined, without -controversy, Hugh equally without controversy would set it aside as -something monstrous, and that his new hope would be extinguished and -come to an end if his elder brother had the opportunity of thus putting -it down at once. When they reached home, Will withdrew to his own room, -with a sense of being baffled and defeated--defeated before he had -struck a blow. He did not come downstairs again, as they remembered -afterwards--he did not want any tea. He had not a headache, as Aunt -Agatha, now relieved from attendance upon Winnie, immediately suggested. -All he wanted was to be left alone, for he had something to do. This was -the message that came downstairs. "He is working a great deal too much," -said Aunt Agatha, "you will see he will hurt his brain or something;" -while Hugh, too, whispered to his mother, "You shall see; _I_ never did -much, but Will will go in for all sorts of honours," the generous fellow -whispered in his mother's ear; and Mary smiled, in her heart thinking so -too. If they had seen Will at the moment sitting with his face supported -by both his hands, biting his nails and knitting his brows, and -pondering more intently than any man ever pondered over classic puzzle -or scientific problem, they might have been startled out of those -pleasant thoughts. - -And yet the problem he was considering was one that racked his brain, -and made his head ache, had he been sufficiently at leisure to feel it. -The more impossible he felt it to explain himself and make his claim, -the more obstinately determined was he to make it, and have what -belonged to him. His discouragement and sense of defeat did but -intensify his resolution. He had failed to speak, notwithstanding his -opportunities; but he could write, or he could employ another voice as -his interpreter. With all his egotism and determination, Wilfrid was -young, nothing but a boy, and inexperienced, and at a loss what to do. -Everything seemed easy to him until he tried to do it; and when he -tried, everything seemed impossible. He had thought it the most ordinary -affair in the world to tell his discovery to his mother and brother, -until the moment came which in both cases proved the communication to be -beyond his powers. And now he thought he could write. After long -pondering, he got up and opened the little desk upon which he had for -years written his verses and exercises, troubled by nothing worse than a -doubtful quantity, and made an endeavour to carry out his last idea. -Will's style was not a bad style. It was brief and terse, and to the -point,--a remarkable kind of diction for a boy,--but he did not find -that it suited his present purpose. He put himself to torture over his -letters. He tried it first in one way, and then in another; but however -he put it, he felt within himself that it would not do. He had no sort -of harsh or unnatural meaning in his mind. They were still his mother -and brother to whom he wanted to write, and he had no inclination to -wound their feelings, or to be disrespectful or unkind. In short, it -only required this change, and his establishment in what he supposed his -just position, to make him the kindest and best of sons and brothers. He -toiled over his letters as he had never toiled over anything in his -life. He could not tell how to express himself, nor even what to say. He -addressed his mother first, and then Hugh, and then his mother again; -but the more he laboured the more impossible he found his task. When -Mrs. Ochterlony came upstairs and opened his door to see what her boy -was about, Wilfrid stumbled up from his seat red and heated, and shut up -his desk, and faced her with an air of confusion and trouble which she -could not understand. It was not too late even then to bring her in and -tell her all; and this possibility bewildered Will, and filled him with -agitation and excitement, to which naturally his mother had no clue. - -"What is the matter?" she said, anxiously; "are you ill, Will? Have you -a headache? I thought you were in bed." - -"No, I am all right," said Will, facing her with a look, which in its -confusion seemed sullen. "I am busy. It is too soon to go to bed." - -"Tell me what is wrong," said Mary, coming a step further into the room. -"Will, my dear boy, I am sure you are not well. You have not been -quarrelling with any one--with Hugh----?" - -"With Hugh!" said Will, with a little scorn; "why should I quarrel with -Hugh?" - -"Why, indeed!" said Mrs. Ochterlony, smiling faintly; "but you do not -look like yourself. Tell me what you have been doing, at least." - -Will's heart thumped against his breast. He might put her into the chair -by which she was standing, and tell her everything and have it over. -This possibility still remained to him. He stood for a second and looked -at her, and grew breathless with excitement, but then somehow his voice -seemed to die away in his throat. - -"If I were to tell you what I was doing, you would not understand it," -he said, repeating mechanically words which he had used in good faith, -with innocent schoolboy arrogance, many a time before. As for Mary, she -looked at him wistfully, seeing something in his eyes which she could -not interpret. They had never been candid, frank eyes like Hugh's. Often -enough before, they had been impatient of her scrutiny, and had veiled -their meaning with an apparent blank; but yet there had never been any -actual harm hid by the artifice. Mary sighed; but she did not insist, -knowing how useless it was. If it was anything, perhaps it was some -boyish jealousy about Nelly,--an imaginary feeling which would pass -away, and leave no trace behind. But, whatever it was, it was vain to -think of finding it out by questions; and she gave him her good-night -kiss and left him, comforting herself with the thought that most likely -it was only one of Will's uncomfortable moments, and would be over by -to-morrow. But when his mother went away, Will for his part sank down, -with the strangest tremor, in his chair. Never before in his life had -this sick and breathless excitement, this impulse of the mind and -resistance of the flesh, been known to him, and he could not bear it. It -seemed to him he never could stand in her presence, never feel his -mother's eyes upon him, without feeling that now was the moment that he -must and ought to tell her, and yet could not tell her, no more than if -he were speechless. He had never felt very deeply all his life before, -and the sense of this struggle took all his strength from him. It made -his heart beat, so that the room and the house and the very solid earth -on which he stood seemed to throb and tingle round him; it was like -standing for ever on the edge of a precipice over which the slightest -movement would throw him, and the very air seemed to rush against his -ears as it would do if he were falling. He sank down into his chair, and -his heart beat, and the pulses throbbed in his temples. What was he to -do?--he could not speak, he could not write, and yet it must be told, -and his rights gained, and the one change made that should convert him -into the tenderest son, the most helpful brother, that ever man or woman -had. At last in his despair and pertinacity, there came into his mind -that grand expedient which occurs naturally to everything that is young -and unreasonable under the pressure of unusual trials. He would go away; -he could not go on seeing them continually, with this communication -always ready to break from the lips which would not utter it,--nor could -he write to them while he was still with them, and when any letter must -be followed by an immediate explanation. But he could fly; and when he -was at a safe distance, then he could tell them. No doubt it was -cowardice to a certain extent; but there were other things as well. -Partly it was impatience, and partly the absoluteness and imperious -temper of youth, and that intolerance of everything painful that comes -natural to it. He sat in his chair, noiseless and thinking, in the -stillness of night, a poor young soul, tempted and yielding to -temptation, sinful, yet scarcely conscious how sinful he was, and yet at -the same time forlorn with that profound forlornness of egotism and -ill-doing which is almost pathetic in the young. He could consult -nobody, take no one into his confidence. The only counsellors he had -known in all his small experience were precisely those upon whom he was -about to turn. He was alone, and had everything to plan, everything to -do for himself. - -And yet was there nobody whom he could take into his confidence? -Suddenly, in the stillness of the night a certain prosperous, -comfortable figure came into the boy's mind--one who thought it was well -to get money and wealth and power, anyhow except dishonestly, which of -course was an impracticable and impolitic way. When that idea came to -him like an inspiration, Will gave a little start, and looked up, and -saw the blue dawn making all the bars of his window visible against the -white blind that covered it. Night was gone with its dark counsels, and -the day had come. What he did after that was to take out his boy's -purse, and count over carefully all the money it contained. It was not -much, but yet it was enough. Then he took his first great final step in -life, with a heart that beat in his ears, but not loud enough to betray -him. He went downstairs softly as the dawn brightened, and all the dim -staircase and closed doors grew visible, revealed by the silent growth -of the early light. Nobody heard him, nobody dreamed that any secret -step could ever glide down those stairs or out of the innocent honest -house. He was the youngest in it, and should have been the most -innocent; and he thought he meant no evil. Was it not his right he was -going to claim? He went softly out, going through the drawing-room -window, which it was safer to leave open than the door, and across the -lawn, which made no sound beneath his foot. The air of the summer -morning was like balm, and soothed him, and the blueness brightened and -grew rosy as he went his way among the early dews. The only spot on -which, like Gideon's fleece, no dew had fallen, was poor Will's beating -heart, as he went away in silence and secrecy from his mother's door. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII. - - -The breakfast-table in the Cottage was as cheerful as usual next -morning, and showed no premonitory shadow. Winnie did not come -downstairs early; and perhaps it was all the more cheerful for her -absence. And there were flowers on the table, and everything looked -bright. Will was absent, it is true, but nobody took much notice of that -as yet. He might be late, or he might have gone out; and he was not a -boy to be long negligent of the necessities of nature. Aunt Agatha even -thought it necessary to order something additional to be kept hot for -him. "He has gone out, I suppose," Miss Seton said; "and it is rather -cold this morning, and a long walk in this air will make the boy as -hungry as a hunter. Tell Peggy not to cook that trout till she hears him -come in." - -The maid looked perturbed and breathless; but she said, "Yes, ma'am," -humbly--as if it was she who was in the wrong; and the conversation and -the meal were resumed. A minute or two after, however, she appeared once -more: "If you please, there's somebody asking for Mr. Hugh," said the -frightened girl, standing, nervous and panting, with her hand upon the -door. - -"Somebody for me?" said Hugh. "The gamekeeper, I suppose; he need not -have been in such a hurry. Let him come in and wait a little. I'll be -ready presently." - -"But, my dear boy," said Aunt Agatha, "you must not waste the man's -time. It is Sir Edward's time, you know; and he may have quantities of -things to do. Go and see what he wants: and your mother will not fill -out your coffee till you come back." - -And Hugh went out, half laughing, half grumbling--but he laughed no -more, when he saw Peggy standing severe and pale at the kitchen door, -waiting for him. "Mr. Hugh," said Peggy, with the aspect of a chief -justice, "tell me this moment, on your conscience, is there any quarrel -or disagreement between your brother and you?" - -"My brother and me? Do you mean Will?" said Hugh, in amazement. "Not the -slightest. What do you mean? We were never better friends in our life." - -"God be thanked!" said Peggy; and then she took him by the arm, and led -the astonished young man upstairs to Will's room. "He's never sleepit in -that bed this night. His little bag's gone, with a change in't. He's -putten on another pair of boots. Where is the laddie gone? And me -that'll have to face his mother, and tell her she's lost her bairn!" - -"Lost her bairn! Nonsense," cried Hugh, aghast; "he's only gone out for -a walk." - -"When a boy like that goes out for a walk, he does not take a change -with him," said Peggy. "He may be lying in Kirtell deeps for anything we -can tell. And me that will have to break it to his mother----" - -Hugh stood still in consternation for a moment, and then he burst into -an agitated laugh. "He would not have taken a change with him, as you -say, into Kirtell deeps," he said. "Nonsense, Peggy! Are you sure he has -not been in bed? Don't you go and frighten my mother. And, indeed, I -daresay he does not always go to bed. I see his light burning all the -night through, sometimes. Peggy, don't go and put such ridiculous ideas -into people's heads. Will has gone out to walk, as usual. There he is, -downstairs. I hear him coming in: make haste, and cook his trout." - -Hugh, however, was so frightened himself by all the terrors of -inexperience, that he precipitated himself downstairs, to see if it was -really Will who had entered. It was not Will, however, but a boy from -the railway, with a note, in Will's handwriting, addressed to his -mother, which took all the colour out of Hugh's cheeks--for he was -still a boy, and new to life, and did not think of any such easy -demonstration of discontent as that of going to visit Uncle Penrose. He -went into the breakfast-room with so pale a face, that both the ladies -got up in dismay, and made a rush at him to know what it was. - -"It is nothing," said Hugh, breathless, waving them off, "nothing--only -a note--I have not read it yet--wait a little. Mother, don't be afraid." - -"What is there to be afraid of?" asked Mary, in amazement and dismay. - -And then Hugh again burst into an unsteady and tremulous laugh. He had -read the note, and threw it at his mother with an immense load lifted -off his heart, and feeling wildly gay in the revulsion. "There's nothing -to be frightened about," said Hugh. "By Jove! to think the fellow has no -more taste--gone off to see Uncle Penrose. I wish them joy!" - -"Who is it that has gone to visit Mr. Penrose?" said Aunt Agatha; and -Hugh burst into an explanation, while Mary, not by any means so much -relieved, read her boy's letter. - -"I confess I got a fright," said Hugh. "Peggy dragged me upstairs to -show me that he had not slept in his bed, and said his carpet-bag was -gone, and insinuated--I don't know what--that we had quarrelled, and all -sorts of horrors. But he's gone to see Uncle Penrose. It's all right, -mother; I always thought it was all right." - -"And had you quarrelled?" asked Aunt Agatha, in consternation. - -"I am not sure it is all right," said Mary; "why has he gone to see -Uncle Penrose? and what has he heard? and without saying a word to me." - -Mary was angry with her boy, and it made her heart sore--it was the -first time any of them had taken a sudden step out of her knowledge--and -then what had he heard? Something worse than any simple offence or -discontent might be lurking behind. - -But Hugh, of course, knew nothing at all about that. He sat down again -to his interrupted breakfast, and laughed and talked, and made merry. "I -wonder what Uncle Penrose will say to him?" said Hugh. "I suppose he has -gone and spent all his money getting to Liverpool; and what could his -motive be, odd fellow as he is? The girls are all married----" - -"My dear boy, Will is not thinking of girls as you are," said Mary, -beguiled into a smile. - -Hugh laughed and grew red, and shook his abundant youthful locks. "We -are not talking of what I think," he said; "and I suppose a man may do -worse than think about girls--a little: but the question is, what was -Will thinking about? Uncle Penrose cannot have ensnared him with his -odious talk about money? By-the-way, I must send him some. We can't let -an Ochterlony be worried about a few miserable shillings there." - -"I don't think we can let an Ochterlony, at least so young a one as -Will, stay uninvited," said Mary. "I feel much disposed to go after him -and bring him home, or at least find out what he means." - -"No, you shall do nothing of the kind," said Hugh, hastily. "I suppose -our mother can trust her sons out of her sight. Nobody must go after -him. Why, he is seventeen--almost grown up. He must not feel any want of -confidence----" - -"Want of confidence!" said Aunt Agatha. "Hugh, you are only a boy -yourself. What do you know about it? I think Mary would be very wrong if -she let Will throw himself into temptation; and one knows there is every -kind of temptation in those large, wicked towns," said Miss Seton, -shuddering. It was she who knew nothing about it, no more than a baby, -and still less did she know or guess the kind of temptation that was -acting upon the truant's mind. - -"If that were all," said Mary, slowly, and then she sighed. She was not -afraid of the temptations of a great town. She did not even know what -she feared. She wanted to bring back her boy, to hear from his own lips -what his motive was. It did not seem possible that there could be any -harm meant by his boyish secrecy. It was even hard for his mother to -persuade herself that Will could think of any harm; but still it was -strange. When she thought of Percival's visit and Will's expedition to -Carlisle, her heart fluttered within her, though she scarcely knew why. -Will was not like other boys of his age; and then it was "something he -had heard." "I think," she said, with hesitation, "that one of us should -go--either you or I----" - -"No," said Hugh. "No, mother, no; don't think of it; as if he were a -girl or a Frenchman! Why it's Will! What harm can he do? If he likes to -visit Uncle Penrose, let him; it will not be such a wonderful delight. -I'll send him some money to-day." - -This, of course, was how it was settled; for Mary's terrors were not -strong enough to contend with her natural English prejudices against -_surveillance_ and restraint, backed by Hugh's energetic remonstrances. -When Winnie heard of it, she dashed immediately at the idea that her -husband's influence had something to do with Will's strange flight, and -was rather pleased and flattered by the thought. "I said he would strike -me through my friends," she said to Aunt Agatha, who was bewildered, and -did not know what this could mean. - -"My dear love, what good could it do him to interfere with Will?" said -Miss Seton. "A mere boy, and who has not a penny. If he had wanted to -injure us, it would have been Hugh that he would have tried to lead -away." - -"To lead away?" said Winnie scornfully. "What does he care for leading -away? He wants to do harm, real harm. He thinks he can strike me through -my friends." - -When Aunt Agatha heard this she turned round to Mary, who had just come -into the room, and gave a little deprecating shake of her head, and a -pathetic look. Poor Winnie! She could think of nothing but her husband -and his intentions; and how could he do this quiet household real harm? -Mary said nothing, but her uneasiness increased more and more. She could -not sit down to her work, or take up any of her ordinary occupations. -She went to Will's room and examined it throughout, and looked through -his wardrobe to see what he had taken with him, and searched vainly for -any evidence of his meaning; and then she wrote him a long letter of -questions and appeals, which would have been full of pathetic eloquence -to anybody who knew what was in her mind, but would have appeared simply -amazing and unintelligible to anybody ignorant of her history, as she -herself perceived, and burnt it, and wrote a second, in which there was -still a certain mystery. She reminded him that he might have gone away -comfortably with everybody's knowledge, instead of making the household -uneasy about him; and she could not but let a little wonder creep -through, that of all people in the world it was Uncle Penrose whom he -had elected to visit; and then she made an appeal to him: "What have I -done to forfeit my boy's confidence? what can you have heard, oh Will, -my dear boy, that you could not tell to your mother?" Her mind was -relieved by writing, but still she was uneasy and disquieted. If he had -been severely kept in, or had any reason to fear a refusal;--but to -steal away when he might have full leave and every facility; this was -one of the things which appeared the most strange. - -The servants, for their part, set it down to a quarrel with his brother, -and jealousy about Nelly, and took Hugh's part, who was always the -favourite. And as for Hugh himself, he sent his brother a cheque (his -privilege of drawing cheques being still new, and very agreeable), and -asked why he was such an ass as to run away, and bade him enjoy himself. -The house was startled--but after all, it was no such great matter; and -nobody except Mary wasted much consideration upon Will's escapade after -that first morning. He was but a boy; and it was natural, everybody -thought, that boys should do something foolish now and then. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII. - - -In a curious state of mind, Will was flying along towards Liverpool, -while this commotion arose in the Cottage. Not even now had the matter -taken any moral aspect to him. He did not feel that he had gone skulking -off to deliver a cowardly blow. All that he was conscious of was the -fact, that having something to tell which he could not somehow persuade -himself to tell, he was going to make the communication from a distance -under Uncle Penrose's advice. And yet the boy was not comfortable. It -had become apparent to him vaguely, that after this communication was -made, the relations existing between himself and his family must be -changed. That his mother might be "angry," which was his boyish term for -any or every displeasure that might cloud Mrs. Ochterlony's mind; that -Hugh might take it badly--and that after all it was a troublesome -business, and he would be pleased to get it over. He was travelling in -the cheapest way, for his money was scanty; but he was not the kind of -boy to be beguiled from his own thoughts by the curious third-class -society into which he was thus brought, or even by the country, which -gradually widened and expanded under his eyes from the few beaten paths -he knew so well, into that wide unknown stretch of hill and plain which -was the world. A vague excitement, it is true, came into his mind as he -felt himself to have passed out of the reach of everything he knew, and -to have entered upon the undiscovered; but this excitement did not draw -him out of his own thoughts. It did but mingle with them, and put a -quickening thrill of life into the strange maze. The confused country -people at the stations, who did not know which carriage to take, and -wandered, hurried and disconsolate, on the platforms, looking into -all--the long swift moment of passage over the silent country, in which -the train, enveloped in its own noise, made for itself a distinct -atmosphere--and then again a shriek, a pause, and another procession of -faces looking in at the window--this was Will's idea of the long -journey. He was not imaginative; but still everybody appeared to him -hurried, and downcast, and pre-occupied. Even the harmless country folks -had the air of having something on their minds. And through all he kept -on pondering what his mother and what Hugh would say. Poor boy! his -discovery had given him no advantage as yet; but it had put a cross upon -his shoulders--it had bound him so hard and fast that he could not -escape from it. It had brought, if not guilt, yet the punishment of -guilt into all his thoughts. - -Mr. Penrose had a handsome house at some distance from Liverpool, as was -usual. And Will found it a very tedious and troublesome business to get -there, not to speak of the calls for sixpences from omnibuses and -porters, and everybody (he thought) who looked at him, which was very -severe on his slender purse. And when he arrived, his uncle's servants -looked upon him with manifest suspicion; he had never been there before, -and Mr. Penrose was now living alone, his wife being dead, and all his -children married, so that there was nobody in the house who could -identify the unknown nephew. The Cottage was not much bigger than Mr. -Penrose's porter's lodge, and yet that small tenement had looked down -upon the great mansion all its life, and been partly ashamed of it, -which sentiment gave Will an unconscious sense that he was doing Uncle -Penrose an honour in going to visit him. But when he was met at the door -by the semi-polite suspicion of the butler, who proposed that he should -call again, with an evident reference in his mind to the spoons, it gave -the boy the forlornest feeling that can be conceived. He was alone, and -they thought him an impostor, and nobody here knew or cared whether he -was shut out from the house or not. His heart went back to his home with -that revulsion which everybody knows. There, everybody would have rushed -to open the door to him, and welcome him back; and though his errand -here was simply to do that home as much injury as possible, his heart -swelled at the contrast. While he stood, however, insisting upon -admittance in his dogged way, without showing any feelings, it happened -that Mr. Penrose drove up to the door, and hailed his nephew with much -surprise. "You here, Will?" Mr. Penrose said. "I hope nothing has gone -wrong at the Cottage?" and his man's hand instantly, and as by magic, -relaxed from the door. - -"There is nothing wrong, sir," said Will, "but I wanted to speak to -you;" and he entered triumphantly, not without a sense of victory, as -the subdued servant took his bag out of his hand. Mr. Penrose was, as we -have said, alone. He had shed, as it were, all incumbrances, and was -ready, unfettered by any ties or prejudices, to grow richer and wiser -and more enlightened every day. His children were all married, and his -wife having fulfilled all natural offices of this life, and married all -her daughters, had quietly taken her dismissal when her duties were -over, and had a very handsome tombstone, which he looked at on Sunday. -It occurred to very few people, however, to lament over Mr. Penrose's -loneliness. He seemed to have been freed from all impediments, and left -at liberty to grow rich, to get fat, and to believe in his own greatness -and wisdom. Nor did it occur to himself to feel his great house lonely. -He liked eating a luxurious dinner by himself, and knowing how much it -had cost, all for his single lordly appetite--the total would have been -less grand if wife and children had shared it. And then he had other -things to think of--substantial things, about interest and investments, -and not mere visionary reflections about the absence of other chairs or -other faces at his table. But he had a natural interest in Wilfrid, as -in a youth who had evidently come to ask his advice, which was an -article he was not disinclined to give away. And then "the Setons," as -he called his sister's family and descendants, had generally shut their -ears to his advice, and shown an active absence of all political -qualities, so that Will's visit was a compliment of the highest -character, something like an unexpected act of homage from Mordecai in -the gate. - -But even Mr. Penrose was struck dumb by Will's communication. He put up -his hand to his cravat and gasped, and thumped himself on the breast, -staring at the boy with round, scared, apoplectic eyes--like the eyes of -a boiled fish. He stared at Will,--who told the story calmly enough, -with a matter-of-fact conciseness--and looked as if he was disposed to -ring the bell and send for a doctor, and get out of the difficulty by -concluding his nephew to be mad. But there was no withstanding the -evidence of plain good faith and sincerity in Will's narration. Mr. -Penrose remained silent longer than anybody had ever known him to remain -silent before, and he was not even very coherent when he had regained -the faculty of speech. - -"That woman was present, was she?" he said, "and Winnie's husband--good -Lord! And so you mean to tell me Mary has been all this time--When I -asked her to my house, and my wife intended to make a party for her, and -all that--and when she preferred to visit at Earlston, and that old -fool, Sir Edward, who never had a penny--except what he settled on -Winnie--and all that time, you know, Mary was--good Lord!" - -"I don't see what difference it makes to my mother," said Will. "She is -just what she always was--the difference it makes is to me--and of -course to Hugh." - -But this was not a view that Mr. Penrose could take, who knew more about -the world than Will could be supposed to know--though his thoughts were -usually so preoccupied by what he called the practical aspect of -everything. Yet he was disturbed in this case by reflections which were -almost imaginative, and which utterly amazed Will. He got up, though he -was still in the middle of dessert, and walking about the room, making -exclamations. "That's what she has been, you know, all this time--Mary, -of all people in the world! Good Lord! That's what she was, when we -asked her here." These were the exclamations that kept bursting from -Uncle Penrose's amazed lips--and Will at last grew angry and impatient, -and hurried into the practical matter on his own initiative. - -"When you have made up your mind about it, Uncle, I should be glad to -know what you think best to be done," said Will, in his steady way, and -he looked at his adviser with those sceptical, clear-sighted eyes, -which, more than anything else, make a practical man ashamed of having -indulged in any momentary aberration. - -Mr. Penrose came back to his chair and sat down, and looked with -respect, and something that was almost awe, in Will's face. Then the boy -continued, seeing his advantage: "You must see what an important thing -it is between Hugh and me," he said. "It is a matter of business, of -course, and it would be far better to settle it at once. If I am the -right heir, you know, Earlston ought to be mine. I have heard you say, -feelings had nothing to do with the right and wrong." - -"No," said Mr. Penrose, with a slight gasp; "that is quite true; but it -is all so sudden, you know--and Mary--I don't know what you want me to -do----" - -"I want you to write and tell them about it," said Will. - -Mr. Penrose put his lips into the shape they would naturally have taken -had he been whistling as usual; but he was not capable of a whistle. "It -is all very easy to talk," he said, "and naturally business is business, -and I am not a man to think too much about feelings. But Mary--the fact -is, it must be a matter of arrangement, Will. There can't be any trial, -you know, or publicity to expose her----" - -"I don't see that it would matter much to her," said Will. "She would -not mind; it would only be one of her sons instead of the other, and I -suppose she likes me the same as Hugh." - -"I was not thinking of Hugh, or you either. I was thinking of your -mother," said Mr. Penrose, thrusting his hands into the depths of his -pockets, and staring with vacant eyes into the air before him. He was -matter-of-fact himself, but he could not comprehend the obtuseness of -ignorance and self-occupation and youth. - -"Well?" said Will. - -"Well," cried the uncle, turning upon him, "are you blind, or stupid, or -what? Don't you see it never can come to publicity, or she will be -disgraced? I don't say you are to give up your rights, if they are your -rights, for that. I daresay you'll take a deal better care of everything -than that fellow Hugh, and won't be so confounded saucy. But if you go -and make a row about it in public, she can never hold up her head again, -you know. I don't mind talk myself in a general way; but talk about a -woman's marriage,--good Lord! There must be no public row, whatever you -do." - -"I don't see why there should be any public row," said Will; "all that -has to be done is to let them know." - -"I suppose you think Hugh will take it quite comfortable," said Mr. -Penrose, "and lay down everything like a lamb. He's not a business man, -nor good for much; but he will never be such an idiot as that; and then -you would need to have your witnesses very distinct, if it was to come -to anything. He has possession in his favour, and that is a good deal, -and it is you who would have to prove everything. Are you quite sure -that your witnesses would be forthcoming, and that you could make the -case clear?" - -"I don't know about making the case clear," said Will, who