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diff --git a/4944-0.txt b/4944-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dc37ad6 --- /dev/null +++ b/4944-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10732 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Scenes and Characters, by Charlotte M. Yonge, +Illustrated by W. J. Hennessy + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Scenes and Characters + or, Eighteen Months at Beechcroft + + +Author: Charlotte M. Yonge + + + +Release Date: January 16, 2015 [eBook #4944] +[This file was first posted on April 2, 2002] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SCENES AND CHARACTERS*** + + +Transcribed from the 1889 Macmillan and Co. edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + [Picture: She visited the village school.—p. 38] + + + + + + SCENES AND CHARACTERS, + OR, + Eighteen Months at Beechcroft + + + BY + CHARLOTTE M. YOUNGE + AUTHOR OF ‘THE HEIR OF REDCLYFFE,’ ‘THE TWO GUARDIANS,’ ETC. + + [Picture: ‘Yes, Miss, Dick Rood is a sad fellow.’—p. 41] + + _FIFTH EDITION_ + + ILLUSTRATED BY W. J. HENNESSY + + London + MACMILLAN AND CO. + AND NEW YORK + 1889 + + _All rights reserved_ + + + + +PREFACE + + +OF those who are invited to pay a visit to Beechcroft, there are some +who, honestly acknowledging that amusement is their object, will be +content to feel with Lilias, conjecture with Jane, and get into scrapes +with Phyllis, without troubling themselves to extract any moral from +their proceedings; and to these the Mohun family would only apologise for +having led a very humdrum life during the eighteen months spent in their +company. + +There may, however, be more unreasonable visitors, who, professing only +to come as parents and guardians, expect entertainment for themselves, as +well as instruction for those who had rather it was out of sight,—look +for antiques in carved cherry-stones,—and require plot, incident, and +catastrophe in a chronicle of small beer. + +To these the Mohuns beg respectfully to observe, that they hope their +examples may not be altogether devoid of indirect instruction; and lest +it should be supposed that they lived without object, aim, or principle, +they would observe that the maxim which has influenced the delineation of +the different _Scenes and Characters_ is, that feeling, unguided and +unrestrained, soon becomes mere selfishness; while the simple endeavour +to fulfil each immediate claim of duty may lead to the highest acts of +self-devotion. + +NEW COURT, BEECHCROFT, + 18th _January_. + + + + +PREFACE (1886) + + +PERHAPS this book is an instance to be adduced in support of the advice I +have often given to young authors—not to print before they themselves are +old enough to do justice to their freshest ideas. + +Not that I can lay claim to its being a production of tender and +interesting youth. It was my second actual publication, and I believe I +was of age before it appeared—but I see now the failures that more +experience might have enabled me to avoid; and I would not again have +given it to the world if the same characters recurring in another story +had not excited a certain desire to see their first start. + +In fact they have been more or less my life-long companions. An almost +solitary child, with periodical visits to the Elysium of a large family, +it was natural to dream of other children and their ways and sports till +they became almost realities. They took shape when my French master set +me to write letters for him. The letters gradually became conversation +and narrative, and the adventures of the family sweetened the toils of +French composition. In the exigencies of village school building in +those days gone by, before in every place + + “It there behoved him to set up the standard of her Grace,” + +the tale was actually printed for private sale, as a link between +translations of short stories. + +This process only stifled the family in my imagination for a time. They +awoke once more with new names, but substantially the same, and were my +companions in many a solitary walk, the results of which were scribbled +down in leisure moments to be poured into my mother’s ever patient and +sympathetic ears. + +And then came the impulse to literature for young people given by the +example of that memorable book the _Fairy Bower_, and followed up by _Amy +Herbert_. It was felt that elder children needed something of a deeper +tone than the Edgeworthian style, yet less directly religious than the +Sherwood class of books; and on that wave of opinion, my little craft +floated out into the great sea of the public. + +Friends, whose kindness astonished me, and fills me with gratitude when I +look back on it, gave me seasonable criticism and pruning, and finally +launched me. My heroes and heroines