began to get -confused; "all I know is what I have told you. Percival was there, and -Mrs. Kirkman--they saw it, you know--and she says Hugh himself was -there. Of course he was only a child. But she said no doubt he would -remember, if it was brought to his mind." - -"Hugh himself!" said Mr. Penrose--again a little startled, though he was -not a person of fine feelings. The idea of appealing to the -recollections of the child for evidence against the man's rights, struck -him as curious at least. He was staggered, though he felt that he ought -to have been above that. Of course it was all perfectly just and -correct, and nobody could have been more clear than he, that any sort of -fantastic delicacy coming between a man and his rights would be too -absurd to be thought of. And yet it cannot be denied that he was -staggered in spite of himself. - -"I think if you told him distinctly, and recalled it to his -recollection, and he knew everything that was involved," said Will, with -calm distinctness, "that Hugh would give in. It is the only thing he -could do; and I should not say anything to him about a younger brother's -portion, or two thousand pounds," the lad added, kindling up. "He should -have everything that the money or the estate could do for him--whatever -was best for him, if it cost half or double what Earlston was worth." - -"Then why on earth don't you leave him Earlston, if you are so -generous?" said Mr. Penrose. "If you are to spend it all upon him, what -good would it do you having the dreary old place?" - -"I should have my rights," said Will with solemnity. It was as if he had -been a disinherited prince whom some usurper had deprived of his -kingdom; and this strange assumption was so honest in its way, and had -such an appearance of sincerity, that Mr. Penrose was struck dumb, and -gazed at the boy with a consternation which he could not express. His -rights! Mary's youngest son, whom everybody, up to this moment, had -thought of only as a clever, not very amiable boy, of no particular -account anywhere. The merchant began to wake up to the consciousness -that he had a phenomenon before him--a new development of man. As he -recovered from his surprise, he began to appreciate Will--to do justice -to the straightforward ardour of his determination that business was -business, and that feelings had nothing to do with it; and to admire his -calm impassibility to every other view of the case but that which -concerned himself. Mr. Penrose thought it was the result of a great -preconcerted plan, and began to awake into admiration and respect. He -thought the solemnity, and the calm, and that beautiful confidence in -his rights, were features of a subtle and precocious scheme which Will -had made for himself; and his thoughts, which had been dwelling for the -moment on Mary, with a kind of unreflective sympathy, turned towards the -nobler object thus presented before him. Here was a true apotheosis of -interest over nature. Here was such a man of business, heaven-born, as -had never been seen before. Mr. Penrose warmed and kindled into -admiration, and he made a secret vow that such a genius should not be -lost. - -As for Will, he never dreamt of speculating as to what were his uncle's -thoughts. He was quite content that he had told his own tale, and so got -over the first preliminary difficulty of getting it told to those whom -it most concerned; and he was very sleepy--dreadfully tired, and more -anxious to curl up his poor, young, weary head under his wing, and get -to bed, than for anything else in the world. Yet, notwithstanding, when -he lay down, and had put out his light, and had begun to doze, the -thought came over him that he saw the glow of his mother's candle -shining in under his door, and heard her step on the stairs, which had -been such a comfort to him many a night when he was a child, and woke up -in the dark and heard her pass, and knew her to be awake and watching, -and was not even without a hope that she might come in and stand for a -moment, driving away all ghosts and terrors of the night, by his bed. He -thought he saw the light under his door, and heard the foot coming up -the stairs. And so probably he did: but the poor boy woke right up under -this fancy, and remembered with a compunction that he was far away from -his mother, and that probably she was "angry," and perhaps anxious about -his sudden departure; and he was very sorry in his heart to have come -away so, and never to have told her. But he was not sorry nor much -troubled anyhow about the much more important thing he was about to do. - -And Uncle Penrose, under the strange stimulus of his visitor's -earnestness, addressed himself to the task required of him, and wrote to -Hugh. He, too, thought first of writing to Mrs. Ochterlony; but, -excellent business man as he was, he could not do it; it went against -his heart, if he had a heart,--or, if not his heart, against some -digestive organ which served him instead of that useful but not -indispensable part of the human frame. But he did write to Hugh--that -was easier; and then Hugh had been "confounded saucy," and had rejected -his advice, not about the Museum only, but in other respects. Mr. -Penrose wrote the letter that very night while Will was dreaming about -his mother's light; and so the great wheel was set a-going, which none -of them could then stop for ever. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX. - - -Hugh had left the Cottage the day after Will's departure. He had gone to -Earlston, where a good deal of business about the Museum and the estate -awaited him; and he had gone off without any particular burden on his -mind. As for Will's flight from home, it was odd, no doubt; but then -Will himself was odd, and out-of-the-way acts were to be expected from -him. When Hugh, with careless liberality, had sent him the cheque, he -dismissed the subject from his mind--at least, he thought of his younger -brother only with amusement, wondering what he could find to attract him -in Uncle Penrose's prosaic house,--trying to form an imagination of Will -wandering about the great Liverpool docks, looking at the big ships, and -all the noisy traffic; and Hugh laughed within himself to think how very -much all that was out of Will's way. No doubt he would come home in a -day or two bored to death, and would loathe the very name of Liverpool -all his life thereafter. As for Mr. Ochterlony of Earlston himself, he -had a great deal to do. The mayor and corporation of Dalken had come to -a final decision about the Museum, and all that had to be done was to -prepare the rooms which were to receive Mr. Francis Ochterlony's -treasures, and to transfer with due tenderness and solemnity the Venus -and the Psyche, and all the delicate wealth which had been so dear to -the heart of "the old Squire." The young Squire went round and looked at -them all, with a great tenderness in his own, remembering his uncle's -last progress among them, and where he sat down to rest, and the wistful -looks he gave to those marble white creations which stood to him in the -place of wife and children; and the pathetic humour with which he had -said, "It is all the better for _you_." It was the better for Hugh; but -still the young man in the fulness of his hopes had a tender compunction -for the old man who had died without getting the good of his life, and -with no treasures but marble and bronze and gold and silver to leave -behind him. "My poor uncle!" Hugh said; and yet the chances were that -Francis Ochterlony was not, either in living or dying, sorry for -himself. Hugh had a kind of reluctance to change the aspect of -everything, and make the house his own house, and not Francis -Ochterlony's. It seemed almost impious to take from it the character it -had borne so long, and at the same time it was his uncle's wish. These -were Hugh's thoughts at night, but in the fresh light of the morning it -would be wrong to deny that another set of ideas took possession of his -mind. Then he began to think of the new aspect, and the changes he could -make. It was not bright enough for a home for--well, for any lady that -might happen to come on a visit or otherwise; and, to be sure, Hugh had -no intention of accepting as final his mother's determination not to -leave the Cottage. He made up his mind that she would come, and that -people--various people, ladies and others--would come to visit her; -that there should be flowers and music and smiles about the place, and -perhaps some one as fair and as sweet as Psyche to change the marble -moonlight into sacred living sunshine. Now the fact was, that Nelly was -not by any means so fair as Psyche--that she was not indeed what you -would call a regular beauty at all, but only a fresh, faulty, sweet -little human creature, with warm blood in her veins, and a great many -thoughts in her little head. And when Hugh thought of some fair presence -coming into these rooms and making a Paradise of them, either it was not -Nelly Askell he was thinking of, or else he was thinking like a -poet--though he was not poetical, to speak of. However, he did not -himself give any name to his imaginations--he could afford to be vague. -He went all over the house in the morning, not with the regretful, -affectionate eye with which he made the same survey the night before, -but in a practical spirit. At his age, and in his position, the -practical was only a pleasanter variation of the romantic aspect of -affairs. As he thought of new furniture, scores of little pictures -flashed into his mind--though in ordinary cases he was not distinguished -by a powerful imagination. He had no sooner devised the kind of chair -that should stand in a particular corner, than straightway a little -figure jumped into it, a whisper of talk came out of it, with a host of -imaginary circumstances which had nothing to do with upholstery. Even -the famous rococo chair which Islay had broken was taken possession of -by that vague, sweet phantom. And he went about the rooms with an -unconscious smile on his face, devising and planning. He did not know he -was smiling; it was not _at_ anything or about anything. It was but the -natural expression of the fresh morning fancies and sweet stir of -everything hopeful, and bright, and uncertain, which was in his heart. - -And when he went out of doors he still smiled. Earlston was a grey -limestone house, as has been described in the earlier part of this -history. A house which chilled Mrs. Ochterlony to the heart when she -first went there with her little children in the first forlornness of -her widowhood. What Hugh had to do now was to plan a flower-garden -for--his mother; yes, it was truly for his mother. He meant that she -should come all the same. Nothing could make any difference so far as -she was concerned. But at the same time, to be sure, he did not mean -that his house should make the same impression on any other stranger as -that house had made upon Mary. He planned how the great hedges should be -cut down, and the trees thinned, and the little moorland burn should be -taken in within the enclosure, and followed to its very edge by the gay -lawn with its flower-beds. He planned a different approach--where there -might be openings in the dark shrubberies, and views over the hills. All -this he did in the morning, with a smile on his face, though the tears -had been in his eyes at the thought of any change only the previous -night. If Francis Ochterlony had been by, as perhaps he was, no doubt he -would have smiled at that tender inconsistency--and there would not have -been any bitterness in the smile. - -And then Hugh went in to breakfast. He had already some new leases to -sign and other business matters to do, and he was quite pleased to do -it--as pleased as he had been to draw his first cheques. He sat down at -his breakfast-table, before the little pile of letters that awaited him, -and felt the importance of his new position. Even his loneliness made -him feel its importance the more. Here were questions of all sorts -submitted to him, and it was he who had to answer, without reference to -anybody--he whose advice a little while ago nobody would have taken the -trouble to ask. It was not that he cared to exercise his privilege--for -Hugh, on the whole, had an inclination to be advised--but still the -sense of his independence was sweet. He meant to ask Mr. Preston, the -attorney, about various things, and he meant to consult his mother, and -to lay some special affairs before Sir Edward--but still, at the time, -it was he who had everything to do, and Mr. Ochterlony of Earlston sat -down before his letters with a sense of satisfaction which does not -always attend the mature mind in that moment of trial. One of the -uppermost was from Uncle Penrose, redirected from the Cottage, but it -did not cause any thrill of interest to Hugh's mind, who put it aside -calmly, knowing of no thunderbolts that might be in it. No doubt it was -some nonsense about the Museum, he thought, as if he himself was not a -much better judge about the Museum than a stranger and business-man -could be. There was, however, a letter from Mary, which directed her -son's attention to this epistle. "I send you a letter directed in Uncle -Penrose's hand," wrote Mrs. Ochterlony, "which I have had the greatest -inclination to open, to see what he says about Will. I daresay you would -not have minded; but I conclude, on the whole, that Mr. Ochterlony of -Earlston should have his letters to himself; so I send it on to you -uninvaded. Let me know what he says about your brother." Hugh could not -but laugh when he read this, half with pleasure, half with amusement. -His mother's estimate of his importance entertained him greatly, and the -idea of anything private being in Uncle Penrose's letter tickled him -still more. Then he drew it towards him lightly, and began to read it -with eyes running over with laughter. He was all alone, and there was -nobody to see any change of sentiment in his face. - -He was all alone--but yet presently Hugh raised his eyes from the letter -which he had taken up so gaily, and cast a scared look round him, as if -to make sure that nobody was there. The smile had gone off his face, and -the laughter out of his eyes,--and not only that, but every particle of -colour had left his face. And yet he did not see the meaning of what he -had read. "Will!" he said to himself. "Will!" He was horror-stricken and -bewildered, but that was the sole idea it conveyed to him--a sense of -treachery--the awful feeling of unreality and darkness round about, with -which the young soul for the first time sees itself injured and -betrayed. He laid down the letter half read, and paused, and put up his -hands to his head as if to convince himself that he was not dreaming. -Will! Good God! Will! Was it possible? Hugh had to make a convulsive -effort to grasp this unnatural horror. Will, one of themselves, to have -gone off, and put himself into the hands of Uncle Penrose, and set -himself against his mother and her sons! The ground seemed to fail under -his feet, the solid world to fall off round him into bewildering -mystery. Will! And yet he did not apprehend what it was. His mind could -not take in more than one discovery at a time. A minute before, and he -was ready to have risked everything on the good faith of any and every -human creature he knew. Now, was there anybody to be trusted? His -brother had stolen from his side, and was striking at him by another and -an unfriendly hand. Will! Good heavens, Will! - -It would be difficult to tell how long it was before the full meaning of -the letter he had thus received entered into Hugh's mind. He sat with -the breakfast things still on the table so long, that the housekeeper -herself came at last with natural inquisitiveness to see if anything was -the matter, and found Hugh with a face as grey and colourless as that of -the old Squire, sitting over his untasted coffee, unaware, apparently, -what he was about. He started when she came in, and bundled up his -letters into his pocket, and gave an odd laugh, and said he had been -busy, and had forgotten. And then he sprang up and left the room, paying -no attention to her outcry that he had eaten nothing. Hugh was not aware -he had eaten nothing, or probably in the first horror of his discovery -of the treachery in the world, he too would have taken to false -pretences and saved appearances, and made believe to have breakfasted. -But the poor boy was unaware, and rushed off to the library, where -nobody could have any pretext for disturbing him, and shut himself up -with this first secret--the new, horrible discovery which had changed -the face of the world. This was the letter which he had crushed up in -his hand as he might have crushed a snake or deadly reptile, but which -nothing could crush out of his heart, where the sting had entered and -gone deep:-- - -"MY DEAR NEPHEW,--It is with pain that I write to you, though it is my -clear duty to do so in the interests of your brother, who has just put -his case into my hands--and I don't doubt that the intelligence I am -about to convey will be a great blow, not only to your future prospects -but to your pride and sense of importance, which so fine a position at -your age had naturally elevated considerably higher than a plain man -like myself could approve of. Your brother arrived here to-day, and has -lost no time in informing me of the singular circumstances under which -he left home, and of which, so far as I understand him, you and your -mother are still in ignorance. Wilfrid's perception of the fact that -feelings, however creditable to him as an individual, ought not to stand -in the way of what is, strictly speaking, a matter of business, is very -clear and uncompromising; but still he does not deny that he felt it -difficult to make this communication either to you or his mother. -Accident, the nature of which I do not at present, before knowing your -probable course of action, feel myself at liberty to indicate more -plainly, has put him in possession of certain facts, which would change -altogether the relations between him and yourself, as well as your -(apparent) position as head of the family. These facts, which, for your -mother's sake, I should be deeply grieved to make known out of the -family, are as follows: your father, Major Ochterlony, and my niece, -instead of being married privately in Scotland, as we all believed, in -the year 1830, or thereabouts--I forget the exact date--were in reality -only married in India in the year 1837, by the chaplain, the Rev.---- -Churchill, then officiating at the station where your father's regiment -was. This, as you are aware, was shortly before Wilfrid's birth, and not -long before Major Ochterlony died. It is subject of thankfulness that -your father did my niece this tardy justice before he was cut off, as -may be said, in the flower of his days, but you will see at a glance -that it entirely reverses your respective positions--and that in fact -Wilfrid is Major Ochterlony's only lawful son. - -"I am as anxious as you can be that this should be made a matter of -family arrangement, and should never come to the public ears. To satisfy -your own mind, however, of the perfect truth of the assertion I have -made, I beg to refer you to the Rev. Mr. Churchill, who performed the -ceremony, and whose present address, which Wilfrid had the good sense to -secure, you will find below--and to Mrs. Kirkman, who was present. -Indeed, I am informed that you yourself were present--though probably -too young to understand what it meant. It is possible that on examining -your memory you may find some trace of the occurrence, which though not -dependable upon by itself, will help to confirm the intelligence to your -mind. We are in no hurry, and will leave you the fullest time to satisfy -yourself, as well as second you in every effort to prevent any painful -consequence from falling upon your mother, who has (though falsely) -enjoyed the confidence and esteem of her friends so long. - -"For yourself you may reckon upon Wilfrid's anxious endeavours to -further your prospects by every means in his power. Of course I do not -expect you to take a fact involving so much, either upon his word or -mine. Examine it fully for yourself, and the more entirely the matter is -cleared up, the more will it be for our satisfaction, as well as your -own. The only thing I have to desire for my own part is that you will -spare your mother--as your brother is most anxious to do. Hoping for an -early reply, I am, your affectionate uncle and sincere friend,--J. P. -PENROSE." - -Hugh sat in Francis Ochterlony's chair, at his table, with his head -supported on his hands, looking straight before him, seeing nothing, not -even thinking, feeling only this letter spread out upon the table, and -the intelligence conveyed in it, and holding his head, which ached and -throbbed with the blow, in his hands. He was still, and his head -throbbed and his heart and soul ached, tingling through him to every -joint and every vein. He could not even wonder, nor doubt, nor question -in any way, for the first terrible interval. All he could do was to look -at the fact and take it fully into his mind, and turn it over and over, -seeing it all round on every side, looking at it this way and that way, -and feeling as if somehow heaven and earth were filled with it, though -he had never dreamt of such a ghost until that hour. Not his, after -all--nor Earlston, nor his name, nor the position he had been so proud -of; nothing his--alas, not even his mother, his spotless mother, the -woman whom it had been an honour and glory to come from and belong to. -When a groan came from the poor boy's white lips it was that he was -thinking of. Madonna Mary! that was the name they had called her by--and -this was how it really was. He groaned aloud, and made an unconscious -outcry of his pain when it came to that. "Oh, my God, if it had only -been ruin, loss of everything--anything in the world but that!" This was -the first stage of stupefaction and yet of vivid consciousness, before -the indignation came. He sat and looked at it, and realized it, and took -it into his mind, staring at it until every drop of blood ebbed away -from his face. This was how it was before the anger came. After a while -his countenance and his mood changed--the colour and heat came rushing -back to his cheeks and lips, and a flood of rage and resentment swept -over him like a sudden storm. Will! could it be Will? Liar! coward! -traitor! to call her mother, and to tax her with shame even had it been -true--to frame such a lying, cursed, devilish accusation against her! -Then it was that Hugh flashed into a fiery, burning shame to think that -he had given credence to it for one sole moment. He turned his eyes upon -her, as it were, and looked into her face and glowed with a bitter -indignation and fury. His mother's face! only to think of it and dare to -fancy that shame could ever have been there. And then the boy wept, in -spite of his manhood--wept a few, hot, stinging tears, that dried up the -moment they fell, half for rage, half for tenderness.--And, oh, my God, -was it Will? Then as his mind roused more and more to the dread -emergency, Hugh got up and went to the window and gazed out, as if that -would help him; and his eye lighted on the tangled thicket which he had -meant to make into his mother's flower-garden, and upon the sweep of -trees through which he had planned his new approach, and once more he -groaned aloud. Only this morning so sure about it all, so confidently -and carelessly happy--now with not one clear step before him to take, -with no future, no past that he could dare look back upon--no name, nor -rights of any kind--if this were true. And could it be otherwise than -true? Could any imagination frame so monstrous and inconceivable a -falsehood?--such a horrible impossibility might be fact, but it was -beyond all the bounds of fancy;--and then the blackness of darkness -descended again upon Hugh's soul. Poor Mary, poor mother! It came into -the young man's mind to go to her and take her in his arms, and carry -her away somewhere out of sight of men and sound of their voices--and -again there came to his eyes those stinging tears. Fault of hers it -could not be; she might have been deceived; and then poor Hugh's lips, -unaccustomed to curses, quivered and stopped short as they were about to -curse the father whom he never knew. Here was the point at which the -tide turned again. Could it be Hugh Ochterlony who had deceived his -wife? he whose sword hung in Mary's room, whose very name made a certain -music in her voice when she pronounced it, and whom she had trained her -children to reverence with that surpassing honour which belongs to the -dead alone. Again a storm of rage and bitter indignation swept in his -despair and bewilderment over the young man's mind; an accursed scheme, -a devilish, hateful lie--that was how it was: and oh, horror! that it -should be Will. - -Through all these changes it was one confused tempest of misery and -dismay that was in Hugh's mind. Now and then there would be wild breaks -in the clouds--now they would be whirled over the sky in gusts--now -settled down into a blackness beyond all reckoning. Lives change from -joy to misery often enough in this world; but seldom thus in a moment, -in the twinkling of an eye. His careless boat had been taking its sweet -course over waters rippled with a favourable breeze, and without a -moment's interval he was among the breakers; and he knew so little how -to manage it, he was so inexperienced to cope with wind and waves. And -he had nobody to ask counsel from. He was, as Will had been, separated -from his natural adviser, the one friend to whom hitherto he had -confided all his difficulties. But Hugh was older than Will, and his -mind had come to a higher development, though perhaps he was not so -clever as his brother. He had no Uncle Penrose to go to; no living soul -would hear from him this terrible tale; he could consult nobody. Not for -a hundred Earlstons, not for all the world, would he have discussed with -any man in existence his mother's good name. - -Yet with that, too, there came another complication into Hugh's mind. -Even while he actually thought in his despair of going to his mother, -and telling her any tender lie that might occur to him, and carrying her -away to Australia, or any end of the world where he could work for her, -and remove her for ever from shame and pain, a sense of outraged justice -and rights assailed was in his mind. He was not one of those who can -throw down their arms. Earlston was his, and he could not relinquish it -and his position as head of the house without a struggle. And the -thought of Mr. Penrose stung him. He even tried to heal one of his -deeper wounds by persuading himself that Uncle Penrose was at the bottom -of it, and that poor Will was but his tool. Poor Will! Poor miserable -boy! And if he ever woke and came to himself, and knew what he had been -doing, how terrible would his position be! Thus Hugh tried to think -till, wearied out with thinking, he said to himself that he would put it -aside and think no more of it, and attend to his business; which vain -imagination the poor boy tried to carry out with hands that shook and -brain that refused to obey his guidance. And all this change was made in -one little moment. His life came to a climax, and passed through a -secret revolution in that one day; and yet he had begun it as if it had -been an ordinary day--a calm summer morning in the summer of his days. - -This was what Hugh said to his mother of Mr. Penrose's letter:--"The -letter you forwarded to me from Uncle Penrose was in his usual business -strain--good advice, and that sort of thing. He does not say much about -Will; but he has arrived all safe, and I suppose is enjoying himself--as -well as he can, there." - -And when he had written and despatched that note he sat down to think -again. He decided at last that he would not go on with the flower-garden -and the other works--till he saw; but that he would settle about the -Museum without delay. "If it came to the worst they would not recall the -gift," he said to himself, brushing his hand across his eyes. It was his -uncle's wish; and it was he, Hugh, and not any other, whom Francis -Ochterlony wished for his heir. Hugh's hand was wet when he took it from -his eyes, and his heart was full, and he could have wept like a child. -But he was a man, and weeping could do no good; and he had nobody in the -world to take his trouble to--nobody in the world. Love and pride made a -fence round him, and isolated him. He had to make his way out of it as -best he could, and alone. He made a great cry to God in his trouble; but -from nobody in the world could he have either help or hope. And he read -the letter over and over, and tried to recollect and to go back into his -dim baby-memory of India, and gather out of the thick mists that scene -which they said he had been present at. Was there really some kind of -vague image of it, all broken and indistinct and effaced, on his mind? - - - - -CHAPTER XL. - - -While all this was going on at Earlston, there were other people in -whose minds, though the matter was not of importance so overwhelming, -pain and excitement and a trembling dread of the consequences had been -awakened. Mary, to whom it would be even more momentous than to Hugh, -knew nothing of it as yet. She had taken Mr. Penrose's letter into her -hand and looked at it, and hesitated, and then had smiled at her boy's -new position in the world, and redirected it to him, passing on as it -were a living shell just ready to explode without so much as scorching -her own delicate fingers. But Mrs. Kirkman felt herself in the position -of a woman who had seen the shell fired and had even touched the fatal -trigger, and did not know where it had fallen, nor what death and -destruction it might have scattered around. She was not like herself for -these two or three days. She gave a divided attention to her evangelical -efforts, and her mind wandered from the reports of her Bible readers. -She seemed to see the great mass of fire and flame striking the ground, -and the dead and wounded lying around it in all directions; and it might -be that she too was to blame. She bore it as long as she could, trying -to persuade herself that she, like Providence, had done it "for the -best," and that it might be for Mary's good or Hugh's good, even if it -should happen to kill them. This was how she attempted to support and -fortify herself; but while she was doing so Wilfrid's steady, matter of -fact countenance would come before her, and she would perceive by the -instinct of guilt, that he would neither hesitate nor spare, but was -clothed in the double armour of egotism and ignorance; that he did not -know what horrible harm he could do, and yet that he was sensible of his -power and would certainly exercise it. She was like the other people -involved--afraid to ask any one's advice, or betray the share she had -taken in the business; even her husband, had she spoken to him about it, -would probably have asked, what the deuce she had to do interfering? For -Colonel Kirkman though a man of very orthodox views, still was liable in -a moment of excitement to forget himself, and give force to his -sentiments by a mild oath. Mrs. Kirkman could not bear thus to descend -in the opinion of any one, and yet she could not satisfy her conscience -about it, nor be content with what she had done. She stood out bravely -for a few days, telling herself she had only done her duty; but the -composure she attained by this means was forced and unnatural. And at -last she could bear it no longer; she seemed to have heard the dreadful -report, and then to have seen everything relapse into the most deadly -silence; no cry coming out of the distance, nor indications if everybody -was perishing, or any one had escaped. If she had but heard one -outcry--if Hugh, poor fellow, had come storming to her to know the truth -of it, or Mary had come with her fresh wounds, crying out against her, -Mrs. Kirkman could have borne it; but the silence was more than she -could bear. Something within compelled her to get up out of her quiet -and go forth and ask who had been killed, even though she might bring -herself within the circle of responsibility thereby. - -This was why, after she had put up with her anxiety as long as she -could, she went out at last by herself in a very disturbed and uneasy -state to the Cottage, where all was still peaceful, and no storm had yet -darkened the skies. Mary had received Hugh's letter that morning, which -he had written in the midst of his first misery, and it had never -occurred to her to think anything more about Uncle Penrose after the -calm mention her boy made of his letter. She had not heard from Will, it -is true, and was vexed by his silence; but yet it was a light vexation. -Mrs. Ochterlony, however, was not at home when Mrs. Kirkman arrived; -and, if anything could have increased her uneasiness and embarrassment -it would have been to be ushered into the drawing-room, and to find -Winnie seated there all by herself. Mrs. Percival rose in resentful -grandeur when she saw who the visitor was. Now was Winnie's chance to -repay that little demonstration of disapproval which the Colonel's wife -had made on her last visit to the Cottage. The two ladies made very -stately salutations to each other, and the stranger sat down, and then -there was a dead pause. "Let Mrs. Ochterlony know when she comes in," -Winnie had said to the maid; and that was all she thought necessary to -say. Even Aunt Agatha was not near to break the violence of the -encounter. Mrs. Kirkman sat down in a very uncomfortable condition, full -of genuine anxiety; but it was not to be expected that her natural -impulses should entirely yield even to compunction and fright, and a -sense of guilt. When a few minutes of silence had elapsed, and Mary did -not appear, and Winnie sat opposite to her, wrapt up and gloomy, in her -shawl, and her haughtiest air of preoccupation, Mrs. Kirkman began to -come to herself. Here was a perishing sinner before her, to whom advice, -and reproof, and admonition, might be all important, and such a -favourable moment might never come again. The very sense of being rather -faulty in her own person gave her a certain stimulus to warn the -culpable creature, whose errors were so different, and so much more -flagrant than hers. And if in doing her duty, she had perhaps done -something that might harm one of the family, was it not all the more -desirable to do good to another? Mrs. Kirkman cleared her throat, and -looked at the culprit. And as she perceived Winnie's look of defiance, -and absorbed self-occupation, and determined opposition to anything -that might be advanced, a soft sense of superiority and pity stole into -her mind. Poor thing, that did not know the things that belonged to her -peace!--was it not a Christian act to bring them before her ere they -might be for ever hid from her eyes? - -Once more Mrs. Kirkman cleared her throat. She did it with an intention; -and Winnie heard, and was roused, and fixed on her one corner of her -eye. But she only made a very mild commencement--employing in so -important a matter the wisdom of the serpent, conjoined, as it always -ought to be, with the sweetness of the dove. - -"Mrs. Ochterlony is probably visiting among the poor," said Mrs. -Kirkman, but with a sceptical tone in her voice, as if that, at least, -was what Mary ought to be doing, though it was doubtful whether she was -so well employed. - -"Probably," said Winnie, curtly; and then there was a pause. - -"To one who occupies herself so much as she does with her family, there -must be much to do for three boys," continued Mrs. Kirkman, still with a -certain pathos in her voice. "Ah, if we did but give ourselves as much -trouble about our spiritual state!" - -She waited for a reply, but Winnie gave no reply. She even gave a -slight, scarcely perceptible, shrug of her shoulders, and turned a -little aside. - -"Which is, after all, the only thing that is of any importance," said -Mrs. Kirkman. "My dear Mrs. Percival, I do trust that you agree with -me?" - -"I don't see why I should be your dear Mrs. Percival," said Winnie. "I -was not aware that we knew each other. I think you must be making a -mistake." - -"All my fellow-creatures are dear to me," said Mrs. Kirkman, "especially -when I can hope that their hearts are open to grace. I can be making no -mistake so long as I am addressing a fellow-sinner. We have all so much -reason to abase ourselves, and repent in dust and ashes! Even when we -have been preserved more than others from active sin, we must know that -the root of all evil is in our hearts." - -Winnie gave another very slight shrug of her shoulders, and turned away, -as far as a mingled impulse of defiance and politeness would let her. -She would neither be rude nor would she permit her assailant to think -that she was running away. - -"If I venture to seize this moment, and speak to you more plainly than I -would speak to all, oh, my dear Mrs. Percival," cried Mrs. Kirkman, "my -dear fellow sinner! don't think it is because I am insensible to the -existence of the same evil tendency in my own heart." - -"What do you mean by talking to me of evil tendencies?" cried Winnie, -flushing high. "I don't want to hear you speak. You may be a sinner if -you like, but I don't think there is any particular fellowship between -you and me." - -"There is the fellowship of corrupt hearts," said Mrs. Kirkman. "I hope, -for your own sake, you will not refuse to listen for a moment. I may -never have been tempted in the same way, but I know too well the -deceitfulness of the natural heart to take any credit to myself. You -have been exposed to many temptations----" - -"You know nothing about me, that I am aware," cried Winnie, with -restrained fury. "I do not know how you can venture to take such liberty -with me." - -"Ah, my dear Mrs. Percival, I know a great deal about you," said Mrs. -Kirkman. "There is nothing I would not do to make a favourable -impression on your mind. If you would but treat me as a friend, and let -me be of some use to you: I know you must have had many temptations; but -we know also that it is never too late to turn away from evil, and that -with true repentance----" - -"I suppose what you want is to drive me out of the room," said Winnie, -looking at her fiercely, with crimson cheeks. "What right have you to -lecture me? My sister's friends have a right to visit her, of course, -but not to make themselves disagreeable--and I don't mean my private -affairs to be discussed by Mary's friends. You have nothing to do with -me." - -"I was not speaking as Mary's friend," said Mrs. Kirkman, with a passing -twinge of conscience. "I was speaking only as a fellow-sinner. Dear Mrs. -Percival, surely you recollect who it was that objected to be his -brother's keeper. It was Cain; it was not a loving Christian heart. Oh, -don't sin against opportunity, and refuse to hear me. The message I have -is one of mercy and love. Even if it were too late to redeem character -with the world, it is never too late to come to----" - -Winnie started to her feet, goaded beyond bearing. - -"How dare you! how dare you!" she said, clenching her hands,--but Mrs. -Kirkman's benevolent purpose was far too lofty and earnest to be put -down by any such demonstration of womanish fury. - -"If it were to win you to think in time, to withdraw from the evil and -seek good, to come while it is called to-day," said the Evangelist, with -much stedfastness, "I would not mind even making you angry. I can dare -anything in my Master's service--oh, do not refuse the gracious message! -Oh, do not turn a deaf ear. You may have forfeited this world, but, oh -think of the next; as a Christian and a fellow-sinner----" - -"Aunt Agatha!" cried Winnie, breathless with rage and shame, "do you -mean to let me be insulted in your house?" - -Poor Aunt Agatha had just come in, and knew nothing about Mrs. Kirkman -and her visit. She stood at the door surprised, looking at Winnie's -excited face, and at the stranger's authoritative calm. She had been out -in the village, with a little basket in her hand, which never went -empty, and she also had been dropping words of admonition out of her -soft and tender lips. - -"Insulted! My dear love, it must be some mistake," said Aunt Agatha. "We -are always very glad to see Mrs. Kirkman, as Mary's friend; but the -house is Mrs. Percival's house, being mine," Miss Seton added, with a -little dignified curtsey, thinking the visitor had been uncivil, as on a -former occasion. And then there was a pause, and Winnie sat down, -fortifying herself by the presence of the mild little woman who was her -protector. It was a strange reversal of positions, but yet that was how -it was. The passionate creature had now no other protector but Aunt -Agatha, and even while she felt herself assured and strengthened by her -presence, it gave her a pang to think it was so. Nobody but Aunt Agatha -to stand between her and impertinent intrusion--nobody to take her part -before the world. That was the moment when Winnie's heart melted, if it -ever did melt, for one pulsation and no more, towards her enemy, her -antagonist, her husband, who was not there to take advantage of the -momentary thaw. - -"I am Mary's friend," said Mrs. Kirkman, sweetly; "and I am all your -friends. It was not only as Mary's friend I was speaking--it was out of -love for souls. Oh, my dear Miss Seton, I hope you are one of those who -think seriously of life. Help me to talk to your dear niece; help me to -tell her that there is still time. She has gone astray; perhaps she -never can retrieve herself for this world,--but this world is not -all,--and she is still in the land of the living, and in the place of -hope. Oh, if she would but give up her evil ways and flee! Oh, if she -would but remember that there is mercy for the vilest!" - -Speaker and hearers were by this time wound up to such a pitch of -excitement, that it was impossible to go on. Mrs. Kirkman had tears in -her eyes--tears of real feeling; for she thought she was doing what she -ought to do; while Winnie blazed upon her with rage and defiance, and -poor Aunt Agatha stood up in horror and consternation between them, -horrified by the entire breach of all ordinary rules, and yet driven to -bay and roused to that natural defence of her own which makes the -weakest creature brave. - -"My dear love, be composed," she said, trembling a little. "Mrs. -Kirkman, perhaps you don't know that you are speaking in a very -extraordinary way. We are all great sinners; but as for my dear niece, -Winnie---- My darling, perhaps if you were to go upstairs to your own -room, that would be best----" - -"I have no intention of going to my own room," said Winnie. "The -question is, whether you will suffer me to be insulted here?" - -"Oh, that there should be any thought of insult!" said Mrs. Kirkman, -shaking her head, and waving her long curls solemnly. "If anyone is to -leave the room, perhaps it should be me. If my warning is rejected, I -will shake off the dust of my feet, and go away, as commanded. But I did -hope better things. What motive have I but love of her poor soul? Oh, if -she would think while it is called to-day--while there is still a place -of repentance----" - -"Winnie, my dear love," said Aunt Agatha, trembling more and more, "go -to your own room." - -But Winnie did not move. It was not in her to run away. Now that she had -an audience to fortify her, she could sit and face her assailant, and -defy all attacks;--though at the same time her eyes and cheeks blazed, -and the thought that it was only Aunt Agatha whom she had to stand up -for her, filled her with furious contempt and bitterness. At length it -was Mrs. Kirkman who rose up with sad solemnity, and drew her silk robe -about her, and shook the dust, if there was any dust, not from her feet, -but from the fringes of her handsome shawl. - -"I will ask the maid to show me up to Mary's room," she said, with -pathetic resignation. "I suppose I may wait for her there; and I hope it -may never be recorded against you that you have rejected a word of -Christian warning. Good-by, Miss Seton; I hope you will be faithful to -your poor dear niece yourself, though you will not permit me." - -"We know our own affairs best," said Aunt Agatha, whose nerves were so -affected that she could scarcely keep up to what she considered a -correct standard of polite calm. - -"Alas, I hope it may not prove to be just our own best interests that we -are most ignorant of," said Mrs. Kirkman, with a heavy sigh--and she -swept out of the room following the maid, who looked amazed and aghast -at the strange request. "Show me to Mrs. Ochterlony's room, and kindly -let her know when she comes in that I am there." - -As for Winnie, she burst into an abrupt laugh when her monitress was -gone--a laugh which wounded Aunt Agatha, and jarred upon her excited -nerves. But there was little mirth in it. It was, in its way, a cry of -pain, and it was followed by a tempest of hot tears, which Miss Seton -took for hysterics. Poor Winnie! she was not penitent, nor moved by -anything that had been said to her, except to rage and a sharper sense -of pain. But yet, such an attack made her feel her position, as she did -not do when left to herself. She had no protector but Aunt Agatha. She -was open to all the assaults of well-meaning friends, and social critics -of every description. She was not placed above comment as a woman is who -keeps her troubles to herself--for she had taken the world in general -into her confidence, as it were, and opened their mouths, and subjected -herself voluntarily to their criticism. Winnie's heart seemed to close -up as she pondered this--and her life rose up before her, wilful and -warlike--and all at once it came into her head what her sister had said -to her long ago, and her own decision: were it for misery, were it for -ruin, rather to choose ruin and misery with _him_, than peace without -him? How strange it was to think of the change that time had made in -everything. She had been fighting him, and making him her chief -antagonist, almost ever since. And yet, down in the depths of her heart -poor Winnie remembered Mary's words, and felt with a curious pang, made -up of misery and sweetness, that even yet, even yet, under some -impossible combination of circumstances--this was what made her laugh, -and made her cry so bitterly--but Aunt Agatha, poor soul, could not -enter into her heart and see what she meant. - -They were in this state of agitation when Mary came in, all unconscious -of any disturbance. And a further change arose in Winnie at sight of her -sister. Her tears dried up, but her eyes continued to blaze. "It is your -friend, Mrs. Kirkman, who has been paying us a visit," she said, in -answer to Mary's question; and it seemed to Mrs. Ochterlony that the -blame was transferred to her own shoulders, and that it was she who had -been doing something, and showing herself the general enemy. - -"She is a horrid woman," said Aunt Agatha, hotly. "Mary, I wish you -would explain to her, that after what has happened it cannot give me -any pleasure to see her here. This is twice that she has insulted us. -You will mention that we are not--not used to it. It may do for the -soldiers' wives, poor things! but she has no right to come here." - -"She must mean to call Mary to repentance, too," said Winnie. She had -been thinking, with a certain melting of heart, of what Mary had once -said to her; yet she could not refrain from flinging a dart at her -sister ere she returned to think about herself. - -At this time, Mrs. Kirkman was seated in Mary's room, waiting. Her -little encounter had restored her to herself. She had come back to her -lofty position of superiority and goodness. She would have said herself -that she had carried the Gospel message to that poor sinner, and that it -had been rejected; and there was a certain satisfaction of woe in her -heart. It was necessary that she should do her duty to Mary also, about -whom, when she started, she had been rather compunctious. There is -nothing more strange than the processes of thought by which a limited -understanding comes to grow into content with itself, and approval of -its own actions. It seemed to this good woman's straitened soul that she -had been right, almost more than right, in seizing upon the opportunity -presented to her, and making an appeal to a sinner's perverse heart. And -she thought it would be right to point out to Mary, how any trouble that -might be about to overwhelm her was for her good, and that she herself -had, like Providence, acted for the best. She looked about the room with -actual curiosity, and shook her head at the sight of the Major's sword, -hanging over the mantel-piece, and the portraits of the three boys -underneath. She shook her head, and thought of creature-worship, and how -some stroke was needed to wean Mrs. Ochterlony's heart from its -inordinate affections. "It will keep her from trusting to a creature," -she said to herself, and by degrees came to look complacently on her own -position, and to settle how she should tell the tale to be also for the -best. It never occurred to her to think what poor hands hers were to -meddle with the threads of fate, or to decide which or what calamity was -"for the best." Nor did any consideration of the mystery of pain disturb -her mind. She saw no complications in it. Your dearest ties--your -highest assurances of good--were but "blessings lent us for a day," and -it seemed only natural to Mrs. Kirkman that such blessings should be -yielded up in a reasonable way. She herself had neither had nor -relinquished any particular blessings. Colonel Kirkman was very good in -a general way, and very correct in his theological sentiments; but he -was a very steady and substantial possession, and did not suggest any -idea of being lent for a day--and his wife felt that she herself was -fortunately beyond that necessity, but that it would be for Mary's good -if she had another lesson on the vanity of earthly endowments. And thus -she sat, feeling rather comfortable about it, and too sadly superior to -be offended by her agitation downstairs, in Mrs. Ochterlony's room. - -Mary went in with her face brightened by her walk, a little soft anxiety -(perhaps) in her eyes, or at least curiosity,--a little indignation, and -yet the faintest touch of amusement about her mouth. She went in and -shut the door, leaving her sister Aunt Agatha below, moved by what they -supposed to be a much deeper emotion. Nobody in the house so much as -dreamt that anything of any importance was going on there. There was not -a sound as of a raised voice or agitated utterance as there had been -when Mrs. Kirkman made her appeal to Winnie. But when the door of Mrs. -Ochterlony's room opened again, and Mary appeared, showing her visitor -out, her countenance was changed, as if by half-a-dozen years. She -followed her visitor downstairs, and opened the door for her, and looked -after her as she went away, but not the ghost of a smile came upon -Mary's face. She did not offer her hand, nor say a word at parting that -any one could hear. Her lips were compressed, without smile or syllable -to move them, and closed as if they never would open again, and every -drop of blood seemed to be gone from her face. When Mrs. Kirkman went -away from the door, Mary closed it, and went back again to her own room. -She did not say a word, nor look as if she had anything to say. She went -to her wardrobe and took out a bag, and put some things into it, and -then she tied on her bonnet, everything being done as if she had planned -it all for years. When she was quite ready, she went downstairs and went -to the drawing-room, where Winnie, agitated and disturbed, sat talking, -saying a hundred wild things, of which Aunt Agatha knew but half the -meaning. When Mary looked in at the door, the two who were there, -started, and stared at her with amazed eyes. "What has happened, Mary?" -cried Aunt Agatha; and though she was beginning to resume her lost -tranquillity, she was so scared by Mrs. Ochterlony's face that she had a -palpitation which took away her breath, and made her sink down panting -and lay her hands upon her heart. Mary, for her part, was perfectly -composed and in possession of her senses. She made no fuss at all, nor -complaint,--but nothing could conceal the change, nor alter the -wonderful look in her eyes. - -"I am going to Liverpool," she said, "I must see Will immediately, and I -want to go by the next train. There is nothing the matter with him. It -is only something I have just heard, and I must see him without loss of -time." - -"What is it, Mary?" gasped Aunt Agatha. "You have heard something -dreadful. Are any of the boys mixed up in it? Oh, say something, and -don't look in that dreadful fixed way." - -"Am I looking in a dreadful fixed way?" said Mary, with a faint smile. -"I did not mean it. No there is nothing the matter with any of the boys. -But I have heard something that has disturbed me, and I must see Will. -If Hugh should come while I am away----" - -But here her strength broke down. A choking sob came from her breast. -She seemed on the point of breaking out into some wild cry for help or -comfort; but it was only a spasm, and it passed. Then she came to Aunt -Agatha and kissed her. "Good-bye; if either of the boys come, keep them -till I come back," she said. She had looked so fair and so strong in the -composure of her middle age when she stood there only an hour before, -that the strange despair which seemed to have taken possession of her, -had all the more wonderful effect. It woke even Winnie from her -preoccupation, and they both came round her, wondering and disquieted, -to know what was the matter. "Something must have happened to Will," -said Aunt Agatha. - -"It is that woman who has brought her bad news," cried Winnie; and then -both together they cried out, "What is it, Mary? have you bad news?" - -"Nothing that I have not known for years," said Mrs. Ochterlony, and she -kissed them both, as if she was kissing them for the last time, and -disengaged herself, and turned away. "I cannot wait to tell you any -more," they heard her say as she went to the door; and there they stood, -looking at each other, conscious more by some change in the atmosphere -than by mere eyesight, that she was gone. She had no time to speak or to -look behind her; and when Aunt Agatha rushed to the window, she saw Mary -far off on the road, going steady and swift with her bag in her hand. In -the midst of her anxiety and suspicion, Miss Seton even felt a pang at -the sight of the bag in Mary's hand. "As if there was no one to carry it -for her!" The two who were left behind could but look at each other, -feeling somehow a sense of shame, and instinctive consciousness that -this new change, whatever it was, involved trouble far more profound -than the miseries over which they had been brooding. Something that she -had known for years! What was there in these quiet words which made -Winnie's veins tingle, and the blood rush to her face? All these quiet -years was it possible that a cloud had ever been hovering which Mary -knew of, and yet held her way so steadily? As for Aunt Agatha, she was -only perplexed and agitated, and full of wonder, making every kind of -suggestion. Will might have broken his leg--he might have got into -trouble with his uncle. It might be something about Islay. Oh! Winnie, -my darling, what do you think it can be? Something that she had known -for years! - -This was what it really was. It seemed to Mary as if for years and years -she had known all about it; how it would get to be told to her poor boy; -how it would act upon his strange half-developed nature; how Mrs. -Kirkman would tell her of it, and the things she would put into her -travelling bag, and the very hour the train would leave. It was a -miserably slow train, stopping everywhere, waiting at a dreary junction -for several trains in the first chill of night. But she seemed to have -known it all, and to have felt the same dreary wind blow, and the cold -creeping to the heart, and to be used and deadened to it. Why is it that -one feels so cold when one's heart is bleeding and wounded? It seemed to -go in through the physical covering, which shrinks at such moments from -the sharp and sensitive soul, and to thrill her with a shiver as of ice -and snow. She passed Mrs. Kirkman on the way, but could not take any -notice of her, and she put down her veil and drew her shawl closely -about her, and sat in a corner that she might escape recognition. But it -was hard upon her that the train should be so slow, though that too she -seemed to have known for years. - -Thus the cross of which she had partially and by moments tasted the -bitterness for so long, was laid at last full upon Mary's shoulders. She -went carrying it, marking her way, as it were, by blood-drops which -answered for tears, to do what might be done, that nobody but herself -might suffer. For one thing, she did not lose a moment. If Will had been -ill, or if he had been in any danger, she would have done the same. She -was a woman who had no need to wait to make up her mind. And perhaps she -might not be too late, perhaps her boy meant no evil. He was her boy, -and it was hard to associate evil or unkindness with him. Poor Will! -perhaps he had but gone away because he could not bear to see his mother -fallen from her high estate. Then it was that a flush of fiery colour -came to Mary's face, but it was only for a moment; things had gone too -far for that. She sat at the junction waiting, and the cold wind blew in -upon her, and pierced to her heart--and it was nothing that she had not -known for years. - - - - -CHAPTER XLI. - - -When Mary went away, she left the two ladies at the Cottage in a -singular state of excitement and perplexity. They were tingling with the -blows which they had themselves received, and yet at the same time they -were hushed and put to shame, as it were, for any secondary pang they -might be feeling, by the look in Mrs. Ochterlony's face, and by her -sudden departure. Aunt Agatha, who knew of few mysteries in life, and -thought that where neither sickness nor death was, nor any despairs of -blighted love or disappointed hope, there could not be anything very -serious to suffer, would have got over it, and set it down as one of -Mary's ways, had she been by herself. But Winnie was not so easily -satisfied; her mind was possessed by the thought, in which no doubt -there was a considerable mingling of vanity, that her husband would -strike her through her friends. It seemed as if he had done so now; -Winnie did not know precisely what it was that Percival knew about her -sister, but only that it was something discreditable, something that -would bring Mary down from her pinnacle of honour and purity. And now he -had done it, and driven Mrs. Ochterlony to despair; but what was it -about Will? Or was Will a mere pretence on the part of the outraged and -terrified woman to get away? Something she had known for years! This was -the thought which had chiefly moved Winnie, going to her heart. She -herself had lived a stormy life; she had done a great many things which -she ought not to have done; she had never been absolutely wicked or -false, nor forfeited her reputation; but she knew in her heart that her -life had not been a fair and spotless life; and when she thought of its -strivings, and impatience, and self-will, and bitter discontent, and of -the serene course of existence which her sister had led in the -quietness, her heart smote her. Perhaps it was for her sake that this -blow, which Mary had known of for years, had at last descended upon her -head. All the years of her own stormy career, her sister had been living -at Kirtell, doing no harm, doing good, serving God, bringing up her -children, covering her sins, if she had sinned, with repentance and good -deeds; and yet for Winnie's sake, for her petulance, and fury, and -hotheadness, the angel (or was it the demon?) had lifted his fiery sword -and driven Mary out of Paradise. All this moved Winnie strangely; and -along with these were other thoughts--thoughts of her own strange -miserable unprotectedness, with only Aunt Agatha to stand between her -and the world, while she still had a husband in the world, between whom -and herself there stood no deadly shame nor fatal obstacle, and whose -presence would shield her from all such intrusions as that she had just -suffered from. He had sinned against her, but that a woman can -forgive--and she had not sinned against him, not to such an extent as is -unpardonable in a woman. Perhaps there might even be something in the -fact that Winnie had found Kirtell and quiet not the medicine suited to -her mind, and that even Mary's flight into the world had brought a -tingling into her wings, a longing to mount into freer air, and rush -back to her fate. Thus a host of contradictory feelings joined in one -great flame of excitement, which rose higher and higher all through the -night. To fly forth upon him, and controvert his wicked plans, and save -the sister who was being sacrificed for her sake; and yet to take -possession of him back again, and set him up before her, her shield and -buckler against the world; and at the same time to get out and break -loose from this flowery cage, and rush back into the big world, where -there would be air and space to move in--such were Winnie's thoughts. In -the morning, when she came downstairs, which was an hour earlier than -usual, to Aunt Agatha's great amazement, she wore her travelling dress, -and had an air of life and movement in her, which startled Miss Seton, -and which, since her return to Kirtell, had never been seen in Winnie's -looks before. - -"It is very kind of you to come down, Winnie, my darling, when you knew -I was alone," said Aunt Agatha, giving her a tender embrace. - -"I don't think it is kind in me," said Winnie; and then she sat down, -and took her sister's office upon her, to Miss Seton's still greater -bewilderment, and make the tea, without quite knowing what she was -doing. "I suppose Mary has been travelling all night," she said; "I am -going into Carlisle, Aunt Agatha, to that woman, to know what it is all -about." - -"Oh, my darling, you were always so generous," cried Aunt Agatha, in -amaze; "but you must not do it. She might say things to you, or you -might meet people----" - -"If I did meet people, I know how to take care of myself," said Winnie; -and that flush came to her face, and that light to her eye, like the -neigh of the war-horse when he hears the sound of battle. - -Aunt Agatha was struck dumb. Terror seized her, as she looked at the -kindling cheeks and rapid gesture, and saw the Winnie of old, all -impatient and triumphant, dawning out from under the cloud. - -"Oh, Winnie, you are not going away," she cried, with a thrill of -presentiment. "Mary has gone, and they have all gone. You are not going -to leave me all by myself here?" - -"I?" said Winnie. There was scorn in the tone, and yet what was chiefly -in it was a bitter affectation of humility. "It will be time enough to -fear my going, when any one wants me to go." - -Miss Seton was a simple woman, and yet she saw that there lay more -meaning under these words than the plain meaning they bore. She clasped -her hands, and lifted her appealing eyes to Winnie's face--and she was -about to speak, to question, to remonstrate, to importune, when her -companion suddenly seized her hands tight, and silenced her by the sight -of an emotion more earnest and violent than anything Aunt Agatha knew. - -"Don't speak to me," she said, with her eyes blazing, and clasped the -soft old hands in hers till she hurt them. "Don't speak to me; I don't -know what I am going to do--but don't talk to me, Aunt Agatha. Perhaps -my life--and Mary's--may be fixed to-day." - -"Oh, Winnie, I don't understand you," cried Aunt Agatha, trembling, and -freeing her poor little soft crushed hands. - -"And I don't understand myself," said Winnie. "Don't let us say a word -more." - -What did it mean, that flush in her face, that thrill of purpose and -meaning in her words, and her step, and her whole figure?--and what had -Mary to do with it?--and how could their fate be fixed one way or -other?--Aunt Agatha asked herself these questions vainly, and could make -nothing of them. But after breakfast she went to her room and said her -prayers--which was the best thing to do; and in that moment Winnie, -whose prayers were few though her wants were countless, took a rose from -the trellis, and pinned it in with her brooch, and went softly away. I -don't know what connection there was between the rose and Aunt Agatha's -prayers, but somehow the faint perfume softened the wild, agitated, -stormy heart, and suggested to it that sacrifice was being made and -supplications offered somewhere for its sins and struggles. Thus, when -his sons and daughters went out to their toils and pleasures, Job drew -near the altar lest some of them might curse God in their hearts. - -It was strange to see her sallying forth by herself, she who had been -shielded from every stranger's eye;--and yet there was a sense of -freedom in it--freedom, and danger, and exhilaration, which was sweet to -Winnie. She went rushing in to Carlisle in the express train, flying as -it were on the wings of the wind. But Mrs. Kirkman was not at home. She -was either working in her district, or she was teaching the infant -school, or giving out work to the poor women, or perhaps at the mothers' -meeting, which she always said was the most precious opportunity of all; -or possibly she might be making calls--which, however, was an hypothesis -which her maid rejected as unworthy of her. Mrs. Percival found herself -brought to a sudden standstill when she heard this. The sole audible -motive which she had proposed to herself for her expedition was to see -Mrs. Kirkman, and for the moment she did not know what to do. After a -while, however, she turned and went slowly and yet eagerly in another -direction. She concluded she would go to the Askells, who might know -something about it. They were Percival's friends; they might be in the -secret of his plans--they might convey to him the echo of her -indignation and disdain; possibly even he might himself---- But Winnie -would not let herself consider that thought. Captain Askell's house was -not the same cold and neglected place where Mary had seen Emma after -their return. They had a little more money--and that was something; and -Nelly was older--which was a great deal more; but even Nelly could not -altogether abrogate the character which her mother gave to her house. -The maid who opened the door had bright ribbons in her cap, but yet was -a sloven, half-suppressed; and the carpets on the stairs were badly -fitted, and threatened here and there to entangle the unwary foot. And -there was a bewildering multiplicity of sounds in the house. You could -hear the maids in the kitchen, and the children in the nursery--and even -as Winnie approached the drawing-room she could hear voices thrilling -with an excitement which did not become that calm retreat. There was a -sound as of a sob, and there was a broken voice a little loud in its -accents. Winnie went on with a quicker throb of her heart--perhaps he -himself---- But when the door opened, it was upon a scene she had not -thought of. Mrs. Kirkman was there, seated high as on a throne, looking -with a sad but touching resignation upon the disturbed household. And it -was Emma who was sobbing--sobbing and crying out, and launching a -furious little soft incapable clenched hand into the air--while Nelly, -all glowing red, eyes lit up with indignation, soft lips quivering with -distress, stood by, with a gaze of horror and fury and disgust fixed on -the visitor's face. Winnie went in, and they all stopped short and -stared at her, as if she had dropped from the skies. Her appearance -startled and dismayed them, and yet it was evidently in perfect -accordance with the spirit of the scene. She could see that at the first -glance. She saw they were already discussing this event, whatever it -might be. Therefore Winnie did not hesitate. She offered no ordinary -civilities herself, nor required any. She went straight up to where Mrs. -Kirkman sat, not looking at others. "I have come to ask you what it -means," she said; and Winnie felt that they all stopped and gave way to -her as to one who had a right to know. - -"That is what I am asking," cried Emma, "what does it mean? We have all -known it for ages, and none of us said a word. And she that sets up for -being a Christian! As if there was no honour left in the regiment, and -as if we were to talk of everything that happens! Ask her, Mrs. -Percival. I don't believe half nor a quarter what they say of any one. -When they dare to raise up a scandal about Madonna Mary, none of us are -safe. And a thing that we have all known for a hundred years!" - -"Oh, mamma!" said Nelly, softly, under her breath. The child knew -everything about everybody, as was to have been expected; every sort of -tale had been told in her presence. But what moved her to shame was her -mother's share. It was a murmured compunction, a vicarious -acknowledgment of sin. "Oh, mamma!" - -"It is not I that am saying it," cried Emma, again resuming her sob. "I -would have been torn to pieces first. Me to harm her that was always a -jewel! Oh, ask her, ask her! What is going to come of it, and what does -it mean?" - -"My dear, perhaps Nelly had better retire before we speak of it any -more," said Mrs. Kirkman, meekly. "I am not one that thinks it right to -encourage delusions in the youthful mind, but still, if there is much -more to be said----" - -And then it was Nelly's turn to speak. "You have talked about everything -in the world without sending me away," cried the girl, "till I wondered -and wondered you did not die of shame. But I'll stay now. One is safe," -said Nelly, with a little cry of indignation and youthful rage, "when -you so much as name Mrs. Ochterlony's name." - -All this time Winnie was standing upright and eager before Mrs. -Kirkman's chair. It was not from incivility that they offered her no -place among them. No one thought of it, and neither did she. The -conflict around her had sobered Winnie's thoughts. There was no trace of -her husband in it, nor of that striking her through her friends which -had excited and exhilarated her mind; but the family instinct of mutual -defence awoke in her. "My sister has heard something which has--which -has had a singular effect upon her," said Winnie, pausing instinctively, -as if she had been about to betray something. "And it is you who have -done it; I want to know what it means." - -"Oh, she must be ill!" wailed poor Emma; "I knew she would be ill. If -she dies it will be your fault. Oh, let me go up and see. I knew she -must be ill." - -As for Mrs. Kirkman, she shook her head and her long curls, and looked -compassionately upon her agitated audience. And then Winnie heard all -the long-hoarded well-remembered tale. The only difference made in it -was that by this time all confidence in the Gretna Green marriage, which -had once been allowed, at least as a matter of courtesy, had faded out -of the story. Even Mrs. Askell no longer thought of that. When the charm -of something to tell began to work, the Captain's wife chimed in with -the narrative of her superior officer. All the circumstances of that -long-past event were revealed to the wonder-stricken hearers. Mary's -distress, and Major Ochterlony's anxiety, and the consultations he had -with everybody, and the wonderful indulgence and goodness of the ladies -at the station, who never made any difference, and all their benevolent -hopes that so uncomfortable an incident was buried in the past, and -could now have no painful results;--all this was told to Winnie in -detail; and in the confidential committee thus formed, her own possible -deficiencies and shortcomings were all passed over. "Nothing would have -induced me to say a syllable on the subject if you had not been dear -Mary's sister," Mrs. Kirkman said; and then she relieved her mind and -told it all. - -Winnie, for her part, sat dumb and listened. She was more than struck -dumb--she was stupified by the news. She had thought that Mary might -have been "foolish," as she herself had been "foolish;" even that Mary -might have gone further, and compromised herself; but of a dishonour -which involved such consequences she had never dreamed. She sat and -heard it all in a bewildered horror, with the faces of Hugh and Will -floating like spectres before her eyes. A woman gone astray from her -duty as a wife was not, Heaven help her! so extraordinary an object in -poor Winnie's eyes--but, good heavens! Mary's marriage, Mary's boys, the -very foundation and beginning of her life! The room went round and round -with her as she sat and listened. A public trial, a great talk in the -papers, one brother against another, and Mary, Mary, the chief figure in -all! Winnie put her hands up to her ears, not to shut out the sound of -this incredible story, but to deaden the noises in her head, the -throbbing of all her pulses, and stringing of all her nerves. She was so -stupified that she could make no sort of stand against it, no opposition -to the evidence, which, indeed, was crushing, and left no opening for -unbelief. She accepted it all, or rather, was carried away by the -bewildering, overwhelming tide. And even Emma Askell got excited, and -woke up out of her crying, and added her contribution of details. Poor -little Nelly, who had heard it all before, had retired to a corner and -taken up her work, and might be seen in the distance working furiously, -with a hot flush on her cheek, and now and then wiping a furtive tear -from her eye. Nelly did not know what to say, nor how to meet it--but -there was in her little woman's soul a conviction that something unknown -must lie behind, and that the inference at least was not true. - -"And you told Will?" said Winnie, rousing up at last. "You knew all the -horrible harm it might do, and you told Will." - -"It was not I who told him," said Mrs. Kirkman; and then there was a -pause, and the two ladies looked at each other, and a soft, almost -imperceptible flutter, visible only to a female eye, revealed that there -might be something else to say. - -"Who told him?" said Winnie, perceiving the indications, and feeling her -heart thrill and beat high once more. - -"I am very sorry to say anything, I am sure, to make it worse," said -Mrs. Kirkman. "It was not I who told him. I suppose you are aware -that--that Major Percival is here? He was present at the marriage as -well as I. I wonder he never told you. It was he who told Will. He only -came to get the explanations from me." - -They thought she would very probably faint, or make some demonstration -of distress, not knowing that this was what poor Winnie had been -waiting, almost hoping for; and on the contrary, it seemed to put new -force into her, and a kind of beauty, at which her companions stood -aghast. The blood rushed into her faded cheek, and light came to her -eyes. She could not speak at first, so overwhelming was the tide of -energy and new life that seemed to pour into her veins. After all, she -had been a true prophet. It was all for her sake. He had struck at her -through her friends, and she could not be angry with him. It was a way -like another of showing love, a way hard upon other people, no doubt, -but carrying a certain poignant sweetness to her for whose sake the blow -had fallen. But Winnie knew she was in the presence of keen observers, -and put restraint upon herself. - -"Where is Major Percival to be found?" she said, with a measured voice, -which she thought concealed her excitement, but which was overdone, and -made it visible. They thought she was meditating something desperate -when she spoke in that unnatural voice, and drew her shawl round her in -that rigid way. She might have been going to stab him, the bystanders -thought, or do him some grievous harm. - -"You would not go to him for that?" said Emma, with a little anxiety, -stopping short at once in her tears and in her talk. "They never will -let you talk to them about what they have done; and then they always say -you take part with your own friends." - -Mrs. Kirkman, too, showed a sudden change of interest, and turned to the -new subject with zeal and zest: "If you are really seeking a -reconciliation with your husband----" she began; but this was more than -Winnie could bear. - -"I asked where Major Percival was to be found," she said; "I was not -discussing my own affairs: but Nelly will tell me. If that is all about -Mary, I will go away." - -"I will go with you," cried Emma: "only wait till I get my things. I -knew she would be ill; and she must not think that we are going to -forsake her now. As if it could make any difference to us that have -known it for ever so long! Only wait till I get my things." - -"Poor Mary! she is not in a state of mind to be benefited by any visit," -said Mrs. Kirkman, solemnly. "If it were not for that, _I_ would go." - -As for Winnie, she was trembling with impatience, eager to be free and -to be gone, and yet not content to go until she had left a sting behind -her, like a true woman. "How you all talk!" she cried; "as if your -making any difference would matter. You can set it going, but all you -can do will never stop it. Mary has gone to Will, whom you have made her -enemy. Perhaps she has gone to ask her boy to save her honour; and you -think she will mind about your making a difference, or about your -visits--when it is a thing of life or death!" - -And she went to the door all trembling, scarcely able to support -herself, shivering with excitement and wild anticipation. Now she _must_ -see him--now it was her duty to go to him and ask him why---- She rushed -away, forgetting even that she had not obtained the information she came -to seek. She had been speaking of Mary, but it was not of Mary she was -thinking. Mary went totally out of her mind as she hurried down the -stairs. Now there was no longer any choice; she must go to him, must see -him, must renew the interrupted but never-ended struggle. It filled her -with an excitement which she could not subdue nor resist. Her heart beat -so loud that she did not hear the sound of her own step on the stairs, -but seemed somehow to be carried down by the air, which encircled her -like a soft whirlwind; and she did not hear Nelly behind her calling -her, to tell her where he lived. She had no recollection of that. She -did not wait for any one to open the door for her, but rushed out, moved -by her own purpose as by a supernatural influence; and but for the -violent start he gave, it would have been into his arms she rushed as -she stepped out from the Askells' door. - -This was how their meeting happened. Percival had been going there to -ask some questions about the Cottage and its inmates, when his wife, -with that look he knew so well, with all the coming storm in her eyes, -and the breath of excitement quick on her parted lips--stepped out -almost into his arms. He was fond of her, notwithstanding all their -mutual sins; and their spirits rushed together, though in a different -way from that rush which accompanies the meeting of the lips. They -rushed together with a certain clang and spark; and the two stood facing -each other in the street, defying, hating, struggling, feeling that they -belonged to each other once more. - -"I must speak with you," said Winnie, in her haste; "take me somewhere -that I may speak. Is this your revenge? I know what you have done. When -everything is ended that you can do to me, you strike me through my -friends." - -"If you choose to think so----" said Percival. - -"If I choose to think so? What else can I think?" said the hot -combatant; and she went on by his side with hasty steps and a passion -and force which she had not felt in her since the day when she fled from -him. She felt the new tide in her veins, the new strength in her heart. -It was not the calm of union, it was the heat of conflict; but still, -such as it was, it was her life. She went on with him, never looking or -thinking where they were going, till they reached the rooms where he was -living, and then, all by themselves, the husband and wife looked each -other in the face. - -"Why did you leave me, Winnie?" he said. "I might be wrong, but what -does it matter? I may be wrong again, but I have got what I wanted. I -would not have minded much killing the boy for the sake of seeing you -and having it out. Let them manage it their own way; it is none of our -business. Come back to me, and let them settle it their own way." - -"Never!" cried Winnie, though there was a struggle in her heart. "After -doing all the harm you could do to me, do you think you can recall me by -ruining my sister? How dare you venture to look me in the face?" - -"And I tell you I did not mind what I did to get to see you and have it -out with you," said Percival; "and if that is why you are here, I am -glad I did it. What is Mary to me? She must look after herself. But I -cannot exist without my wife." - -"It was like that, your conduct drove me away," said Winnie, with a -quiver on her lips. - -"It _was_ like it," said he, "only that you never did me justice. My -wife is not like other men's wives. I might drive you away, for you were -always impatient; but you need not think I would stick at anything that -had to be done to get you back." - -"You will never get me back," said Winnie, with flashing eyes. All her -beauty had come back to her in that moment. It was the warfare that did -it, and at the same time it was the homage and flattery which were sweet -to her, and which she could see in everything he said. He would have -stuck at nothing to get her back. For that object he would have ruined, -killed, or done anything wicked. What did it matter about the other -people? There was a sort of magnificence in it that took her captive; -for neither of the two had pure motives or a high standard of action, or -enough even of conventional goodness to make them hypocrites. They both -acknowledged, in a way, that themselves, the two of them, were the chief -objects in the universe, and everything else in the world faded into -natural insignificance when they stood face to face, and their great -perennial conflict was renewed. - -"I do not believe it," said Percival. "I have told you I will stick at -nothing. Let other people take care of their own affairs. What have you -to do in that weedy den with that old woman? You are not good enough, -and you never were meant for that. I knew you would come to me at the -last." - -"But you are mistaken," said Winnie, still breathing fire and flame. -"The old woman, as you call her, is good to me, good as nobody ever -was. She loves me, though you may think it strange. And if I have come -to you it is not for you; it is to ask what you have done, what your -horrible motive could be, and why, now you have done every injury to me -a man could do, you should try to strike me through my friends." - -"I do not care _that_ for your friends," said Percival. "It was to force -you to see me, and have it out. Let them take care of themselves. -Neither man nor woman has any right to interfere in my affairs." - -"Nobody was interfering in your affairs," cried Winnie; "do you think -they had anything to do with it?--could they have kept me if I wanted to -go? It is me you are fighting against. Leave Mary alone, and put out -your strength on me. I harmed you, perhaps, when I gave in to you and -let you marry me. But she never did you any harm. Leave Mary, at least, -alone." - -Percival turned away with a disdainful shrug of his shoulders. He was -familiar enough with the taunt. "If you harmed me by that act, I harmed -you still more, I suppose," he said. "We have gone over that ground -often enough. Let us have it out now. Are you coming back to your duty -and to me." - -"I came to speak of Mary," said Winnie, facing him as he turned. "Set -those right first who have never done you any harm, and then we can -think of the others. The innocent come first. Strike at me like a man, -but not through my friends." - -She sat down as she spoke, without quite knowing what she did. She sat -down, because, though the spirit was moved to passionate energy, the -flesh was weak. Perhaps something in the movement touched the man who -hated and loved her, as she loved and hated him. A sudden pause came to -the conflict, such as does occur capriciously in such struggles; in the -midst of their fury a sudden touch of softness came over them. They were -alone--nothing but mists of passion were between them, and though they -were fighting like foes, their perverse souls were one. He came up to -her suddenly and seized her hands, not tenderly, but rudely, as was -natural to his state of mind. - -"Winnie," he said, "this will not do; come away with me. You may -struggle as you please, but you are mine. Don't let us make a -laughing-stock of ourselves! What are a set of old women and children -between you and me? Let them fight it out; it will all come right. What -is anything in the world between you and me? Come! I am not going to be -turned off or put away as if you did not mind. I know you better than -that. Come! I tell you, nothing can stand between you and me." - -"Never!" said Winnie, blazing with passion; but even while she spoke the -course of the torrent changed. It leaped the feeble boundaries, and went -into the other channel--the channel of love which runs side by side with -that of hate. "You leave me to be insulted by everybody who has a -mind--and if I were to go with you, it is you who would insult me!" -cried Winnie. And the tears came pouring to her eyes suddenly like a -thunder-storm. It was all over in a moment, and that was all that was -said. What were other people that either he or she should postpone their -own affairs to any secondary consideration? Their spirits rushed -together with a flash of fire, and roll of thunder. The suddenness of it -was the thing that made it effectual. Something "smote the chord of -self, that trembling" burst into a tumult of feeling and took to itself -the semblance of love; no matter how it had been brought about. Was not -anything good that set them face to face, and showed the two that life -could not continue for them apart? Neither the tears, nor the -reproaches, nor the passion were over, but it changed all at once into -such a quarrel as had happened often enough before then. As soon as -Winnie came back to her warfare, she had gone back, so to speak, to her -duties according to her conception of them. Thus the conflict swelled, -and rose, and fluctuated, and softened, like many another; but no more -thoughts of the Cottage, or of Aunt Agatha, or of Mary's sudden calamity -drew Winnie from her own subject. After all, it was, as she had felt, a -pasteboard cottage let down upon her for the convenience of the -moment--a thing to disappear by pulleys when the moment of necessity was -over. And when they had had it out, she went off with her husband the -same evening, sending a rapid note of explanation to Aunt Agatha--and -not with any intention of unkindness, but only with that superior sense -of the importance of her own concerns which was natural to her. She -hoped Mary would come back soon, and that all would be comfortably -settled, she said. "And Mary is more of a companion to you than I ever -could be," Winnie added in her letter, with a touch of that strange -jealousy which was always latent in her. She was glad that Mary should -be Miss Seton's companion, and yet was vexed that anybody should take -her place with her aunt, to whom she herself had been all in all. Thus -Winnie, who had gone into Carlisle that morning tragically bent upon the -confounding of her husband's plans, and the formation of one eternal -wall of separation between them, eloped with him in the evening as if -he had been her lover. And there was a certain thrill of pride and -tenderness in her bosom to think that to win her back he would stick at -nothing, and did not hesitate to strike her through her friends. - - - - -CHAPTER XLII. - - -There is something wonderful in the ease with which the secondary actors -in a great crisis can shake themselves free of the event, and return to -their own affairs, however exciting the moment may be at which it suits -them to strike off. The bystanders turn away from the most horrible -calamity, and sit down by their own tables and talk about their own -trivial business before the sound of the guns has ceased to vibrate on -the air, or the smoke of the battle has dispersed which has brought ruin -and misery to their dearest friends. The principle of human nature, that -every man should bear his own burden, lies deeper than all philosophy. -Winnie, though she had been excited about her sister's mysterious -misfortune and roused by it, and was ready, to her own inconvenience, to -make a great effort on Mary's behalf, yet could turn off on her way -without any struggle, with that comfortable feeling that all must come -right in the end which is so easy for the lookers-on. But the real -sufferers could not entertain so charming a confidence. That same day -rose heavily over poor Hugh, who, all alone in Earlston, still debated -with himself. He had written to his uncle to express his amazement and -dismay, and to ask for time to give full consideration to the terrible -news he had heard. "You need not fear that I will do anything to wound -my mother," the poor boy had written, with a terrible pang in his heart. -But after that he had sunk into a maze of questions and discussions with -himself, and of miserable uncertainty as to what he ought to do. The -idea of asking anybody for information about it seemed almost as bad to -him as owning the fact at once; asking about his mother--about facts in -her life which she had never herself disclosed--inquiring if, perhaps, -she was a woman dishonoured and unworthy of her children's confidence! -It seemed to Hugh as if it would be far easier to give up Earlston, and -let Will or any one else who pleased have it. He had tried more than -once to write to Mr. Churchill, the chaplain, of whom he had heard his -mother speak, and of whom he had even a faint traditional sort of -recollection; but the effort always sickened him, and made him rush away -in disgust to the open air, and the soothing sounds of nature. He was -quite alone during those few days. His neighbours did not know of his -return, for he had been so speedily overtaken by this news as to have -had no heart to go anywhere or show himself among them. Thus he was left -to his own thoughts, and they were bitter. In the very height of his -youthful hopes and satisfaction, just at the moment when he was most -full of plans, and taking the most perfect pleasure in his life, this -bewildering cloud had come on him. He did not even go on with his -preparations for the transfer of the Museum, in the sickness of his -heart, notwithstanding the eagerness he felt whenever he thought of it -to complete that arrangement at least, and secure his uncle's will to -that extent, if no more. But it did not seem possible to exert himself -about one thing without exerting himself about all, and he who had been -so fresh and full of energy, fell supine into a kind of utter -wretchedness. The course of his life was stopped when it had been in -full career. He was suddenly thrown out of all he had been doing, all he -had been planning. The scheme of his existence seemed all at once turned -into folly and made a lie of. What could he do? His lawyer wrote to say -that he meant to come to Earlston on some business connected with the -estate, but Hugh put him off, and deferred everything. How could he -discuss affairs which possibly were not his affairs, but his brother's? -How could he enter into any arrangements, or think of anything, however -reasonable or necessary, with this sword hanging over his head? He got -up early in the morning, and startled the servants before they were up, -by opening the doors and shutters in his restlessness; and he sat up at -night thinking it all over, for ever thinking of it and never coming to -any result. How could he inquire, how could he prove or disprove the -horrible assertion? Even to think of it seemed a tacit injury to his -mother. The only way to do his duty by her seemed to be to give up all -and go away to the end of the world. And yet he was a man, and right and -justice were dear to him, and he revolted against doing that. It was as -if he had been caught by some gigantic iron hand of fate in the -sweetness of his fearless life. He had never heard nor read of, he -thought, anything so cruel. By times bitter tears came into his eyes, -wrung from him by the intolerable pressure. He could not give up his own -cause and his mother's cause without a struggle. He could not -relinquish his life and rights to another; and yet how could he defend -himself by means that would bring one question to careless lips, one -light laugh to the curious world, over his mother's name? Such an idea -had never so much as entered into his head. It made his life miserable. - -He read over Mr. Penrose's letter a dozen times in the day, and he sat -at night with his eyes fixed on the flame of his lamp, calling back his -childhood and its events. It was as vague as a dream, and he could not -identify his broken recollections. If he could have gone to Mrs. -Ochterlony and talked it over with her, Hugh might have remembered many -things, but wanting that thread of guidance he lost himself in the misty -maze. By dint of thinking it over and over, and representing the scene -to his mind in every possible way, it came to him finally to believe -that some faint impression of the event which he was asked to remember -did linger in his memory, and that thought, which he could not put away, -stung him like a serpent. Was it really true that he remembered it? Then -the accusation must be true, and he nameless and without rights, and -Mary----. Not much wonder that the poor boy, sick to the heart, turned -his face from the light and hid himself, and felt that he would be glad -if he could only die. Yet dying would be of no use, for there was Islay -who would come next to him, who never would have dreamt of dispossessing -him, but who, if this was true, would need to stand aside in his turn -and make room for Will. Will!--It was hard for Hugh not to feel a thrill -of rage and scorn and amaze mixing with his misery when he thought of -the younger brother to whom he had been so continually indulgent and -affectionate. He who had been always the youngest, the most guarded and -tender, whom Hugh could remember in his mother's arms, on her knee, a -part of her as it were; he to turn upon them all, and stain her fame, -and ruin the family honour for his own base advantage! These thoughts -came surging up one after another, and tore Hugh's mind to pieces and -made him as helpless as a child, now with one suggestion, now with -another. What could he do? And accordingly he did nothing but fall into -a lethargy and maze of despair, did not sleep, did not eat, filled the -servants' minds with the wildest surmises, and shut himself up, as if -that could have deferred the course of events, or shut out the coming -fate. - -This had lasted only a day or two, it is true, but it might have been -for a century, to judge by Hugh's feelings. He felt indeed as if he had -never been otherwise, never been light-hearted or happy, or free to -take pleasure in his life; as if he had always been an impostor -expecting to be found out. Nature itself might have awakened him from -his stupor had he been left to himself; but, as it happened, there came -a sweeter touch. He had become feverishly anxious about his letters ever -since the arrival of that one which had struck him so unlooked-for a -blow; and he started when something was brought to him in the evening at -an hour when letters did not arrive, and a little note with a little red -seal, very carefully folded that no curious eye might be able to -penetrate. Poor Hugh felt a certain thrill of fright at the -innocent-seeming thing, coming insidiously at this moment when he -thought himself safe, and bringing, for anything he could tell, the last -touch to his misery. He held it in his hand while it was explained to -him that one of the servants had been to Carlisle with an order given -before the world had changed--an order made altogether antiquated and -out of course by having been issued three days before; and that he had -brought back this note. Only when the door closed upon the man and his -explanation did Hugh break the tiny seal. It was not a letter to be -alarmed at. It was written as it were with tears, sweet tears of -sympathy and help and tender succour. This was what Nelly's little -letter said:-- - -"DEAR MR. HUGH,--I want to let you know of something that has happened -to-day, and at which you may perhaps be surprised. Mrs. Percival met -Major Percival here, and I think they have made friends; and she has -gone away with him. I think you ought to know, because she told us dear -Mrs. Ochterlony had gone to Liverpool; and Miss Seton will be left -alone. I should have asked mamma to let me go and stay with her, but I -am going into Scotland to an old friend of papa's, who is living at -Gretna. I remember hearing long ago that it was at Gretna dear Mrs. -Ochterlony was married--and perhaps there is somebody there who -remembers her. If you see Aunt Agatha, would you please ask her when it -happened? I should so like to see the place, and ask the people if they -remember her. I think she must have been so beautiful then; she is -beautiful now--I never loved anybody so much in my life. And I am afraid -she is anxious about Will. I should not like to trouble you, for I am -sure you must have a great deal to occupy your mind, but I should so -like to know how dear Mrs. Ochterlony is, and if there is anything the -matter with Will. He always was very funny, you know, and then he is -only a boy, and does not know what he means. Mamma sends her kind -regards, and I am, dear Mr. Hugh, very sincerely yours,--NELLY." - -This was the letter. Hugh read it slowly over, every word--and then he -read it again; and two great globes of dew got into his eyes, and -Nelly's sweet name grew big as he read through them, and wavered over -all the page; and when he had come to that signature the second time he -put it down on the table, and leant his face on it, and cried. Yes, -cried, though he was a man--wept hot tears over it, few but great, that -felt to him like the opening of a spring in his soul, and drew the heat -and the horror out of his brain. His young breast shook with a few great -sobs--the passion climbing in his throat burst forth, and had utterance; -and then he rose up and stretched his young arms, and drew himself up to -the fulness of his height. What did it matter, after all? What was -money, and lands, and every good on earth, compared to the comfort of -living in the same world with a creature such as this, who was as sweet -as the flowers, and as true as the sky? She had done it by instinct, not -knowing, as she herself said, what she meant, or knowing only that her -little heart swelled with kind impulses, tender pity, and indignation, -and yet pity over all; pity for Will, too, who, perhaps, was going to -make them all miserable. But Nelly could not have understood the effect -her little letter had upon Hugh. He shook himself free after it, as if -from chains that had been upon him. He gave a groan, poor boy, at the -calamity which was not to be ignored, and then he said to himself, -"After all!" After all, and in spite of all, while there was Nelly -living, it was not unmingled ill to live. And when he looked at it -again, a more reasonable kind of comfort seemed to come to him out of -the girl's letter; his eye was caught by the word struck out, which yet -was not too carefully struck out, "where dear Mrs. Ochterlony was first -married." He gave a cry when this new light entered into his mind. He -roused himself up from his gloom and stupor, and thought and thought -until his very brain ached as with labour, and his limbs began to thrill -as with new vigour coming back. And a glimmering of the real truth -suddenly rushed, all vague and dazzling, upon Hugh's darkness. There had -been no hint in Mr. Penrose's letter of any such interpretation of the -mystery. Mr. Penrose himself had received no such hint, and even Will, -poor boy, had heard of it only as a fable, to which he gave no -attention. They two, and Hugh himself in his utter misery, had accepted -as a probable fact the calumny of which Nelly's pure mind instinctively -demanded an explanation. They had not known it to be impossible that -Mary should be guilty of such sin; but Nelly had known it, and -recognised the incredible mystery, and demanded the reason for it, -which everybody else had ignored or forgotten. He seemed to see it for a -moment, as the watchers on a sinking ship might see the gleam of a -lighthouse;--and then it disappeared from him in the wild waste of -ignorance and wonder, and then gleamed out again, as if in Nelly's eyes. -That was why she was going, bless her! She who never went upon visits, -who knew better, and had insight in her eyes, and saw it could not be. -These thoughts passed through Hugh's mind in a flood, and changed heaven -and earth round about him, and set him on solid ground, as it were, -instead of chaos. He was not wise enough, good enough, pure enough, to -know the truth of himself--but Nelly could see it, as with angel eyes. -He was young, and he loved Nelly, and that was how it appeared to him. -Shame that had been brooding over him in the darkness, fled away. He -rose up and felt as if he were yet a man, and had still his life before -him, whatever might happen; and that he was there not only to comfort -and protect his mother, but to defend and vindicate her; not to run away -and keep silent like the guilty, but to face the pain of it, and the -shame of it, if such bitter need was, and establish the truth. All this -came to Hugh's mind from the simple little letter, which Nelly, crying -and burning with indignation and pity, and an intolerable sense of -wrong, had written without knowing what she meant. For anything Hugh -could tell, his mother's innocence and honour, even if intact, might -never be proved,--might do no more for him than had it been guilt and -shame. The difference was that he had seen this accusation, glancing -through Nelly's eyes, to be impossible; that he had found out that there -was an interpretation somewhere, and the load was taken off his soul. - -The change was so great, and his relief so immense, that he felt as if -even that night he must act upon it. He could not go away, as he longed -to do, for all modes of communication with the world until the morning -were by that time impracticable. But he did what eased his mind at -least. He wrote to Mr. Penrose a very grave, almost solemn letter, with -neither horror nor even anger in it. "I do not know what the -circumstances are, nor what the facts may be," he wrote, "but whatever -they are, I do not doubt that my mother will explain--and I shall come -to you immediately, that the truth may be made clearly apparent." And he -wrote to Mr. Churchill, as he had never yet had the courage to do, -asking to be told how it was. When he had done this, he rose up, feeling -himself still more his own master. Hugh did not deceive himself; he did -not think, because Nelly had communicated to his eyes her own divine -simplicity of sight, that therefore it was certain that everything would -be made clear and manifest to the law or the world. It might be -otherwise; Mrs. Ochterlony might never be able to establish her own -spotless fame, and her elder children's rights. It might be, by some -horrible conspiracy of circumstances, that his name and position should -be taken from him, and his honour stained beyond remedy. Such a thing -was still possible. But Hugh felt that even then all would not be lost, -that God would still be in heaven, and justice and mercy to some certain -extent on the earth, and duty still before him. The situation was not -changed, but only the key-note of his thoughts was changed, and his mind -had come back to itself. He rose up, though it was getting late, and -rang the bell for Francis Ochterlony's favourite servant, and began to -arrange about the removal of the Museum. He might not be master long--in -law; but he was master by right of nature and his uncle's will, and he -would at least do his duty as long as he remained there. - -Mrs. Gilsland, the housekeeper, was in the hall as he went out, and she -curtseyed and stood before him, rustling in her black silk gown, and -eyeing him doubtfully. She was afraid to disturb the Squire, as she -said, but there was a poor soul there, if so be as he would speak a word -to her. It annoyed Hugh to be drawn away from his occupations just as he -had been roused to return to them; but Nelly's letter and the influence -of profound emotion had given a certain softness to his soul. He asked -what it was, and heard it was a poor woman who had come with a petition. -She had come a long way, and had a child with her, but nobody had liked -to disturb the young Squire: and now it was providential, Mrs. Gilsland -thought, that he should have passed just at that moment. "She has been -gone half her lifetime, Mr. Hugh--I mean Sir," said the housekeeper, -"though she was born and bred here; and her poor man is that bad with -the paralytics that she has to do everything, which she thought if -perhaps you would give her the new lodge----" - -"The new lodge is not built yet," said Hugh, with a pang in his heart, -feeling, notwithstanding his new courage, that it was hard to remember -all his plans and the thousand changes it might never be in his power to -make; "and it ought to be some one who has a claim on the family," he -added, with a half-conscious sigh. - -"And that's what poor Susan has," said Mrs. Gilsland. "Master would -never have said no if it had been in his time; for he knew as he had -been unjust to them poor folks; and a good claim on you, Mr. Hugh. She -is old Sommerville's daughter, as you may have heard talk on, and as -decent a woman----" - -"Who was old Sommerville?" said Hugh. - -"He was one as was a faithful servant to your poor papa," said the -housekeeper. "I've heard as he lost his place all for the Captain's -sake, as was Captain Ochterlony then, and as taking a young gentleman as -ever was. If your mother was to hear of it, Mr. Hugh, she is not the -lady to forget. A poor servant may be most a friend to his master--I've -heard many and many a one say so that was real quality--and your mamma -being a true lady----" - -"Yes," said Hugh, "a good servant is a friend; and if she had any claims -upon my father, I will certainly see her; but I am busy now. I have not -been--well. I have been neglecting a great many things, and now that I -feel a little better, I have a great deal to do." - -"Oh, sir, it isn't lost time as makes a poor creature's heart to sing -for joy!" said Mrs. Gilsland. She was a formidable housekeeper, but she -was a kind woman; and somehow a subtle perception that their young -master had been in trouble had crept into the mind of the household. -"Which it's grieved as we've all been to see as you was not--well," she -added with a curtsey; "it's been the watching and the anxiety; and so -good as you was, sir, to the Squire. But poor Susan has five mile to go, -and a child in arms, as is a load to carry; and her poor sick husband at -home. And it was borne in upon them as perhaps for old Sommerville's -sake----" - -"Well, who was he?" said Hugh, with languid interest, a little fretted -by the interruption, yet turning his steps towards the housekeeper's -room, from which a gleam of firelight shone, at the end of a long -corridor. He did not know anything about old Sommerville; the name -awakened no associations in his mind, and even the housekeeper's long -narrative as she followed him caught his attention only by intervals. -She was so anxious to produce an effect for her PROTÉGÉE'S sake that she -began with an elaborate description of old Sommerville's place and -privileges, which whizzed past Hugh's ear without ever touching his -mind. But he was too good-hearted to resist the picture of the poor -woman who had five miles to go, and a baby and a sick husband. She was -sitting basking before the fire in Mrs. Gilsland's room, poor soul, -thinking as little about old Sommerville as the young Squire was; her -heart beating high with anxiety about the new lodge--beating as high as -if it was a kingdom she had hopes of conquering; with excitement as -profound as that which moved Hugh himself when he thought of his fortune -hanging in the balance, and of the name and place and condition of which -perhaps he was but an usurper. It was as much to poor Susan to have the -lodge as it was to him to have Earlston, or rather a great deal more. -And he went in, putting a stop to Mrs. Gilsland's narrative, and began -to talk to the poor suitor; and the firelight played pleasantly on the -young man's handsome face, as he stood full in its ruddy illumination to -hear her story, with his own anxiety lying at his heart like a stone. To -look at this scene, it looked the least interesting of all that was -going on at that moment in the history of the Ochterlony family--less -important than what was taking place in Liverpool, where Mary was--or -even than poor Aunt Agatha's solitary tears over Winnie's letter, which -had just been taken in to her, and which went to her heart. The new -lodge might never be built, and Hugh Ochterlony might never have it in -his power to do anything for poor Susan, who was old Sommerville's -daughter. But at least he was not hard-hearted, and it was a kind of -natural grace and duty to hear what the poor soul had to say. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIII. - - -It was morning when Mary arrived in Liverpool, early morning, chilly and -grey. She had been detained on the road by the troublesome delays of a -cross route, and the fresh breath of the autumnal morning chilled her to -the heart. And she had not come with any distinct plan. She did not know -what she was going to do. It had seemed to her as if the mere sight of -her would set her boy right, had there been evil in his mind; and she -did not know that there was any evil in his mind. She knew nothing of -what was in Mr. Penrose's letter, which had driven Hugh to such despair. -She did not even know whether Will had so much as mentioned his -discovery to Uncle Penrose, or whether he might not have fled there, -simply to get away from the terrible thought of his mother's disgrace. -If it were so, she had but to take her boy in her arms, to veil her face -with shame, yet raise it with conscious honour, and tell him how it all -was. This, perhaps, was what she most thought of doing--to show him the -rights of the story, of which he had only heard the evil-seeming side, -and to reconcile him to herself and the world, and his life, on all of -which a shadow must rest, as Mary thought, if any shadow rested on his -mother. By times she was grieved with Will--"angry," as he would have -said--to think he had gone away in secret without unfolding his troubles -to the only creature who could clear them up; but by times it seemed to -her as though it was only his tenderness of her, his delicacy for her, -that had driven him away. That he could not endure the appearance of a -stain upon her, that he was unable to let her know the possibility of -any suspicion--this was chiefly what Mrs. Ochterlony thought. And it -made her heart yearn towards the boy. Anything about Earlston, or Hugh, -or the property, or Will's rights, had not crossed her mind; even Mrs. -Kirkman's hints had proved useless, so far as that was concerned. Such a -thing seemed to her as impossible as to steal or to murder. When they -were babies, a certain thrill of apprehension had moved her whenever she -saw any antagonism between the brothers; but when the moment of -realizing it came, she was unable to conceive of such a horror. To think -of Will harming Hugh! It was impossible--more than impossible; and thus -as she drove through the unknown streets in the early bustle of the -morning, towards the distant suburb in which Mr. Penrose lived, her -thoughts rejected all tragical suppositions. The interview would be -painful enough in any case, for it was hard for a mother to have to -defend herself, and vindicate her good fame, to her boy; but still it -could have been nothing but Will's horror at such a revelation--his -alarm at the mere idea of such a suspicion ever becoming known to his -mother--his sense of disenchantment in the entire world following his -discovery, that made him go away: and this she had it in her power to -dissipate for ever. This was how she was thinking as she approached Mr. -Penrose's great mansion, looking out eagerly to see if any one might be -visible at the windows. She saw no one, and her heart beat high as she -looked up at the blank big house, and thought of the young heart that -would flutter and perhaps sicken at the sight of her, and then expand -into an infinite content. For by this time she had so reasoned herself -into reassurance, and the light and breath of the morning had so -invigorated her mind, that she had no more doubt that her explanations -would content him, and clear away every cloud from his thoughts, than -she had of his being her son, and loyal as no son of hers could fail to -be. - -The servants did not make objections to her as they had done to Will. -They admitted her to the cold uninhabited drawing-room, and informed -her that Mr. Penrose was out, but that young Mr. Ochterlony was -certainly to be found. "Tell him it is his mother," said Mary, with her -heart yearning over him: and then she sat down to wait. There was -nothing after all in the emergency to tremble at. She smiled at herself -when she thought of her own horrible apprehensions, and of the feelings -with which she had hurried from the Cottage. It would be hard to speak -of the suspicion to which she was subjected, but then she could set it -to rest for ever: and what did the pang matter? Thus she sat with a -wistful smile on her face, and waited. The moments passed, and she heard -sounds of steps outside, and something that sounded like the hurried -shutting of the great door; but no eager foot coming to meet her--no -rapid entrance like that she had looked for. She sat still until the -smile became rigid on her lip, and a wonderful depression came to her -soul. Was he not coming? Could it be that he judged her without hearing -her, and would not see his mother? Then her heart woke up again when she -heard some one approaching, but it was only the servant who had opened -the door. - -"I beg your pardon, ma'am," said the man, with hesitation, "but it -appears I made a mistake. Young Mr. Ochterlony was not--I mean he has -gone out. Perhaps, if it was anything of importance, you could wait." - -"He has gone out? so early?--surely not after he knew I was here?" said -Mary, wildly; and then she restrained herself with an effort. "It _is_ -something of importance," she said, giving a groan in her heart, which -was not audible. "I am his mother, and it is necessary I should see him. -Yes, I will wait; and if you could send some one to tell him, if you -know where he is----" - -"I should think, ma'am, he is sure to be home to luncheon," said the -servant, evading this demand. To luncheon--and it was only about ten -o'clock in the morning now. Mary clasped her hands together to keep -herself from crying out. Could he have been out before she -arrived--could he have fled to avoid her? She asked herself the question -in a kind of agony; but Mr. Penrose's man stood blank and respectful at -the door, and offered no point of appeal. She could not take him into -her counsel, or consult him as to what it all meant; and yet she was so -anxious, so miserable, so heart-struck by this suspense, that she could -not let him go without an effort to find something out. - -"Has he gone with his uncle?" she said. "Perhaps I might find it at Mr. -Penrose's office. No? Or perhaps you can tell me if there is any place -he is in the habit of going to, or if he always goes out so early. I -want very much to see him; I have been travelling all night; it is very -important," Mary added, wistfully looking in the attendant's face. - -Mr. Penrose's butler was very solemn and precise, but yet there was -something in the sight of her restrained distress which moved him. "I -don't know as I have remarked what time the young gentleman goes out," -he said. "He's early this morning--mostly he varies a bit--but I don't -make no doubt as he'll be in to luncheon." When he had said this the man -did not go away, but stood with a mixture of curiosity and sympathy, -sorry for the new-comer, and wondering what it all meant. If Mary -herself could but have made out what it all meant! She turned away, with -the blood, as she thought, all going back upon her heart, and the -currents of life flowing backward to their source. Had he fled from her? -What did it mean? - -In this state of suspense Mrs. Ochterlony passed the morning. She had a -maid sent to her, and was shown, though with a little wonder and -hesitation, into a sleeping room, where she mechanically took off her -travelling wraps and assumed her indoor appearance so far as that was -possible. It was a great, still, empty, resounding house; the rooms were -large, coldly furnished, still looking new for want of use, and vacant -of any kind of occupation or interest. Mary came downstairs again, and -placed herself at one of the great windows in the drawing-room. She -would not go out, even to seek Will, lest she might miss him by the way. -She went and sat down by the window, and gazed out upon the strip of -suburban road which was visible through the shrubberies, feeling her -heart beat when any figure, however unlike her boy, appeared upon it. It -might be he, undiscernible in the distance, or it might be some one from -him, some messenger or ambassador. It was what might be called a -handsome room, but it was vacant, destitute of everything which could -give it interest, with some trifling picture-books on the table and -meaningless knick-nacks. When Mrs. Ochterlony was sick of sitting -watching at the window she would get up and walk round it, and look at -the well-bound volumes on the table, and feel herself grow wild in the -excess of her energy and vehemence, by contrast with the deadly calm of -her surroundings. What was it to this house, or its master, or the other -human creatures in it, that she was beating her wings thus, in the -silence, against the cage? Thus she sat, or walked about, the whole long -morning, counting the minutes on the time-piece or on her watch, and -feeling every minute an hour. Where had he gone? had he fled to escape? -or was his absence natural and accidental? These questions went through -her head, one upon another, with increasing commotion and passion, until -she found herself unable to rest, and felt her veins tingling, and her -pulses throbbing in a wild harmony. It seemed years since she had -arrived when one o'clock struck, and a few minutes later the sound of a -gong thrilled through the silence. This was for luncheon. It was not a -bell, which might be heard outside and quickened the steps of any one -who might be coming. Mary stood still and watched at her window, but -nobody came. And then the butler, whose curiosity was more and more -roused, came upstairs with steady step, and shoes that creaked in a -deprecating, apologetic way, to ask if she would go down to luncheon, -and to regret respectfully that the young gentleman had not yet come in. -"No doubt, ma'am, if he had known you were coming, he'd have been here," -the man said, not without an inquiring look at her, which Mrs. -Ochterlony was vaguely conscious of. She went downstairs with a kind of -mechanical obedience, feeling it an ease to go into another room, and -find another window at which she could look out. She could see another -bit of road further off, and it served to fill her for the moment with -renewed hope. There, at least, she must surely see him coming. But the -moments still kept going on, gliding off the steady hand of the -time-piece like so many months or years. And still Will did not come. - -It was all the more dreadful to her, because she had been totally -unprepared for any such trial. It had never occurred to her that her -boy, though he had run away, would avoid her now. By this time even the -idea that he could be avoiding her went out of her mind, and she began -to think some accident had happened to him. He was young and careless, a -country boy--and there was no telling what terrible thing might have -happened on those thronged streets, which had felt like Pandemonium to -Mary's unused faculties. And she did not know where to go to look for -him, or what to do. In her terror she began to question the man, who -kept coming and going into the room, sometimes venturing to invite her -attention to the dishes, which were growing cold, sometimes merely -looking at her, as he went and came. She asked about her boy, what he -had been doing since he came--if he were not in the habit of going to -his uncle's office--if he had made any acquaintances--if there was -anything that could account for his absence? "Perhaps he went out -sight-seeing," said Mary; "perhaps he is with his uncle at the office. -He was always very fond of shipping." But she got very doubtful and -hesitating replies--replies which were so uncertain that fear blazed up -within her; and the slippery docks and dangerous water, the great carts -in the streets and the string of carriages, came up before her eyes -again. - -Thus the time passed till it was evening. Mary could not, or rather -would not, believe her own senses, and yet it was true. Shadows stole -into the corners, and a star, which it made her heart sick to see, -peeped out in the green-blue sky--and she went from one room to another, -watching the two bits of road. First the one opening, which was fainter -and farther off than the other, which was overshadowed by the trees, yet -visible and near. Every time she changed the point of watching, she felt -sure that he must be coming. But yet the stars peeped out, and the lamps -were lighted on the road, and her boy did not appear. She was a woman -used to self-restraint, and but for her flitting up and downstairs, and -the persistent way she kept by the window, the servants might not have -noticed anything remarkable about her; but they had all possession of -one fact which quickened their curiosity--and the respectable butler -prowled about watching her, in a way which would have irritated Mrs. -Ochterlony, had she been at sufficient leisure in her mind to remark -him. When the time came that the lamp must be lighted and the windows -closed, it went to her heart like a blow. She had to reason to herself -that her watch could make no difference--could not bring him a moment -sooner or later--and yet to be shut out from that one point of interest -was hard. They told her Mr. Penrose was expected immediately, and that -no doubt the young gentleman would be with him. To see Will only in his -uncle's presence was not what Mary had been thinking of--but yet it was -better than this suspense; and now that her eyes could serve her no -longer, she sat listening, feeling every sound echo in her brain, and -herself surrounded, as it were, by a rustle of passing feet and a roll -of carriages that came and passed and brought nothing to her. And the -house was so still and vacant, and resounded with every movement--even -with her own foot, as she changed her seat, though her foot had always -been so light. That day's watching had made a change upon her, which a -year under other circumstances would not have made. Her brow was -contracted with lines unknown to its broad serenity; her eyes looked out -eagerly from the lids which had grown curved and triangular with -anxiety; her mouth was drawn together and colourless. The long, -speechless, vacant day, with no occupation in it but that of watching -and listening, with its sense of time lost and opportunity deferred, -with its dreadful suggestion of other things and thoughts which might -be making progress and nourishing harm, while she sat here impeded and -helpless, and unable to prevent it, was perhaps the severest ordeal Mary -could have passed through. It was the same day on which Winnie went to -Carlisle--it was the same evening on which Hugh received Nelly's letter, -which found his mother motionless in Mr. Penrose's drawing-room, -waiting. This was the hardest of all, and yet not so hard as it might -have been. For she did not know, what all the servants in the house -knew, that Will had seen her arrive--that he had rushed out of the -house, begging the man to deceive her--that he had kept away all day, -not of necessity, but because he did not dare to face her. Mary knew -nothing of this; but it was hard enough to contend with the thousand -spectres that surrounded her, the fears of accident, the miserable -suspense, the dreary doubt and darkness that seemed to hang over -everything, as she waited ever vainly in the silence for her boy's -return. - -When some one arrived at the door, her heart leaped so into her throat -that she felt herself suffocated; she had to put her hands to her side -and clasp them there to support herself as footsteps came up the stair. -She grew sick, and a mist came over her eyes; and then all at once she -saw clearly, and fell back, fainting in the body, horribly conscious and -alive in the mind, when she saw it was Mr. Penrose who came in alone. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIV. - - -Will had seen his mother arrive. He was coming downstairs at the moment, -and he heard her voice, and could hear her say, "Tell him it is his -mother," and fright had seized him. If only three days could have been -abrogated, and he could have gone to her in his old careless way, to -demand an account of why she had come!--but there stood up before him a -ghost of what he had been doing--a ghost of uncomprehended harm and -mischief, which now for the first time showed to him, not in its real -light, but still with an importance it had never taken before. If it had -been hard to tell her of the discovery he had made before he left the -Cottage, it was twenty times harder now, when he had discussed it with -other people, and taken practical steps about it. He went out hurriedly, -and with a sense of stealth and panic. And the panic and the stealth -were signs to him of something wrong. He had not seen it, and did not -see it yet, as regarded the original question. He knew in his heart that -there was no favouritism in Mrs. Ochterlony's mind, and that he was just -the same to her as Hugh--and what could it matter which of her sons had -Earlston?--But still, nature was stronger in him than reason, and he was -ashamed and afraid to meet her, though he did not know why. He hurried -out, and said to himself that she was "angry," and that he could not -stay in all day long to be scolded. He would go back to luncheon, and -that would be time enough. And then he began to imagine what she would -say to him. But that was not so easy. What could she say? After all, he -had done no harm. He had but intimated to Hugh, in the quietest way, -that he had no right to the position he was occupying. He had made no -disturbance about it, nor upbraided his brother for what was not his -brother's fault. And so far from blaming his mother, it had not occurred -to him to consider her in the matter, except in the most secondary way. -What could it matter to her? If Will had it, or if Hugh had it, it was -still in the family. And the simple transfer was nothing to make any -fuss about. This was how he reasoned; but Nature held a different -opinion upon the subject. She had not a word to say, nor any distinct -suggestion even, of guiltiness or wrong-doing to present to his mind. -She only carried him away out of the house, made him shrink aside till -Mary had passed, and made him walk at the top of his speed out of the -very district in which Mr. Penrose's house was situated. Because his -mother would be "angry"--because she might find fault with him for going -away or insist upon his return, or infringe his liberty. Was that why he -fled from her?--But Will could not tell--he fled because he was driven -by an internal consciousness which could not find expression so much as -in thought. He went away and wandered about the streets, thinking that -now he was almost a man, and ought to be left to direct his own actions; -that to come after him like this was an injury to him which he had a -right to resent. It was treating him as Hugh and Islay had never been -treated. When he laid himself out for these ideas they came to him one -by one, and at last he succeeded in feeling himself a little ill-used; -but in his heart he knew that he did not mean that, and that Mrs. -Ochterlony did not mean it, and that there was something else which -stood between them, though he could not tell what it was. - -All this time he contemplated going in facing his mother, and being -surprised to see her, and putting up with her anger as he best could. -But when midday came, he felt less willing than ever. His reluctance -grew upon him. If it had all come simply, if he had rushed into her -presence unawares, then he could have borne it; but to go back on -purpose, to be ushered in to her solemnly, and to meet her when her -wrath had accumulated and she had prepared what to say--this was an -ordeal which Will felt he could not bear. She had grown terrible to him, -appalling, like the angel with the flaming sword. His conscience arrayed -her in such effulgence of wrath and scorn, that his very soul shrank. -She would be angry beyond measure. It was impossible to fancy what she -might say or do; and he could not go in and face her in cold blood. -Therefore, instead of going home, Will went down hastily to his uncle's -office, and explained to him the position of affairs. "You go and speak -to her," said Will, with a feeling that it was his accomplice he was -addressing, and yet a pang to think that he had himself gone over to the -enemy, and was not on his natural side; "I am not up to seeing her -to-night." - -"Poor Mary," said Uncle Penrose, "I should not be surprised to find her -in a sad way; but you ought to mind your own business, and it is not I -who am to be blamed, but you." - -"She will not blame you," said Will; "she will be civil to you. She will -not look at you as she would look at me. When she is vexed she gives a -fellow such a look. And I'm tired, and I can't face her to-day." - -"It is mail-day, and I shall be late, and she will have a nice time of -it all by herself," said Mr. Penrose; but he consented at the end. And -as for Will, he wandered down to the quays, and got into a steam-boat, -and went off in the midst of a holiday party up the busy river. He used -to remember the airs that were played on the occasion by the blind -fiddler in the boat, and could never listen to them afterwards without -the strangest sensations. He felt somehow as if he were in hiding, and -the people were pointing him out to each other, and had a sort of vague -wonder in his mind as to what they could think he had done--robbed or -killed, or something--when the fact was he was only killing the time, -and keeping out of the way because his mother was angry, and he did not -feel able to face her and return home. And very forlorn the poor boy -was; he had not eaten anything, and he did not know what to get for -himself to eat, and the host of holiday people filled up all the vacant -spaces in the inn they were all bound for, where there were pretty -gardens looking on the river. Will was young and alone, and not much in -the way of thrusting himself forward, and it was hard to get any one to -attend to him, or a seat to sit upon, or anything to eat; and his -forlorn sense of discomfort and solitude pressed as hard upon him as -remorse could have done. And he knew that he must manage to make the -time pass on somehow, and that he could not return until he could feel -himself justified in hoping that his mother, tired with her journey, had -gone to rest. Not till he felt confident of getting in unobserved, could -he venture to go home. - -This was how it happened that Mr. Penrose went in alone, and that all -the mists suddenly cleared up for Mary, and she saw that she had harder -work before her than anything that had yet entered into her mind. He -drew a chair beside her, and shook hands, and said he was very glad to -see her, and then a pause ensued so serious and significant, that Mary -felt herself judged and condemned; and felt, in spite of herself, that -the hot blood was rushing to her face. It seemed to her as she sat -there, as if all the solid ground had suddenly been cut away from under -her, that her plea was utterly ignored and the whole affair decided -upon; and only to see Uncle Penrose's meekly averted face made her head -swim and her heart beat with a kind of half-delirious rage and -resentment. He believed it then--knew all about it, and believed it, and -recognised that it was a fallen woman by whose side he sat. All this -Mrs. Ochterlony perceived in an instant by the downcast, conscious -glance of Mr. Penrose's eye. - -"Will has been out all day, has he?" he said. "Gone sight-seeing, I -suppose. He ought to be in to dinner. I hope you had a comfortable -luncheon, and have been taken care of. It is mail-day, that is why I am -so late." - -"But I am anxious, very anxious, about Will," said Mary. "I thought you -would know where he was. He is only a country boy, and something may -happen to him in these dreadful streets." - -"Oh no, nothing has happened to him," said Uncle Penrose, "you shall see -him later. I am very glad you have come, for I wanted to have a little -talk with you. You will always be quite welcome here, whatever may -happen. If the girls had been at home, indeed, it might have been -different--but whenever you like to come you know---- I am very glad -that we can talk it all over. It is so much the most satisfactory way." - -"Talk what over?" said Mary. "Thank you, uncle, but it was Will I was -anxious to see." - -"Yes, to be sure--naturally," said Mr. Penrose; "but don't let us go -into anything exciting before dinner. The gong will sound in ten -minutes, and I must put myself in order. We can talk in the evening, and -that will be much the best." - -With this he went and left her, to make the very small amount of -toilette he considered necessary. And then came the dinner, during which -Mr. Penrose was very particular, as he said, to omit all allusion to -disagreeable subjects. Mary had to take her place at table, and to look -across at the vacant chair that had been placed for Will, and to feel -the whole weight of her uncle's changed opinion, without any opportunity -of rising up against it. She could not say a word in self-defence, for -she was in no way assailed; but she never raised her eyes to him, nor -listened to half-a-dozen words, without feeling that Mr. Penrose had in -his own consciousness found her out. He was not going to shut his doors -against her, or to recommend any cruel step. But her character was -changed in his eyes. A sense that he was no longer particular as to what -he said or did before her, no longer influenced by her presence, or -elevated ever so little by her companionship as he had always been of -old, came with terrible effect upon Mary's mind. He was careless of what -he said, and of her feelings, and of his own manners. She was a woman -who had compromised herself, who had no longer much claim to respect, in -Uncle Penrose's opinion. This feeling, which was, as it were, in the -air, affected Mary in the strangest way. It made her feel nearly mad in -her extreme suppression and quietness. She could not stand on her own -defence, for she was not assailed. And Will who should have stood by -her, had gone over to the enemy's side, and deserted her, and kept away. -Where was he? where could he have gone? Her boy--her baby--the last one, -who had always been the most tenderly tended; and he was -avoiding--_avoiding_ his mother. Mary realized all this as she sat at -the table; and at the same time she had to respect the presence of the -butler and Mr. Penrose's servants, and make no sign. When she did not -eat Mr. Penrose took particular notice of it, and hoped that she was not -allowing herself to be upset; and he talked, in an elaborate way, of -subjects that could interest nobody, keeping with too evident caution -from the one subject which was in his mind all the while. - -This lasted until the servants had gone away, and Mr. Penrose had poured -out his first glass of port, for he was an old-fashioned man. He sat and -sipped his wine with the quietness of preparation, and Mary, too, -buckled on her armour, and made a rapid inspection of all its joints and -fastenings. She was sitting at the table which had been so luxuriously -served, and where the purple fruit and wine were making a picture still; -but she was as truly at the bar as ever culprit was. There was an -interval of silence, which was very dreadful to her, and then, being -unable to bear it any longer, it was Mary herself who spoke. - -"I perceive that something has been passing here in which we are all -interested," she said. "My poor boy has told you something he had -heard--and I don't know, except in the most general way, what he has -heard. Can you tell, uncle? It is necessary I should know." - -"My dear Mary, these are very unpleasant affairs to talk about," said -Mr. Penrose. "You should have had a female friend to support -you--though, indeed, I don't know how you may feel about that. Will has -told me _all_. There was nobody he could ask advice from under the -circumstances, and I think it was very sensible of him to come to me." - -"I want to know what he wanted advice for," said Mary, "and what it is -you call _all_; and why Will has avoided me? I cannot think it is chance -that has kept him out so long. Whatever he has heard, he must have known -that it would be best to talk it over with me." - -"He thought you would be angry," said Mr. Penrose, between the sips of -his wine. - -"Angry!" said Mary, and then her heart melted at the childish fear. "Oh, -uncle, you should have advised him better," she said, "he is only a boy; -and you know that whatever happened, he had better have consulted his -own mother first. How should I be angry? This is not like a childish -freak, that one could be angry about." - -"No," said Mr. Penrose; "it is not like a childish freak; but still I -think it was the wisest thing he could do to come to me. It is -impossible you could be his best counsellor where you are yourself so -much concerned, and where such important interests are at stake." - -"Let me know at once what you mean," said Mary faintly. "What important -interests are at stake?" - -She made a rapid calculation in her mind at the moment, and her heart -grew sicker and sicker. Will had been, when she came to think of it, -more than a week away from home, and many things might have happened in -that time--things which she could not realize nor put in any shape, but -which made her spirit faint out of her and all her strength ooze away. - -"My dear Mary," said Mr. Penrose, mildly, "why should you keep any -pretence with me? Will has told me _all_. You cannot expect that a young -man like him, at the beginning of his life, would relinquish his rights -and give up such a fine succession merely out of consideration to your -feelings. I am very sorry for you, and he is very sorry. Nothing shall -be done on our part to compromise you beyond what is absolutely -necessary; but your unfortunate circumstances are not his fault, and it -is only reasonable that he should claim his rights." - -"What are his rights?" said Mary; "what do you suppose my unfortunate -circumstances to be? Speak plainly--or, stop; I will tell you what he -has heard. He has heard that my husband and I were married in India -before he was born. That is quite true; and I suppose he and you -think----" said Mary, coming to a sudden gasp for breath, and making a -pause against her will. "Then I will tell you the facts," she said, with -a labouring, long-drawn breath, when she was able to resume. "We were -married in Scotland, as you and everybody know; it was not a thing done -in secret. Everybody about Kirtell--everybody in the county knew of it. -We went to Earlston afterwards, where Hugh's mother was, and to Aunt -Agatha. There was no shame or concealment anywhere, and you know that. -We went out to India after, but not till we had gone to see all our -friends; and everybody knew----" - -"My wife even asked you here," said Mr. Penrose, reflectively. "It is -very extraordinary; I mentioned all that to Will: but, my dear Mary, -what is the use of going over it in this way, when there is this fact, -which you don't deny, which proves that Hugh Ochterlony thought it -necessary to do you justice at the last?" - -Mary was too much excited to feel either anger or shame. The colour -scarcely deepened on her cheek. "I will tell you about that," she said. -"I resisted it as long as it was possible to resist. The man at Gretna -died, and his house and all his records were burnt, and the people were -all dead who had been present, and I had lost the lines. I did not think -them of any consequence. And then my poor Hugh was seized with a -panic--you remember him, uncle," said Mary, in her excitement, with the -tears coming to her eyes. "My poor Hugh! how much he felt everything, -how hard it was for him to be calm and reasonable when he thought our -interests concerned. I have thought since, he had some presentiment of -what was going to happen. He begged me for his sake to consent that he -might be sure there would be no difficulty about the pension or -anything. It was like dragging my heart out of my breast," said Mary, -with the tears dropping on her hands, "but I yielded to please _him_." - -And then there was a pause, inevitable on her part, for her heart was -full, and she had lost the faculty of speech. As for Mr. Penrose, he -gave quiet attention to all she was saying, and made mental notes of it -while he filled himself another glass of wine. He was not an impartial -listener, for he had taken his side, and had the conducting of the other -case in his hands. When Mary came to herself, and could see and hear -again--when her heart was not beating so wildly in her ears, and her wet -eyes had shed their moisture, she gave a look at him with a kind of -wonder, marvelling that he said nothing. The idea of not being believed -when she spoke was one which had never entered into her mind. - -"You expect me to say something," said Mr. Penrose, when he caught her -eye. "But I don't see what I can say. All that you have told me just -amounts to this, that your first marriage rests upon your simple -assertion; you have no documentary or any other kind of evidence. My -dear Mary, I don't want to hurt your feelings, but if you consider how -strong is your interest in it, what a powerful motive you have to keep -up that story, and that you confess it rests on your word alone, you -will see that, as Wilfrid's adviser, I am not justified in departing -from the course we have taken. It is too important to be decided by mere -feeling. I am very sorry for you, but I have Wilfrid's interests to -think of," said Mr. Penrose, slowly swallowing his glass of wine. - -Mary looked at him aghast; she did not understand him. It seemed to her -as if some delusion had taken possession of her mind, and that the words -conveyed a meaning which no human words could bear. "I do not understand -you," she said; "I suppose there is some mistake. What course is it you -have taken? I want to know what you mean." - -"It is not a matter to be discussed with you," said Mr. Penrose. -"Whatever happens I would not be forgetful of a lady's feelings. From -the first I have said that it must be a matter of private arrangement; -and I have no doubt Hugh will see it in the same light. I have written -to him, but I have not yet received a satisfactory answer. Under all the -circumstances I feel we are justified in asserting Wilfrid to be Major -Ochterlony's only lawful son----" - -An involuntary cry came out of Mary's breast. She pushed her chair away -from the table, and sat bending forward, looking at him. The pang was -partly physical, as if some one had thrust a spear into her heart; and -beyond that convulsive motion she could neither move nor speak. - -"--and of course he must be served heir to his uncle," said Mr. Penrose. -"Where things so important are concerned, you cannot expect that feeling -can be allowed to bear undue sway. It is in this light that Wilfrid sees -it. He is ready to do anything for you, anything for his brother; but -he cannot be expected to sacrifice his legal rights. I hope Hugh will -see how reasonable this is, and I think for your own sake you should use -your influence with him. If he makes a stand, you know it will ruin your -character, and make everybody aware of the unhappy position of affairs; -and it cannot do any good to him." - -Mary heard all this and a great deal more, and sat stupified with a dull -look of wonder on her face, making no reply. She thought she had formed -some conception of what was coming to her, but in reality she had no -conception of it; and she sat listening, coming to an understanding, -taking it painfully into her mind, learning to see that it had passed -out of the region of what might be--that the one great, fanciful, -possible danger of her life had developed into a real danger, more -dreadful, more appalling than anything she had ever conceived of. She -sat thus, with her chair thrust back, looking in Mr. Penrose's face, -following with her eyes all his unconcerned movements, feeling his words -beat upon her ears like a stinging rain. And this was all true; love, -honour, pride, or faith had nothing to do with it. Whether she was a -wretched woman, devising a lie to cover her shame, or a pure wife -telling her tale with lofty truth and indignation, mattered nothing. It -was in this merciless man's hand, and nothing but merciless evidence and -proof would be of any use. She sat and listened to him, hearing the same -words over and over; that her feelings were to be considered; that -nothing was to be done to expose her; that Will had consented to that, -and was anxious for that; that it must be matter of private arrangement, -and that her character must be spared. It was this iteration that roused -Mary, and brought her back, as it were, out of her stupefaction into -life. - -"I do not understand all you are saying," she said, at last; "it sounds -like a horrible dream; I feel as if you could not mean it: but one -thing--do you mean that Hugh is to be made to give up his rights, by way -of sparing me?" - -"By way of sparing a public trial and exposure--which is what it must -come to otherwise," said Mr. Penrose. "I don't know, poor boy, how you -can talk about his rights." - -"Then listen to me," said Mary, rising up, and holding by her chair to -support herself; "I may be weak, but I am not like that. My boy shall -not give up his rights. I know what I am saying; if there should be -twenty trials, I am ready to bear them. It shall be proved whether in -England a true woman cannot tell her true story, and be believed. -Neither lie nor shame has ever attached to me. If I have to see my own -child brought against me--God forgive you!--I will try to bear it. My -poor Will! my poor Will!--but Hugh's boy shall not be sacrificed. What! -my husband, my son, my own honour--a woman's honour involves all -belonging to her---- Do you think _I_, for the sake of pain or exposure, -would give them all up? It must be that you have gone out of your -senses, and don't know what to say. _I_, to save myself at my son's -expense!" - -"But Wilfrid is your son too," said Mr. Penrose, shrinking somewhat into -himself. - -"Oh, my poor Will! my poor Will!" said Mary, moaning in her heart; and -after that she went away, and left the supporter of Will's cause -startled, but not moved from his intention, by himself. As for Mrs. -Ochterlony, she went up into her room, and sank down into the first -chair that offered, and clasped her hands over her heart lest it should -break forth from the aching flesh. She thought no more of seeing Will, -or of telling him her story, or delivering him from his delusion. What -she thought of was, to take him into her arms in an infinite pity, when -the poor boy, who did not know what he was doing, should come to -himself. And Hugh--Hugh her husband, who was thought capable of such -wrong and baseness--Hugh her boy, whose name and fame were to be taken -from him,--and they thought she would yield to it, to save herself a -pang! When she came to remember that the night was passing, and to feel -the chill that had crept over her, and to recall to herself that she -must not exhaust her strength, Mary paused in her thoughts, and fell -upon her knees instead. Even that was not enough; she fell prostrate, as -one who would have fallen upon the Deliverer's feet; but she could say -no prayer. Her heart itself seemed at last to break forth, and soar up -out of her, in a speechless supplication--"Let this cup pass!" Did He -not say it once Who had a heavier burden to bear? - - - - -CHAPTER XLV. - - -So very late it was when Will came in, that he crept up to his room with -a silent stealth which felt more like ill-doing to him than any other -sin he had been guilty of. He crept to his room, though he would have -been glad to have lingered, and warmed himself and been revived with -food. But, at the end of this long, wretched day, he was more than ever -unfit to face his mother, who he felt sure must be watching for him, -watchful and unwearied as she always had been. It did not occur to him -that Mrs. Ochterlony, insensible for the moment to all sounds, was lying -enveloped in darkness, with her eyes open, and all her faculties at -work, and nothing but pain, pain, ever, for ever, in her mind. That she -could be wound up to a pitch of emotion so great that she would not have -heard whatever noise he might have made, that she would not have heeded -him, that he was safe to go and come as he liked, so far as Mary was -concerned, was an idea that never entered Will's mind. He stole in, and -went softly up the stairs, and swallowed the glass of wine the butler -compassionately brought him, without even saying a word of thanks. He -was chilled to his bones, and his head ached, and a sense of confused -misery was in all his frame. He crept into his bed like a savage, in the -dark, seeking warmth, seeking forgetfulness, and hiding; so long as he -could be hid, it did not matter. His mother could not come in with the -light in her hand to stand by his bedside, and drive all ghosts and -terrors away, for he had locked the door in his panic. No deliverance -could come to him, as it seemed, any way. If she was "angry" before, -what must she be now when he had fled and avoided her? and poor Will lay -breathing hard in the dark, wondering within himself why it was he dared -not face his mother. What had he done? Instead of having spent the day -in his usual fashion, why was he weary, and footsore, and exhausted, and -sick in body and in mind? He had meant her no harm, he had done no wrong -he knew of. It was only a confused, unintelligible weight on his -conscience, or rather on his consciousness, that bowed him down, and -made him do things which he did not understand. He went to sleep at -last, for he was young and weary, and nothing could have kept him from -sleeping; but he had a bad night. He dreamed dreadful dreams, and in the -midst of them all saw Mary, always Mary, threatening him, turning away -from him, leaving him to fall over precipices and into perils. He -started up a dozen times in the course of that troubled night, waking to -a confused sense of solitude, and pain, and abandonment, which in the -dark and the silence were very terrible to bear. He was still only a -boy, and he had done wrong, dreadful wrong, and he did not know what it -was. - -In the morning when Will woke things were not much better. He was -utterly unrefreshed by his night's rest--if the partial unconsciousness -of his sleep could be called rest; and the thought he woke to was, that -however she might receive him, to-day he must see his mother. She might -be, probably was, "angry," beyond anything he could conceive; but -however that might be, he must see her and meet her wrath. It was not -until he had fully realized that thought, that a letter was brought to -Will, which increased his excitement. It was a very unusual thing for -him to get letters, and he was startled accordingly. He turned it over -and over before he opened it, and thought it must be from Hugh. Hugh, -too, must have adopted the plan of pouring out his wrath against his -brother for want of any better defence to make. But then he perceived -that the writing was not Hugh's. When he opened it Will grew pale, and -then he grew red. It was a letter which Nelly Askell had written before -she wrote the one to Hugh, which had roused him out of his despondency. -Something had inspired the little girl that day. She had written this -too, like the other, without very much minding what she meant. This is -what Will read upon the morning of the day which he already felt to be -in every description a day of fate:-- - -"WILL!--I don't think I can ever call you dear Will again, or think of -you as I used to do--oh, Will, what are you doing? If I had been you I -would have been tied to the stake, torn with wild horses, done anything -that used to be done to people, rather than turn against my mother. _I_ -would have done that for _my_ mother, and if I had had yours! Oh, Will, -say you don't mean it? I think sometimes you can't mean it, but have got -deluded somehow, for you know you have a bad temper. How could you ever -believe it; She is not my mother, but I know she never did any wrong. -She may have sinned perhaps, as people say everybody sins, but she never -could have done any _wrong_; look in her face, and just try whether you -can believe it. It is one comfort to me that if you mean to be so wicked -(which I cannot believe of you), and were to win (which is not -possible), you would never more have a day's happiness again. I _hope_ -you would never have a day's happiness. You would break her heart, for -she is a woman, and though you would not break _his_ heart, you would -put his life all wrong, and it would haunt you, and you would pray to be -poor, or a beggar, or anything rather than in a place that does not -belong to you. You may think I don't know, but I do know. I am a woman, -and understand things better than a boy like you. Oh, Will! we used to -be put in the same cradle, and dear Mrs. Ochterlony used to nurse us -both when we were babies. Sometimes I think I should have been your -sister. If you will come back and put away all this which is so dreadful -to think of, I will never more bring it up against you. I for one will -forget it, as if it had never been. Nobody shall put it into your mind -again. We will forgive you, and love you the same as ever; and when you -are a man, and understand and see what it is you have been saved from, -you will go down on your knees and thank God. - -"If I had been old enough to travel by myself, or to be allowed to do -what I like, I should have gone to Liverpool too, to have given you no -excuse. It is not so easy to write; but oh, Will, you know what I mean. -Come back, and let us forget that you were ever so foolish and so -wicked. I could cry when I think of you all by yourself, and nobody to -tell you what is right. Come back, and nobody shall ever bring it up -against you. Dear Will! don't you love us all too well to make us -unhappy?--Still your affectionate NELLY." - -This letter startled the poor boy, and affected him in a strange way. It -brought the tears to his eyes. It touched him somehow, not by its -reproaches, but by the thought that Nelly cared. She had gone over to -Hugh's side like all the rest--and yet she cared and took upon her that -right of reproach and accusation which is more tender than praise. And -it made Will's heart ache in a dull way to see that they all thought him -wicked. What had he done that was wicked? He ached, poor boy, not only -in his heart but in his head, and all over him. He did not get up even -to read his letter, but lay in a kind of sad stupor all the morning, -wondering if his mother was still in the house--wondering if she would -come to him--wondering if she was so angry that she no longer desired to -see him. The house was more quiet than usual, he thought--there was no -stir in it of voices or footsteps. Perhaps Mrs. Ochterlony had gone away -again--perhaps he was to be left here, having got Uncle Penrose on his -side, to his sole company--excommunicated and cast off by his own. -Wilfrid lay pondering all these thoughts till he could bear it no -longer; instead of his pain and shrinking a kind of dogged resistance -came into his mind; at least he would go and face it, and see what was -to happen to him. He would go downstairs and find out, to begin with, -what this silence meant. - -Perhaps it was just because it was so much later than usual that he felt -as if he had been ill when he got up--felt his limbs trembling under -him, and shivered, and grew hot and cold--or perhaps it was the fatigue -and mental commotion of yesterday. By this time he felt sure that his -mother must be gone. Had she been in the house she would have come to -see him. She would have seized the opportunity when he could not escape -from her. No doubt she was gone, after waiting all yesterday for -him,--gone either hating him or scorning him, casting him off from her; -and he felt that he had not deserved that. Perhaps he might have -deserved that Hugh should turn his enemy--notwithstanding that, even for -Hugh he felt himself ready to do anything--but to his mother he had done -no harm. He had meditated nothing but good to her. _He_ would not have -thought of marrying, or giving to any one but her the supreme place in -his house. He would never have asked her or made any doubt about it, but -taken her at once to Earlston, and showed her everything there arranged -according to her liking. This was what Will had always intended and -settled upon. And his mother, for whom he would have done all this, had -gone away again, offended and angry, abandoning him to his own devices. -Bitterness took possession of his soul as he thought of it. He meant it -only for their good--for justice and right, and to have his own; and -this was the cruel way in which they received it, as if he had done it -out of unkind feelings--even Nelly! A sense that he was wronged came -into Wilfrid's mind as he dressed himself, and looked at his pale face -in the glass, and smoothed his long brown hair. And yet he stepped out -of his room with the feelings of one who ventures upon an undiscovered -country, a new region, in which he does not know whether he is to meet -with good or evil. He had to support himself by the rail as he went -downstairs. He hesitated and trembled at the drawing-room door, which -was a room Mr. Penrose never occupied. Breakfast must be over long ago. -If there was any lady in the house, no doubt she would be found there. - -He put his hand on the door, but it was a minute or more before he could -open it, and he heard no sound within. No doubt she had gone away. He -had walked miles yesterday to avoid her, but yet his heart was sore and -bled, and he felt deserted and miserable to think that she was gone. But -when Will had opened the door, the sight he saw was more wonderful to -him than if she had been gone. Mary was seated at the table writing: she -was pale, but there was something in her face which told of unusual -energy and resolution, a kind of inspiration which gave character to -every movement she made. And she was so much preoccupied, that she -showed no special excitement at sight of her boy; she stopped and put -away her pen, and rose up looking at him with pitiful eyes. "My poor -boy!" she said, and kissed him in her tender way. And then she sat down -at the table, and went back to her letters again. - -It was not simple consternation which struck Will; it was a mingled pang -of wonder and humiliation and sharp disappointment. Only her poor -boy!--only the youngest, the child as he had always been, not the young -revolutionary to whom Nelly had written that letter, whom Mrs. -Ochterlony had come anxious and in haste to seek. She was more anxious -now about her letters apparently than about him, and there was nothing -but tenderness and sorrow in her eyes; and when she did raise her head -again, it was to remark his paleness and ask if he was tired. "Go and -get some breakfast, Will," she said; but he did not care for breakfast. -He had not the heart to move--he sat in the depths of boyish -mortification and looked at her writing her letters. Was that all that -it mattered? or was she only making a pretence at indifference? But Mary -was too much occupied evidently for any pretence. Her whole figure and -attitude were full of resolution. Notwithstanding the pity of her voice -as she addressed him, and the longing look in her eyes, there was -something in her which Wilfrid had never seen before, which revealed to -him in a kind of dull way that his mother was wound up to some great -emergency, that she had taken a great resolution, and was occupied by -matters of life and death. - -"You are very busy, it seems," he said, peevishly, when he had sat for -some time watching her, wondering when she would speak to him. To find -that she was not angry, that she had something else to think about, was -not half so great a relief as it appeared. - -"Yes, I am busy," said Mary. "I am writing to your brother, Will, and to -some people who know all about me, and I have no time to lose. Your -Uncle Penrose is a hard man, and I am afraid he will be hard on Hugh." - -"No, mother," said Will, feeling his heart beat quick; "he shall not be -hard upon Hugh. I want to tell you that. I want to have justice; but for -anything else--Hugh shall have whatever he wishes; and as for you----" - -"Oh, Will," said Mrs. Ochterlony; and somehow it seemed to poor Will's -disordered imagination that she and his letter were speaking -together---- "I had almost forgotten that you had anything to do with -it. If you had but come first and spoken to me----" - -"Why should I have come and spoken to you?" said Will, growing into -gradual excitement; "it will not do you any harm. I am your son as well -as Hugh--if it is his or if it is mine, what does it matter? I knew you -would be angry if I stood up for myself; but a man must stand up for -himself when he knows what are his rights." - -"Will, you must listen to me," said Mary, putting away her papers, and -turning round to him. "It is Mr. Penrose who has put all this in your -head: it could not be my boy that had such thoughts. Oh, Will! my poor -child! And now we are in his pitiless hands," said Mary, with a kind of -cry, "and it matters nothing what you say or what I say. You have put -yourself in his hands." - -"Stop, mother," said Will; "don't make such a disturbance about it. -Uncle Penrose has nothing to do with it. It is my doing. I will do -anything in the world for you, whatever you like to tell me; but I won't -let a fellow be there who has no right to be there. I am the heir, and I -will have my rights." - -"You are not the heir," said Mrs. Ochterlony, frightened for the moment -by the tone and his vehemence, and his strange looks. - -"I heard it from two people that were both _there_," said Will, with a -gloomy composure. "It was not without asking about it. I am not blaming -you, mother--you might have some reason;--but it was I that was born -after that thing that happened in India. What is the use of struggling -against it? And if it is I that am the heir, why should you try to keep -me out of my rights?" - -"Will," said Mary, suddenly driven back into regions of personal -emotion, which she thought she had escaped from, and falling by instinct -into those wild weaknesses of personal argument to which women resort -when they are thus suddenly stung. "Will, look me in the face and tell -me. Can you believe your dear father, who was true as--as heaven itself; -can you believe me, who never told you a lie, to have been such wretched -deceivers? Can you think we were so wicked? Will, look me in the face!" - -"Mother," said Will, whose mind was too little imaginative to be moved -by this kind of argument, except to a kind of impatience. "What does it -matter my looking you in the face? what does it matter about my father -being true? You might have some reason for it. I am not blaming you; but -so long as it was a fact what does _that_ matter? I don't want to injure -any one--I only want my rights." - -It was Mary's turn now to be struck dumb. She had thought he was afraid -of her, and had fled from her out of shame for what he had done; but he -looked in her face as she told him with unhesitating frankness, and even -that touch of impatience as of one whose common sense was proof to all -such appeals. For her own part, when she was brought back to it, she -felt the effect of the dreadful shock she had received; and she could -not discuss this matter reasonably with her boy. Her mind fell off into -a mingled anguish and horror and agonized sense of his sin and pity for -him. "Oh, Will, your rights," she cried; "your rights! Your rights are -to be forgiven and taken back, and loved and pitied, though you do not -understand what love is. These are all the rights you have. You are -young, and you do not know what you are doing. You have still a right to -be forgiven." - -"I was not asking to be forgiven," said Will, doggedly. "I have done no -harm. I never said a word against you. I will give Hugh whatever he -likes to get himself comfortably out in the world. I don't want to make -any fuss or hurry. It can be quietly managed, if he will; but it's me -that Earlston ought to come to; and I am not going to be driven out of -it by talk. I should just like to know what Hugh would do if he was in -my place." - -"Hugh could never have been in your place," cried Mary, in her anguish -and indignation. "I ought to have seen this is what it would come to. I -ought to have known when I saw your jealous temper, even when you were a -baby. Oh, my little Will! How will you ever bear it when you come to -your senses, and know what it is you have been doing? Slandering your -dear father's name and mine, though all the world knows different--and -trying to supplant your brother, your elder brother, who has always been -good to you. God forgive them that have brought my boy to this," said -Mary, with tears. She kept gazing at him, even with her eyes full. It -did not seem possible that he could be insensible to her look, even if -he was insensible to her words. - -Wilfrid, for his part, got up and began to walk about the room. It _was_ -hard, very hard to meet his mother's eyes. "When she is vexed, she gives -a fellow such a look." He remembered those words which he had said to -Uncle Penrose only yesterday with a vague sort of recollection. But when -he got up his own bodily sensations somehow gave him enough to do. He -half forgot about his mother in the strange feeling he had in his -physical frame, as if his limbs did not belong to him, nor his head -either for that part, which seemed to be floating about in the air, -without any particular connexion with the rest of him. It must be that -he was so very tired, for when he sat down and clutched at the arms of -his chair, he seemed to come out of his confusion and see Mrs. -Ochterlony again, and know what she had been talking about. He said, -with something that looked like sullenness: "Nobody brought me to -this--I brought myself," in answer to what she had said, and fell, as it -were, into a moody reverie, leaning upon the arms of his chair. Mary -saw it, and thought it was that attitude of obstinate and immovable -resolve into which she had before seen him fall; and she dried her eyes -with a little flash of indignation, and turned again to the -half-finished letter which trembled in her hands, and which she could -not force her mind back to. She said to herself in a kind of despair, -that the bitter cup must be drunk--that there was nothing for it but to -do battle for her son's rights, and lose no time in vain outcries, but -forgive the unhappy boy when he came to his right mind and returned to -her again. She turned away, with her heart throbbing and bleeding, and -made an effort to recover her composure and finish her letter. It was a -very important letter, and required all her thoughts. But if it had been -hard to do it before, it was twenty times harder now. - -Just at that moment there was a commotion at the door, and a sound of -some one entering below. It might be only Mr. Penrose coming back, as he -sometimes did, to luncheon. But every sound tingled through Mrs. -Ochterlony in the excitement of her nerves. Then there came something -that made her spring to her feet--a single tone of a voice struck on her -ear, which she thought could only be her own fancy. But it was not her -fancy. Some one came rushing up the stairs, and dashed into the room. -Mary gave a great cry, and ran into his arms, and Will, startled and -roused up from a sudden oblivion which he did not understand, drew his -hand across his heavy eyes, and looked up doubting, and saw Hugh--Hugh -standing in the middle of the room holding his mother, glowing with -fresh air, and health, and gladness.--Hugh! How did he come there? Poor -Will tried to rise from his chair, but with a feeling that he was fixed -in it for ever, like the lady in the fable. Had he been asleep? and -where was he? Had it been but a bad dream, and was this the Cottage, and -Hugh come home to see them all? These were the questions that rose in -Will's darkened mind, as he woke up and drew his hand across his heavy -eyes, and sat as if glued in Mr. Penrose's chair. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVI. - - -Mrs. Ochterlony was almost as much confused and as uncertain of her own -feelings as Will was. Her heart gave a leap towards her son; but yet -there was that between them which put pain into even a meeting with -Hugh. When she had seen him last, she had been all that a spotless -mother is to a youth--his highest standard, his most perfect type of -woman. Now, though he would believe no harm of her, yet there had been a -breath across her perfection; there was something to explain; and Mary -in her heart felt a pang of momentary anguish as acute as if the -accusation had been true. To have to defend herself; to clear up her -character to her boy! She took him into her arms almost that she might -not have to look him in the face, and held to him, feeling giddy and -faint. Will was younger, and he himself had gone wrong, but Hugh was old -enough to understand it all, and had no consciousness on his own side to -blunt his perceptions; and to have to tell him how it all was, and -explain to him that she was not guilty was almost as hard as if she had -been obliged to confess that she was guilty. She could not encounter him -face to face, nor meet frankly the wonder and dismay which were no doubt -in his honest eyes. Mary thought that to look into them and see that -wondering troubled question in them, "Is it so--have you done me this -wrong?" would be worse than being killed once for all by a -straightforward blow. - -But there was no such thought in Hugh's mind. He came up to his mother -open-hearted, with no hesitation in his looks. He saw Will was there, -but he did not even look at him; he took her into his arms, holding her -fast with perhaps a sense that she clung to him, and held on by him as -by a support. "Mother, don't be distressed," he said, all at once, "I -have found a way to clear it all up." He spoke out loud, with his cheery -voice which it was exhilarating to hear, and as if he meant it, and felt -the full significance of what he said. He had to put his mother down -very gently on the sofa after, and to make her lie back and prop her up -with cushions; her high-strung nerves for an instant gave way. It was if -her natural protector had come back, whose coming would clear away the -mists. Her own fears melted away from her when she felt the warm clasp -of Hugh's arms, and the confident tone of his voice, not asking any -questions, but giving her assurance, a pledge of sudden safety as it -were. It was this that made Mary drop back, faint though not fainting, -upon the friendly pillows, and made the room and everything swim in her -eyes. - -"What is it, Hugh?" she said faintly, as soon as she could speak. - -"It is all right, mother," said Hugh; "take my word, and don't bother -yourself any more about it. I came on at once to see Uncle Penrose, and -get him out of this mess he has let himself into. I could be angry, but -it is no good being angry. On the whole, perhaps showing him his folly -and making a decided end to it, is the best." - -"Oh, Hugh, never mind Uncle Penrose. Will, my poor Will! look, your -brother is there," said Mary, rousing up. As for Hugh, he took no -notice; he did not turn round, though his mother put her hand on his -arm; perhaps because his mind was full of other things. - -"We must have it settled at once," he said. "I hope you will not object, -mother; it can be done very quietly. I found them last night, without -the least preparation or even knowing they were in existence. It was -like a dream to me. Don't perplex yourself about it, mother dear. It's -all right--trust to me." - -"Whom, did you find?" said Mary eagerly; "or was it the lines--my -lines?" - -"It was old Sommerville's daughter," said Hugh with an unsteady laugh, -"who was _there_. I don't believe you know who old Sommerville or his -daughter are. Never mind; I know all about it. I am not so simple as you -were when you were eighteen and ran away and thought of nobody. And she -says I am like my father," said Hugh, "the Captain, they called him--but -not such a bonnie lad; and that there was nobody to be seen like him for -happiness and brightness on his wedding-day. You see I know it all, -mother--every word; and I am like him, but not such a bonnie lad." - -"No," said Mary, with a sob. Her resolution had gone from her with her -misery. She had suddenly grown weak and happy, and ready to weep like a -child, "No," she said, with the tears dropping out of her eyes, "you are -not such a bonnie lad; you are none of you so handsome as your father. -Oh, Hugh, my dear, I don't know what you mean--I don't understand what -you say." - -And she did not understand it, but that did not matter--she could not -have understood it at that moment, though he had given her the clearest -explanation. She knew nothing, but that there must be deliverance -somehow, somewhere, in the air, and that her firstborn was standing by -her with light and comfort in his eyes, and that behind, out of her -sight, his brother taking no notice of him, was her other boy. - -"Will is there," she said, hurriedly. "You have not spoken to him--tell -me about this after. Oh, Hugh, Will is there!" - -She put her hand on his arm and tried to turn him round; but Hugh's -countenance darkened, and became as his mother had never seen it before. -He took no notice of what she said, he only bent over her, and began to -arrange the cushions, of which Mary now seemed to feel no more need. - -"I do not like to see you here," he said; "you must come out of this -house. I came that it might be all settled out of hand, for it is too -serious to leave in vain suspense. But after this, mother, neither you -nor I, with my will, shall cross this threshold more." - -"But oh, Hugh! Will!--speak to Will. Do not leave him unnoticed;" said -Mary, in a passionate whisper, grasping his hand and reaching up to his -ear. - -Hugh's look did not relent. His face darkened while she looked at him. - -"He is a traitor!" he said, from out his closed lips. And he turned his -back upon his brother, who sat at the other side of the room, straining -all his faculties to keep awake, and to keep the room steady, which was -going round and round him, and to know something of what it all meant. - -"He is your brother," said Mary; and then she rose, though she was still -weak. "I must go to my poor boy, if you will not," she said. "Will!" - -When Will heard the sound of her voice, which came strange to him, as if -it came from another world, he too stumbled up on his feet, though in -the effort ceiling and floor and walls got all confused to him and -floated about, coming down on his brain as if to crush him. - -"Yes, mamma," he said; and came straight forward, dimly guiding himself, -as it were, towards her. He came against the furniture without knowing -it, and struck himself sharply against the great round table, which he -walked straight to as if he could have passed through it. The blow made -him pause and open his heavy eyes, and then he sank into the nearest -chair, with a weary sigh; and at that crisis of fate--at that moment -when vengeance was overtaking him--when his cruel hopes had come to -nothing, and his punishment was beginning--dropped asleep before their -eyes. Even Hugh turned to look at the strange spectacle. Will was -ghastly pale. His long brown hair hung disordered about his face; his -hands clung in a desolate way to the arms of the chair he had got into; -and he had dropped asleep. - -At this moment Mrs. Ochterlony forgot her eldest son, upon whom till now -her thoughts had been centred. She went to her boy who needed her most, -and who lay there in his forlorn youth helpless and half unconscious, -deserted as it were by all consolation. She went to him and put her hand -on his hot forehead, and called him by his name. Once more Will half -opened his eyelids; he said "yes, mamma," drearily, with a confused -attempt to look up; and then he slept again. He slept, and yet he did -not sleep; her voice went into his mind as in the midst of a -dream--something weighed upon his nerves and his soul. He heard the cry -she gave, even vaguely felt her opening his collar, putting back his -hair, putting water to his lips--but he had not fainted, which was what -she thought in her panic. He was only asleep. - -"He is ill," said Hugh, who, notwithstanding his just indignation, was -moved by the pitiful sight; "I will go for the doctor. Mother, don't be -alarmed, he is only asleep." - -"Oh, my poor boy!" cried Mary, "he was wandering about all yesterday, -not to see me, and I was hard upon him. Oh, Hugh, my poor boy! And in -this house." - -This was the scene upon which Mr. Penrose came in to luncheon with his -usual cheerful composure. He met Hugh at the door going for a doctor, -and stopped him; "You here, Hugh," he said, "this is very singular. I am -glad you are showing so much good sense; now we can come to some -satisfactory arrangement. I hardly hoped so soon to assemble all the -parties here." - -"Good morning, I will see you later," said Hugh, passing him quickly and -hurrying out. Then it struck Mr. Penrose that all was not well. "Mary, -what is the matter?" he said; "is it possible that you are so weak as to -encourage your son in standing out?" - -Mary had no leisure, no intelligence for what he said. She looked at him -for a moment vaguely, and then turned her eyes once more upon her boy. -She had drawn his head on to her shoulder, and stood supporting him, -holding his hands, gazing down in anxiety beyond all words upon the -colourless face, with its heavy eyelids closed, and lips a little apart, -and quick irregular breath. She was speaking to him softly without -knowing it, saying, "Will, my darling--Will, my poor boy--Oh, Will, -speak to me;" while he lay back unconscious now, no longer able to -struggle against the weight that oppressed him, sleeping heavily on her -breast. Mr. Penrose drew near and looked wonderingly, with his hand in -his pocket and a sense that it was time for luncheon, upon this -unexpected scene. - -"What is the matter?" he said, "is he asleep? What are you making a fuss -about, Mary? You women always like a fuss; he is tired, I daresay, after -yesterday; let him sleep and he'll be all right. But don't stand there -and tire yourself. Hallo, Will, wake up and lie down on the sofa. There -goes the gong." - -"Let us alone, uncle," said Mary piteously; "never mind us. Go and get -your luncheon. My poor boy is going to be ill; but Hugh is coming back, -and we will have him removed before he gets worse." - -"Nonsense!" said Mr. Penrose; but still he looked curiously at the pale -sleeping face, and drew a step further off--"not cholera, do you think?" -he asked with a little anxiety--"collapse, eh?--it can't be that?" - -"Oh, uncle, go away and get your luncheon, and leave us alone," said -Mary, whose heart fainted within her at the question, even though she -was aware of its absurdity. "Do not be afraid, for we will take him -away." - -Mr. Penrose gave a "humph," partly indignant, partly satisfied, and -walked about the room for a minute, making it shake with his portly -form. And then he gave a low, short, whistle, and went downstairs, as he -was told. Quite a different train of speculation had entered into his -mind when he uttered that sound. If Wilfrid should die, the chances were -that some distant set of Ochterlonys, altogether unconnected with -himself, would come in for the estate, supposing Will's claim in the -meantime to be substantiated. Perhaps even yet it could be hushed up; -for to see a good thing go out of the family was more than he could -bear. This was what Mr. Penrose was thinking of as he went downstairs. - -It seemed to Mary a long time before Hugh came back with the doctor, but -yet it was not long: and Will still lay asleep, with his head upon her -shoulder, but moving uneasily at times, and opening his eyes now and -then. There could be no doubt that he was going to be ill, but what the -illness was to be, whether serious and malignant, or the mere result of -over-fatigue, over-tension and agitation of mind, even the doctor could -not tell. But at least it was possible to remove him, which was a relief -to all. Mary did not know how the afternoon passed. She saw Hugh coming -and going as she sat by her sick boy, whom they had laid upon the sofa, -and heard him downstairs talking to uncle Penrose, and then she was -aware by the sound of carriage-wheels at the door that he had come to -fetch them; but all her faculties were hushed and quieted as by the -influence of poor Will's sleep. She did not feel as if she had interest -enough left in the great question that had occupied her so profoundly on -the previous night as to ask what new light it was which Hugh had seemed -to her for one moment to throw on it. A momentary wonder thrilled -through her mind once or twice while she sat and waited; but then Will -would stir, or his heavy eyelids would lift unconsciously and she would -be recalled to the present calamity, which seemed nearer and more -appalling than any other. She sat in the quiet, which, for Will's sake, -had to be unbroken, and in her anxiety and worn-out condition, herself -by times slept "for sorrow," like those disciples among the olive-trees. -And all other affairs fell back in her mind, as into a kind of -twilight--a secondary place. It did not seem to matter what happened, or -how things came to be decided. She had had no serious illness to deal -with for many, many years--almost never before in her life since those -days when she lost her baby in India; and her startled mind leapt -forward to all tragic possibilities--to calamity and death. It was a -dull day, which, no doubt, deepened every shadow. The grey twilight -seemed to close in over her before the day was half spent, and the -blinds were drawn down over the great staring windows, as it was best -they should be for Will, though the sight of them gave Mary a pang. All -these conjoined circumstances drove every feeling out of her mind but -anxiety for her boy's life, and hushed her faculties, and made her life -beat low, and stilled all other interests and emotions in her breast. - -Then there came the bustle in the house which was attendant upon Will's -removal. Mr. Penrose stood by, and made no objection to it. He was -satisfied, on the whole, that whatever it might be--fever, cholera, or -decline, or any thing fatal, it should not be in his house; and his -thoughts were full of that speculation about the results if Will should -die. He shook hands with Mary when she followed her boy into the -carriage, and said a word to comfort her: - -"Don't worry yourself about what we were talking of," he said; "perhaps, -after all, in case anything were to happen, it might still be hushed -up." - -"What were we talking of?" asked Mary, vaguely, not knowing whether it -was the old subject or the new one which he meant; and she made him no -further answer, and went away to the lodging Hugh had found for her, to -nurse her son. Uncle Penrose went back discomfited into his commodious -house. It appeared, on the whole, that it did not matter much to them, -though they had made so great a fuss about it. Hugh was the eldest son, -even though, perhaps, he might not be the heir; and Will, poor boy, was -the youngest, the one to be guarded and taken care of; and whatever the -truth might be about Mary's marriage, she was their mother; and even at -this very moment, when they might have been thought to be torn asunder, -and separated from each other, nature had stepped in and they were all -one. It was strange, but so it was. Mr. Penrose had even spoken to Hugh, -but had drawn nothing from him but anxiety about the sick boy, to find -the best doctor, and the best possible place to remove him to; not a -word about the private arrangement he had, no doubt, come to make, or -the transfer of Earlston; and if Will should die, perhaps, it could yet -be hushed up. This was the last idea in Mr. Penrose's mind, as he went -in and shut behind him the resounding door. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVII. - - -The illness of Will took a bad turn. Instead of being a mere -accumulation of cold and fatigue, it developed into fever, and of the -most dangerous kind. Perhaps he had been bringing it on for a long time -by his careless ways, by his long vigils and over thought; and that day -of wretched wandering, and all the confused agitation of his mind had -brought it to a climax. This at least was all that could be said. He was -very ill; he lay for six weeks between life and death; and Mrs. -Ochterlony, in his sick-room, had no mind nor understanding for anything -but the care of him. Aunt Agatha would have come to help her, but she -wanted no help. She lived as women do live at such times, without -knowing how--without sleep, without food, without air, without rest to -her mind or comfort to her heart. Except, indeed, in Hugh's face, which -was as anxious as her own, but looked in upon her watching, from time to -time like a face out of heaven. She had been made to understand all -about it--how her prayer had been granted, and the cup had passed from -her, and her honour and her children's had been vindicated for ever. She -had been made to understand this, and had given God thanks, and felt one -weight the less upon her soul; but yet she did not understand it any -more than Will did, who in his wanderings talked without cease of the -looks his mother gave him; and what had been done? He would murmur by -the hour such broken unreason as he had talked to Mary the morning -before he was taken ill--that he meant to injure nobody--that all he -wanted was his rights--that he would do anything for Hugh or for his -mother--only he must have his rights; and why did they all look at him -so, and what did Nelly mean, and what had been done? Mrs. Ochterlony -sitting by the bedside with tears on her pale cheeks came to a knowledge -of his mind which she had never possessed before--as clear a knowledge -as was possible to a creature of so different a nature. And she gave God -thanks in her heart that the danger had been averted, and remembered, -in a confused way, the name of old Sommerville, which had been engraved -on her memory years before, when her husband forced her into the act -which had cost her so much misery. Mary could not have explained to any -one how it was that old Sommerville's name came back with the sense of -deliverance. For the moment she would scarcely have been surprised to -know that he had come to life again to remedy the wrongs his death had -brought about. All that she knew was that his name was involved in it, -and that Hugh was satisfied, and the danger over. She said it to herself -sometimes in an apologetic way as if to account to herself for the -suddenness with which all interest on the subject had passed out of her -thoughts. The danger was over. Two dangers so appalling could not exist -together. The chances are that Will's immediate and present peril would -have engrossed her all the same, even had all not been well for Hugh. - -When he had placed his mother and brother in the rooms he had taken for -them, and had seen poor Will laid down on the bed he was not to quit for -long, Hugh went back to see Mr. Penrose. He was agitated and excited, -and much melted in his heart by his brother's illness; but still, though -he might forgive Will, he had no thought of forgiving the elder man, who -ought to have given the boy better counsel: but he was very cool and -collected, keeping his indignation to himself, and going very fully into -detail. Old Sommerville's daughter had been married, and lived with her -husband at the border village where Mary's marriage had taken place. It -was she who had waited on the bride, with all the natural excitement and -interest belonging to the occasion; and her husband and she, young -themselves, and full of sympathy with the handsome young couple, had -stolen in after them into the homely room where the marriage ceremony, -such as it was, was performed. The woman who told Hugh this story had -not the faintest idea that suspicion of any kind rested upon the facts -she was narrating, neither did her hearer tell her of it. He had -listened with what eagerness, with what wonder and delight may be -imagined, while she went into all the details. "She mayn't mind me, but -I mind her," the anxious historian had said, her thoughts dwelling not -on the runaway marriage she was talking of, as if that could be of -importance, but on the unbuilt lodge, and the chances of getting it if -she could but awake the interest of the young squire. "She had on but a -cotton gown, as was not for the likes of her on her wedding-day, and a -bit of a straw-bonnet; and it was me as took off her shawl, her hands -being trembly a bit, as was to be expected; I took her shawl off afore -she came into the room, and I slipped in after her, and made Rob come, -though he was shy. Bless your heart, sir, the Captain and the young lady -never noticed him nor me." - -Hugh had received all these details into his mind with a distinctness -which only the emergency could have made possible. It seemed to himself -that he saw the scene--more clearly, far more clearly, than that dim -vision of the other scene in India, which now he ventured in his heart -to believe that he recollected too. He told everything to Mr. Penrose, -who sat with glum countenance, and listened. "And now, uncle," he said, -"I will tell you what my mother is ready to do. I don't think she -understands what I have told her about my evidence; but I found this -letter she had been writing when Will was taken ill. You can read it if -you please. It will show you at least how wrong you were in thinking she -would ever desert and abandon me." - -"I never thought she would desert and abandon you," said Mr. Penrose; -"of course every one must see that so long as you had the property it -was her interest to stick to you--as well as for her own sake. I don't -see why I should read the letter; I daresay it is some bombastical -appeal to somebody--she appealed to me last night--to believe her; as if -personal credibility was to be built upon in the absence of all proofs." - -"But read it all the same," said Hugh, whose face was flushed with -excitement. - -Mr. Penrose put on his spectacles, and took the half-finished letter -reluctantly into his hand. He turned it round and all over to see who it -was addressed to; but there was no address; and when he began to read -it, he saw it was a letter to a lawyer, stating her case distinctly, and -asking for advice. Was there not a way of getting it tried and settled, -Mary had written; was there not some court that could be appealed to at -once, to examine all the evidence, and make a decision that would be -good and stand, and could not be re-opened? "I am ready to appear and be -examined, to do anything or everything that is necessary," were the last -words Mrs. Ochterlony had written; and then she had forgotten her -letter, forgotten her resolution and her fear, and everything else in -the world but her boy who was ill. Her other boy, after he had set her -heart free to devote itself to the one who now wanted her most, had -found the letter; and he, too, had been set free in his turn. Up to that -very last moment he had feared and doubted what Mr. Penrose called the -"exposure" for his mother; he had been afraid of wounding her, afraid of -making any suggestion that could imply publicity. And upon the letter -which Mr. Penrose turned thus about in his hand was at least one large -round blister of a tear--a big drop of compunction, and admiration, and -love, which had dropped upon it out of Hugh's proud and joyful eyes. - -"Ah," said Uncle Penrose, who was evidently staggered: and he took off -his spectacles and put them back in their case. "If she were to make up -her mind to _that_," he continued slowly, "I would not say that you -might not have a chance. It would have the look of being confident in -her case. I'll tell you what, Hugh," he went on, changing his tone. -"Does the doctor give much hope of Will?" - -"Much hope!" cried Hugh, faltering. "Good heavens! uncle, what do you -mean? Has he told you anything? Why, there is every chance--every hope." - -"Don't get excited," said Mr. Penrose. "I hope so I am sure. But what I -have to say is this: if anything were to happen to Will, it would be -some distant Ochterlonys, I suppose, that would come in after -him--supposing you were put aside, you know. I don't mind working for -Will, but I'd have nothing to do with that. _I_ could not be the means -of sending the property out of the family. And I don't see now, in the -turn things have taken, that there would be any particular difficulty -between ourselves in hushing it all up." - -"In hushing it up?" said Hugh, with an astonished look. - -"Yes, if we hold our tongues. I daresay that is all that would be -necessary," said Mr. Penrose. "If you only would have the good sense all -of you to hold your tongues and keep your counsel, it might be easily -hushed up." - -But Uncle Penrose was not prepared for the shower of indignation that -fell upon him. Hugh got up and made him an oration, which the young man -poured forth out of the fulness of his heart; and said, God forgive him -for the harm he had done to one of them, for the harm he had tried to do -to all--in a tone very little in harmony with the prayer; and shook off, -as it were, the dust off his feet against him, and rushed from the -house, carrying, folded up carefully in his pocket-book, his mother's -letter. It was she who had found out what to do--she whose reluctance, -whose hesitation, or shame, was the only thing that Hugh would have -feared. And it was not only that he was touched to the heart by his -mother's readiness to do all and everything for him; he was proud, too, -with that sweetest of exultation which recognises the absolute _best_ in -its best beloved. So he went through the suburban streets carrying his -head high, with moisture in his eyes, but the smile of hope and a -satisfied heart upon his lips. Hush it up! when it was all to her glory -from the first to the last of it. Rather write it up in letters of gold, -that all the world might see it. This was how Hugh, being still so -young, in the pride and emotion of the moment, thought in his heart. - -And Mrs. Ochterlony, by her boy's sick-bed, knew nothing of it all. She -remembered to ask for her blotting-book with the letters in it which she -had been writing, but was satisfied when she heard Hugh had it; and she -accepted the intervention of old Sommerville, dead or living, without -demanding too many explanations. She had now something else more -absorbing, more engrossing, to occupy her, and two supreme emotions -cannot hold place in the mind at the same time. Will required constant -care, an attention that never slumbered, and she would not have any one -to share her watch with her. She found time to write to Aunt Agatha, who -wanted to come, giving the cheerfullest view of matters that was -possible, and declaring that she was quite able for what she had to do. -And Mary had another offer of assistance which touched her, and yet -brought a smile to her face. It was from Mrs. Kirkman, offering to come -to her assistance at once, to leave all her responsibilities for the -satisfaction of being with her friend and sustaining her strength and -being "useful" to the poor sufferer. It was a most anxious letter, full -of the warmest entreaties to be allowed to come, and Mary was moved by -it, though she gave it to Hugh to read with a faint smile on her lip. - -"I always told you she was a good woman," said Mrs. Ochterlony. "If I -were to let her come, I know she would make a slave of herself to serve -us both." - -"But you will not let her come," said Hugh, with a little alarm; "I -don't know about your good woman. She would do it, and then tell -everybody how glad she was that she had been of so much use." - -"But she is a good woman in spite of her talk," said Mary; and she wrote -to Mrs. Kirkman a letter which filled the soul of the colonel's wife -with many thoughts. Mrs. Ochterlony wrote to her that it would be vain -for her to have any help, for she could not leave her boy--could not be -apart from him while he was so ill, was what Mary said--but that her -friend knew how strong she was, and that it would not hurt her, if God -would but spare her boy. "Oh, my poor Will! don't forget to think of -him," Mary said, and the heart which was in Mrs. Kirkman's wordy bosom -knew what was meant. And then partly, perhaps, it was her fault; she -might have been wise, she might have held her peace when Will came to -ask that fatal information. And yet, perhaps, it might be for his good, -or perhaps--perhaps, God help him, he might die. And then Mrs. Kirkman's -heart sank within her, and she was softer to all the people in her -district, and did not feel so sure of taking upon her the part of -Providence. She could not but remember how she had prayed that Mary -should not be let alone, and how Major Ochterlony had died after it, and -she felt that that was not what she meant, and that God, so to speak, -had gone too far. If the same thing were to happen again! She was -humbled and softened to all her people that day, and she spent hours of -it upon her knees, praying with tears streaming down her cheeks for -Will. And it was not till full twenty-four hours after that she could -take any real comfort from the thought that it must be for all their -good; which shows that Mrs. Ochterlony's idea of her after all was -right. - -These were but momentary breaks in the long stretch of pain, and terror, -and lingering and sickening hope. Day after day went and came, and Mary -took no note of them, and knew nothing more of them than as they grew -light and dark upon the pale face of her boy. Hugh had to leave her by -times, but there was no break to her in the long-continued vigil. His -affairs had to go on, his work to be resumed, and his life to proceed -again as if it had never come to that full stop. But as for Mary, it -began to appear to her as if she had lived all her life in that -sick-room. Then Islay came, always steady and trustworthy. This was -towards the end, when it was certain that the crisis must be approaching -for good or for evil. And poor Aunt Agatha in her anxiety and her -loneliness had fallen ill too, and wrote plaintive, suffering letters, -which moved Mary's heart even in the great stupor of her own anxiety. It -was then that Hugh went, much against his will, to the Cottage, at his -mother's entreaty, to carry comfort to the poor old lady. He had to go -to Earlston to see after his own business, and from thence to Aunt -Agatha, whose anxiety was no less great at a distance than theirs was at -hand; and Hugh was to be telegraphed for at once if there was "any -change." Any change!--that was the way they had got to speak, saying it -in a whisper, as if afraid to trust the very air with words which -implied so much. Hugh stole into the sick room before he went away, and -saw poor Will, or at least a long white outline of a face, with two big -startling eyes, black and shining, which must be Will's, lying back on -the pillows; and he heard a babble of weary words about his mother and -Nelly, and what had he done? and withdrew as noiselessly as he entered, -with the tears in his eyes, and that poignant and intolerable anguish -in his heart with which the young receive the first intimation that one -near to them must go away. It seemed an offence to Hugh, as he left the -house to see so many lads in the streets, who were of Will's age, and so -many children encumbering the place everywhere, unthought of, uncared -for, unloved, to whom almost it would be a benefit to die. But it was -not one of them who was to be taken, but Will, poor Will, the youngest, -who had been led astray, and had still upon his mind a sense of guilt. -Hugh was glad to go to work at Earlston to get the thought out of his -mind, glad to occupy himself about the museum, and to try to forget that -his brother was slowly approaching the crisis, after which perhaps there -might be no hope; and his heart beat loud in his ears every time he -heard a sound, dreading that it might be the promised summons, and that -"some change"--dreadful intimation--had occurred; and it was in the same -state of mind that he went on to the Cottage, looking into the railway -people's faces at every station to see if, perhaps, they had heard -something. He was not much like carrying comfort to anybody. He had -never been within reach of the shadow of death before, except in the -case of his uncle; and his uncle was old, and it was natural he should -die--but Will! Whenever he said, or heard, or even thought the name his -heart seemed to swell, and grow "grit," as the Cumberland folks said, -and climb into his throat. - -But yet there was consolation to Hugh even at such a moment. When he -arrived at the Cottage he found Nelly there in attendance upon Aunt -Agatha; and Nelly was full of wistful anxiety, and had a world of silent -questions in her eyes. He had not written to her in answer to her -letter, though it had done so much for him. Nobody had written to the -girl, who was obliged to stay quiet at home, and ask no questions, and -occupy herself about other matters. And no doubt Nelly had suffered and -might have made herself very unhappy, and felt herself deeply neglected -and injured, had she been of that manner of nature. She had heard only -the evident facts which everybody knew of--that Will had been taken ill, -and that Hugh was in Liverpool, and even Islay had been sent for; but -whether Will's illness was anything more than ordinary disease, or how -the family affairs, which lay underneath, were being settled, Nelly -could not tell. Nobody knew; not Aunt Agatha, nor Mrs. Kirkman, though -it was her hand which had helped to set everything in motion. Sometimes -it occurred to Nelly that Mr. Hugh might have written to her; sometimes -she was disposed to fear that he might be angry--might think she had no -right to interfere. Men did not like people to interfere with their -affairs, she said to herself sometimes, even when they meant--oh! the -very kindest; and Nelly dried her eyes and would acknowledge to herself -that it was just. But when Hugh came, and was in the same room with her, -and sat by her side, and was just the same--nay, perhaps, if that could -be, more than just the same--then it was more than Nelly's strength of -mind could do to keep from questioning him with her eyes. She gave -little glances at him which asked--"Is all well?"--in language plainer -than words; and Hugh's eyes, overcast as they were by that shadow of -death which was upon them, could not answer promptly--"All is well." And -Aunt Agatha knew nothing of this secret which lay between them; so far -as Miss Seton had been informed as yet, Will's running away was but a -boyish freak, and his illness an ordinary fever. And yet somehow it made -Hugh take a brighter view of everything--made him think less drearily of -Will's danger, and be less alarmed about the possible arrival of a -telegram, when he read the question in Nelly Askell's eyes. - -But it was the morning after his arrival before he could make any -response. Aunt Agatha, who was an invalid, did not come downstairs -early, and the two young creatures were left to each other's company. -Then there ensued a little interval of repose to Hugh's mind, which had -been so much disturbed of late, which he did not feel willing to break -even by entering upon matters which might produce a still greater -confidence and _rapprochement_. All that had been passing lately had -given a severe shock to his careless youth, which, before that, had -never thought deeply of anything. And to feel himself thus separated as -it were from the world of anxiety and care he had been living in, and -floated in to this quiet nook, and seated here all tranquil in a -nameless exquisite happiness, with Nelly by him, and nobody to interfere -with him, did him good, poor fellow. He did not care to break the spell -even to satisfy her, nor perhaps to produce a more exquisite delight for -himself. The rest, and the sweet unexpressed sympathy, and the soft -atmosphere that was about him, gave Hugh all the consolation of which at -this moment he was capable; and he was only a man--and he was content to -be thus consoled without inquiring much whether it was as satisfactory -for her. It was only when the ordinary routine of the day began, and -disturbed the _tête-à-tête_, that he bethought him of how much remained -to be explained to Nelly; and then he asked her to go out with him to -the garden. "Come and show me the roses we used to water," said Hugh; -"you remember?" And so they went out together, with perhaps, if that -were possible, a more entire possession of each other's society--a more -complete separation from everybody else in the world. - -They went to see the roses, and though they were fading and shabby, with -the last flowers overblown and disconsolate, and the leaves dropping off -the branches, that melancholy sight made little impression on Nelly and -Hugh. The two indulged in certain reminiscences of what had been, "you -remember?"--comings back of the sweet recent untroubled past, such as -give to the pleasant present and fair future their greatest charm. And -then all at once Hugh stopped short, and looked in his companion's face. -He said it without the least word of introduction, leaping at once into -the heart of the subject, in a way which gave poor Nelly no warning, no -time to prepare. - -"Nelly," he said all at once, "I never thanked you for your letter." - -"Oh, Mr. Hugh!" cried Nelly, and her heart gave a sudden thump, and the -water sprang to her eyes. She was so much startled that she put her hand -to her side to relieve the sudden panting of her breath. "I was going to -ask you if you had been angry?" she added, after a pause. - -"Angry! How could I be angry?" said Hugh. - -"You might have thought it very impertinent of me talking of things I -had no business with," said Nelly, with downcast eyes. - -"Impertinent! Perhaps you suppose I would think an angel impertinent if -it came down from heaven for a moment, and showed a little interest in -my concerns?" said Hugh. "And do you really think you have no business -with me, Nelly? I did not think you were so indifferent to your -friends." - -"To be sure we are very old friends," said Nelly, with a blush and a -smile; but she saw by instinct that such talk was dangerous. And then -she put on her steady little face and looked up at him to put an end to -all this nonsense.--"I want so much to hear about dear Mrs. Ochterlony," -she said. - -"And I have never told you that it had come all right," said Hugh. "I -was so busy at first I had no time for writing letters; and last night -there was Aunt Agatha, who knows nothing about it; and this -morning--well this morning you know, I was thinking of nothing but -you----" - -"Oh, thank you," said Nelly, with a little confusion, "but tell me more, -please. You said it was all right----" - -"Yes," said Hugh, "but I don't know if it ever would have come right but -for your letter; I was down as low as ever a man could be; I had no -heart for anything; I did not know what to think even about my---- -about anything. And then your dear little letter came. It was _that_ -that made me something of a man again. And I made up my mind to face it -and not to give in. And then all at once the proof came--some people who -lived at Gretna and had seen the marriage. Did you go there?" - -"No," said Nelly, with a tremulous voice; and now whatever might come of -it, it would have been quite impossible for her to raise her eyes. - -"Ah, I see," said Hugh, "it was only to show me what to do--but all the -same it was your doing. If you had not written to me like that, I was -more likely to have gone and hanged myself, than to have minded my -business and seen the people. Nelly, I will always say it was you." - -"No--no," said Nelly, withdrawing, not without some difficulty, her hand -out of his. "Never mind me; I am so glad--I am so very glad; but then I -don't know about dear Mrs. Ochterlony--and oh, poor Will!" - -His brother's name made Hugh fall back a little. He had very nearly -forgotten everything just then except Nelly herself. But when he -remembered that his brother, perhaps, might be dying---- - -"You know how ill he is," he said, with a little shudder. "It must be -selfish to be happy. I had almost forgotten about poor Will." - -"Oh, no, no," cried Nelly; "we must not forget about him; he could never -mean it--he would have come to himself one day. Oh, Mr. Hugh----" - -"Don't call me that," cried the young man; "you say Will--why should I -be different. Nelly? If I thought you cared for him more than for -me----" - -"Oh, hush!" said Nelly, "how can you think of such things when he is so -ill, and Mrs. Ochterlony in such trouble. And besides, you _are_ -different," she added hastily; and Hugh saw the quick crimson going up -to her hair, over her white brow and her pretty neck, and again forgot -Will, and everything else in the world. - -"Nelly," he said, "you must care for me most. I don't mind about -anything without that. I had rather be in poor Will's place if you think -of somebody else just the same as of me. Nelly, look here--there is -nobody on earth that I can ever feel for as I feel for you." - -"Oh, Mr. Hugh!" cried Nelly. She had only one hand to do anything with, -for he held the other fast, and she put that up to her eyes, to which -the tears had come, though she did not very well know why. - -"It is quite true," cried the eager young man. "You may think I should -not say it now; but Nelly, if there are ill news shall I not want you to -comfort me? and if there are good news you will be as glad as I am. Oh, -Nelly, don't keep silent like that, and turn your head away--you know -there is nobody in the world that loves you like me." - -"Oh, please don't say any more just now," said Nelly, through her tears. -"When I think of poor Will who is perhaps---- And he and I were babies -together; it is not right to be so happy when poor Will---- Yes, oh -yes--another time I will not mind." - -And even then poor Nelly did not mind. They were both so young, and the -sick boy was far away from them, not under their eyes as it were; and -even whatever might happen, it could not be utter despair for Hugh and -Nelly. They were selfish so far as they could not help being -selfish--they had their moment of delight standing there under the faded -roses, with the dead leaves dropping at their feet. Neither autumn nor -any other chill--neither anxiety nor suspense, nor even the shadow of -death could keep them asunder. Had not they the more need of each other -if trouble was coming? That was Hugh's philosophy, and Nelly's heart -could not say him nay. - -But when that moment was over Aunt Agatha's voice was heard calling from -an upper window. "Hugh, Hugh!" the old lady called. "I see a man leaving -the station with a letter in his hand--It is the man who brings the -telegraph--Oh, Hugh, my dear boy!" - -Hugh did not stop to hear any more. He woke up in a moment out of -himself, and rushed forth upon the road to meet the messenger, leaving -Nelly and his joy behind him. He felt as if he had been guilty then, but -as he flew along the road he had no time to think. As for poor Nelly, -she took to walking up and down the lawn, keeping him in sight, with -limbs that trembled under her, and eyes half blind with tears and -terror. Nelly had suffered to some extent from the influence of Mrs. -Kirkman's training. She could not feel sure that to be very happy, nay -blessed, to feel one's self full of joy and unmingled content, was not -something of an offence to God. Perhaps it was selfish and wicked at -that moment, and now the punishment might be coming. If it should be so, -would it not be _her_ fault. She who had let herself be persuaded, who -ought to have known better. Aunt Agatha sat at her window, sobbing, and -saying little prayers aloud without knowing it. "God help my Mary! Oh -God, help my poor Mary: give her strength to bear it!" was what Aunt -Agatha said. And poor Nelly for her part put up another prayer, -speechless, in an agony--"God forgive us," she said, in her innocent -heart. - -But all at once both of them stopped praying, stopped weeping, and gave -one simultaneous cry, that thrilled through the whole grey landscape. -And this was why it was;--Hugh, a distant figure on the road, had met -the messenger, had torn open the precious despatch. It was too far off -to tell them in words, or make any other intelligible sign. What he did -was to fling his hat into the air and give a wild shout, which they saw -rather than heard. Was it all well? Nelly went to the gate to meet him, -and held by it, and Aunt Agatha came tottering downstairs. And what he -did next was to tear down the road like a racehorse, the few country -folks about it staring at him as if he were mad,--and to seize Nelly in -his arms in open day, on the open road, and kiss her publicly before -Aunt Agatha, and Peggy, and all the world. "She said she would not -mind," cried Hugh, breathlessly, coming headlong into the garden, "as -soon as we heard that Will was going to get well; and there's the -despatch, Aunt Agatha, and Nelly is to be my wife." - -This was how two joyful events in the Ochterlony family intimated -themselves at the same moment to Bliss Seton and her astonished house. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVIII. - - -And this was how it all ended, so far as any end can be said to have -come to any episode in human history. While Will was still only -recovering--putting his recollections slowly together--and not very -certain about them, what they were, Hugh and his mother went through the -preliminaries necessary to have Mrs. Ochterlony's early marriage proved -before the proper court--a proceeding which Mary did not shrink from -when the time came that she could look calmly over the whole matter, and -decide upon the best course. She was surprised to see her own unfinished -letter preserved so carefully in Hugh's pocket-book. "Put it in the -fire," she said to him, "it will only put us in mind of painful things -if you keep it;" and it did not occur to Mary why it was that her son -smiled and put it back in its place, and kissed her hand, which had -grown thin and white in her long seclusion. And then he told her of -Nelly, and Mrs. Ochterlony was glad--glad to the bottom of her heart, -and yet touched with a momentary pang for which she was angry with -herself. He had stood by her so in all this time of trial, and now he -was about to remove himself a little, ever so little further off from -her, though he was her first-born and her pride; but then she despised -herself, who could grudge, even for half a moment, his reward to Hugh, -and made haste to make amends for it, even though he was unconscious of -the offence. - -"I always thought she should have been my child," Mary said, "the very -first time I saw her. I had once one like her; and I hungered and -thirsted for Nelly when I saw her first. I did not think of getting her -like this. I will love her as if she were my own, Hugh." - -"And so she will be your own," said Hugh, not knowing the difference. -And he was so happy that the sight of him made his mother happy, though -she had care enough in the meantime for her individual share. - -For it may be supposed that Will, such a youth as he was, did not come -out of his fever changed and like a child. Such changes are few in this -world, and a great sickness is not of necessity a moral agent. When the -first languor and comfort of his convalescence was over, his mind began -to revive and to join things together, as was natural--and he did not -know where or how he had broken off in the confused and darkling story -that returned to his brain as he pondered. He had forgotten, or never -understood about all that happened on the day he was taken ill, but yet -a dreamy impression that some break had come to his plans, that there -was some obstacle, something that made an end of his rights, as he still -called them in his mind, hovered about his recollections. He was as -frank and open as it was natural to his character to be, for the first -few days after he began to recover, before he had made much progress -with his recollections; and then he became moody and thoughtful and -perplexed, not knowing how to piece the story out. This was perhaps, -next to death itself, the thing which Mary had most dreaded, and she saw -that though his sickness had been all but death, it had not changed the -character or identity of the pale boy absorbed in his own thoughts, -uncommunicating and unyielding, whose weakness compelled him to obey her -like an infant in everything external, yet whose heart gave her no such -obedience. It was as unlike Hugh's frank exuberance of mind, and Islay's -steady but open soul, as could be conceived. But yet he was her boy as -much as either; as dear, perhaps even more bound to her by the evil he -had tried to do, and by the suffering he himself had borne. And now she -had to think not only how to remedy the wrong he had attempted, and to -put such harm out of his and everybody's power, but to set the discord -in himself at rest, and to reconcile the jangled chords. It was this -that gave her a preoccupied look even while Hugh spoke to her of all his -plans. It was more difficult than appearing before the court, harder -work perhaps than anything she had yet had in her hands to do--and hard -as it was, it was she who had to seek the occasion and begin. - -She had been sitting with her boy, one winterly afternoon, when all was -quiet in the house--they were still in the lodging in Liverpool, not far -from Mr. Penrose's, to which Will had been removed when his illness -began; he was not well enough yet to be removed, and the doctors were -afraid of cold, and very reluctant to send him, in this weak state, -still further to the north. She had been reading to him, but he was -evidently paying no attention to the reading, and she had left off and -began to talk, but he had been impatient of the talk. He lay on the sofa -by the fire, with his pale head against the pillow, looking thin, -spectral, and shadowy, and yet with a weight of weary thought upon his -overhanging brow, and in his close compressed lips, which grieved his -mother's heart. - -"Will," she said suddenly, "I should like to speak to you frankly about -what you have on your mind. You are thinking of what happened before you -were taken ill?" - -"Yes," he said, turning quickly upon her his great hollow eyes, shining -with interest and surprise; and then he stopped short, and compressed -his upper lip again, and looked at her with a watchful eye, conscious of -the imperfection of his own memory, and unwilling to commit himself. - -"I will go over it all, that we may understand each other," said Mary, -though the effort made her own cheek pale. "You were told that I had -been married in India just before you were born, and you were led to -believe that your brothers were--were--illegitimate, and that you were -your father's heir. I don't know if they ever told you, my poor boy, -that I had been married in Scotland long before; at all events, they -made you believe----" - -"Made me believe!" said Will, with feverish haste; "do people generally -marry each other more than once? I don't see how you can say 'made me -believe.'" - -"Well, Will, perhaps it seemed very clear as it was told to you," said -Mary, with a sigh; "and you have even so much warrant for your mistake, -that your father too took fright, and thought because everybody was -dead that saw us married that we ought to be married again; and I -yielded to his wish, though I knew it was wrong. But it appears -everybody was not dead; two people who were present have come to light -very unexpectedly, and we have applied to that Court--that new Court, -you know, where they treat such things--to have my marriage proved, and -Hugh's legitimacy declared. It will cost some money, and it will not be -pleasant to me; but better _that_ than such a mistake should ever be -possible again." - -Will looked in his mother's face, and knew and saw beyond all question -that she told him was absolute fact; not even _truth_, but fact; the -sort of thing that can be proved by witnesses and established in law. -His mouth which had been compressed so close, relaxed; his underlip -drooped, his eyes hid themselves, as it were, under their lids. A sudden -blank of mortification and humbled pride came over his soul. A mistake, -simply a mistake, such a blunder as any fool might make, an error about -simple facts which he might have set right if he had tried. And now for -ever and ever he was nothing but the youngest son; doubly indebted to -everybody belonging to him; indebted to them for forgiveness, -forbearance, tenderness, and services of every kind. He saw it all, and -his heart rose up against it; he had tried to wrong them, and it was his -punishment that they forgave him. It all seemed so hopeless and useless -to struggle against, that he turned his face from the light, and felt as -if it would be a relief if he could be able to be ill again, or if he -had wounds that he could have secretly unbound; so that he might get to -die, and be covered over and abandoned, and have no more to bear. Such -thoughts were about as foreign to Mrs. Ochterlony's mind as any human -cogitations could be, and yet she divined them, as it were, in the -greatness of her pity and love. - -"Will," she said, speaking softly in the silence which had been unbroken -for long, "I want you to think if this had been otherwise, what it would -have been for me. I would have been a woman shut out from all good -women. I would have been only all the more wicked and wretched that I -had succeeded in concealing my sin. You would have blushed for your -mother whenever you had to name her name. You could not have kept me -near you, because my presence would have shut against you every honest -house. You would have been obliged to conceal me and my shame in the -darkness--to cover me over in some grave with no name on it--to banish -me to the ends of the earth----" - -"Mother!" said Will, rising up in his gaunt length and paleness on the -sofa. He did not understand it. He saw her figure expanding, as it were, -her eyes shining in the twilight like two great mournful stars, the hot -colour rising to her face, her voice labouring with an excitement which -had been long pent up and found no channel; and the thrill and jar in it -of suppressed passion, made a thrill in his heart. - -"And your father!" she went on, always with growing emotion, "whom you -are all proud of, who died for his duty and left his name without a -blot;--he would have been an impostor like me, a man who had taken base -advantage of a woman, and deceived all his friends, and done the last -wrong to his children,--we two that never wronged man nor woman, that -would have given our lives any day for any one of you,--that is what you -would have made us out." - -"Mother!" said Will. He could not bear it any longer. His heart was up -at last, and spoke. He came to her, crept to her in his weakness, and -laid his long feeble arms round her as she sat hiding her face. "Mother! -don't say that. I must have been mad. Not what _I_ would have made you -out----" - -"Oh, my poor Will, my boy, my darling!" said Mary, "not you--I never -meant you!" - -And she clasped her boy close, and held him to her, not knowing what she -meant. And then she roused herself to sudden recollection of his -feebleness, and took him back to his sofa, and brooded over him like a -bird over her nest. And after awhile Islay came in, bringing fresh air -and news, and a breath from the outer world. And poor Will's heart being -still so young, and having at last touched the depths, took a rebound -and came up, not like, and yet not unlike the heart of a little child. -From that time his moodiness, his heavy brow, his compressed lip, grew -less apparent, and out of his long ponderings with himself there came -sweeter fruits. He had been on the edge of a precipice, and he had not -known it: and now that after the danger was over he had discovered that -danger, such a thrill came over him as comes sometimes upon those who -are the most foolhardy in the moment of peril. He had not seen the -blackness of the pit nor the terror of it until he had escaped. - -But probably it was a relief to all, as it was a great relief to poor -Will, when his doctor proposed a complete change for him, and a winter -in the South. Mary had moved about very little since she brought her -children home from India, and her spirit sank before the thought of -travel in foreign parts, and among unknown tongues. But she was content -when she saw the light come back to her boy's eye. And when he was well -enough to move, they went away[A] together, Will and his mother, Mary -and her boy. He was the one who needed her most. - -[A] They went to San Remo, if any one would like to know, for no -particular reason that I can tell, except that the beloved physician, -Dr. Antonio, has thrown the shield of his protection over that -picturesque little place, with its golden orange groves and its -delicious sea. - -And when Hugh and Nelly were married, the Percivals sent the little -bride a present, very pretty, and of some value, which the Ochterlonys -in general accepted as a peace-offering. Winnie's letter which -accompanied it was not, however, very peaceful in its tone. "I daresay -you think yourself very happy, my dear," Winnie wrote, "but I would not -advise you to calculate upon too much happiness. I don't know if we were -ever meant for that. Mary, who is the best woman among us, has had a -terrible deal of trouble; and I, whom perhaps you will think one of the -worst, have not been let off any more than Mary. I wonder often, for my -part, if there is any meaning at all in it. I am not sure that I think -there is. And you may tell Mrs. Kirkman so if you like. My love to Aunt -Agatha, and if you like you can kiss Hugh for me. He always was my -favourite among all the boys." - -Poor Aunt Agatha heard this letter with a sigh. She said, "My dear love, -it is only Winnie's way. She always liked to say strange things, but she -does not think like that." And perhaps on the whole it was Aunt Agatha -that was worst off in the end. She was left alone when the young -creatures paired, as was natural, in the spring; and when the mother -Mary went away with her boy. Aunt Agatha had no child left to devote -herself to; and it was very silent in the Cottage, where she sat for -hours with nothing more companionable than the Henri Deux ware, Francis -Ochterlony's gift, before her eyes. And Sir Edward was very infirm that -year. But yet Miss Seton found a consolation that few people would have -thought of in the Henri Deux, and before the next winter Mary was to -come home. And she had always her poor people and her letters, and the -Kirtell singing softly under its dewy braes. - - THE END. - -21/8/75. - - LONDON: - SWIFT AND CO., NEWTON STREET, HIGH HOLBORN, W.C. - - * * * * * - -Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber: - -Major Octherlony's mind=> Major Ochterlony's mind {pg 7} - -had been very very kind to=> had been very kind to {pg 9} - -but yon cannot make old=> but you cannot make old {pg 20} - -Mrs. Kirkman come in=> Mrs. Kirkman came in {pg 23} - -n, 'wildered and wondering=> in, 'wildered and wondering {pg 25} - -Mrs. Kirkmam=> Mrs. Kirkman {pg 26} - -ar six hours=> or six hours {pg 38} - -excesssively entertained=> excessively entertained {pg 48} - -foreboding's=> forebodings {pg 65} - -Souhampton=> Southampton {pg 71} - -the ayah croned=> the ayah crooned {pg 85} - -A fine little fellw=> A fine little fellow {pg 87} - -which sood=> which stood {pg 94} - -Pysche=> Psyche {pg 98, 108} - -cf conduct=> of conduct {pg 119} - -o her last gasp=> to her last gasp {pg 143} - -more determind=> more determined {pg 152} - -nnrsing one of his legs=> nursing one of his legs {pg 158} - -if yon are rich or poor=> if you are rich or poor {pg 167} - -This halycon time=> This halcyon time {pg 176} - -rather of feeeling=> rather of feeling {pg 187} - -you are are able to manage=> you are able to manage {pg 193} - -Mr. Octherlony shook hands=> Mr. Ochterlony shook hands {pg 188} - -make her feel as if she=> made her feel as if she {pg 225} - -every every one's=> every one's {pg 227} - -messsages of inquiry=> messages of inquiry {pg 261} - -she had began to soften a little=> she had begun to soften a little {pg -270} - -these thougets=> these thoughts {pg 286} - -other associatious=> other associations {pg 299} - -tnrning doggedly away=> turning doggedly away {pg 301} - -anxions and terror-stricken=> anxious and terror-stricken {pg 303} - -ecstasy=> ecstacy {pg 306} - -dutifnl and tender=> dutiful and tender {pg 307} - -ace and doing it=> face and doing it {pg 309} - -responsibilty=> responsibility {pg 339} - -were countlesss=> were countless {pg 351} - -fighing like foes=> fighting like foes {pg 359} - -rushed tagether=> rushed together {pg 360} - -against yon=> against you {pg 387} - -that old Somerville's=> that old Sommerville's {pg 400} - -Mr. Penrose calied the=> Mr. Penrose called the {pg 401} - -as he flow along the road=> as he flew along the road {pg 409} - - - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Madonna Mary, by Mrs. Oliphant - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MADONNA MARY *** - -***** This file should be named 44080-8.txt or 44080-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/0/8/44080/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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