had arranged themselves so as to +work out a definite principle, and this was enough for us all. + +Children’s books had not been supposed to require a plot. Miss +Edgeworth’s, which I still continue to think gems in their own line, are +made chronicles, or, more truly, illustrations of various truths worked +out upon the same personages. Moreover, the skill of a Jane Austen or a +Mrs. Gaskell is required to produce a perfect plot without doing violence +to the ordinary events of an every-day life. It is all a matter of +arrangement. Mrs. Gaskell can make a perfect little plot out of a sick +lad and a canary bird; and another can do nothing with half a dozen +murders and an explosion; and of arranging my materials so as to build up +a story, I was quite incapable. It is still my great deficiency; but in +those days I did not even understand that the attempt was desirable. +Criticism was a more thorough thing in those times than it has since +become through the multiplicity of books to be hurried over, and it was +often very useful, as when it taught that such arrangement of incident +was the means of developing the leading idea. + +Yet, with all its faults, the children, who had been real to me, caught, +chiefly by the youthful sense of fun and enjoyment, the attention of +other children; and the curious semi-belief one has in the phantoms of +one’s brain made me dwell on their after life and share my discoveries +with my friends, not, however, writing them down till after the lapse of +all these years the tenderness inspired by associations of early days led +to taking up once more the old characters in _The Two Sides of the +Shield_; and the kind welcome this has met with has led to the +resuscitation of the crude and inexperienced tale which never pretended +to be more than a mere family chronicle. + + C. M. YONGE. + +6_th_ _October_ 1886. + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE + CHAPTER I +THE ELDER SISTER 1 + CHAPTER II +THE NEW COURT 6 + CHAPTER III +THE NEW PRINCIPLE 15 + CHAPTER IV +HONEST PHYL 26 + CHAPTER V +VILLAGE GOSSIP 35 + CHAPTER VI +THE NEW FRIEND 52 + CHAPTER VII +SIR MAURICE 61 + CHAPTER VIII +THE BROTHERS 78 + CHAPTER IX +THE WASP 101 + CHAPTER X +COUSIN ROTHERWOOD 109 + CHAPTER XI +DANCING 123 + CHAPTER XII +THE FEVER 131 + CHAPTER XIII +A CURIOSITY MAP 143 + CHAPTER XIV +CHRISTMAS 155 + CHAPTER XV +MINOR MISFORTUNES 167 + CHAPTER XVI +VANITY AND VEXATION 186 + CHAPTER XVII +LITTLE AGNES 198 + CHAPTER XVIII +DOUBLE, DOUBLE TOIL AND TROUBLE 208 + CHAPTER XIX +THE RECTOR’S ILLNESS 222 + CHAPTER XX +THE LITTLE NEPHEW 227 + CHAPTER XXI +CHARITY BEGINS AT HOME 235 + CHAPTER XXII +THE BARONIAL COURT 249 + CHAPTER XXIII +JOYS AND SORROWS 256 + CHAPTER XXIV +LOVE’S LABOUR LOST 264 + CHAPTER XXV +THE THIRTIETH OF JULY 277 + CHAPTER XXVI +THE CRISIS 297 + CHAPTER XXVII +CONCLUSION 313 + + + +CHAPTER I +THE ELDER SISTER + + + ‘Return, and in the daily round + Of duty and of love, + Thou best wilt find that patient faith + That lifts the soul above.’ + +ELEANOR MOHUN was the eldest child of a gentleman of old family, and good +property, who had married the sister of his friend and neighbour, the +Marquis of Rotherwood. The first years of her life were marked by few +events. She was a quiet, steady, useful girl, finding her chief pleasure +in nursing and teaching her brothers and sisters, and her chief annoyance +in her mamma’s attempts to make her a fine lady; but before she had +reached her nineteenth year she had learnt to know real anxiety and +sorrow. Her mother, after suffering much from grief at the loss of her +two brothers, fell into so alarming a state of health, that her husband +was obliged immediately to hurry her away to Italy, leaving the younger +children under the care of a governess, and the elder boys at school, +while Eleanor alone accompanied them. + +Their absence lasted nearly three years, and during the last winter, an +engagement commenced between Eleanor and Mr. Francis Hawkesworth, rather +to the surprise of Lady Emily, who wondered that he had been able to +discover the real worth veiled beneath a formal and retiring manner, and +to admire features which, though regular, had a want of light and +animation, which diminished their beauty even more than the thinness and +compression of the lips, and the very pale gray of the eyes. + +The family were about to return to England, where the marriage was to +take place, when Lady Emily was attacked with a sudden illness, which her +weakened frame was unable to resist, and in a very few days she died, +leaving the little Adeline, about eight months old, to accompany her +father and sister on their melancholy journey homewards. This loss made +a great change in the views of Eleanor, who, as she considered the cares +and annoyances which would fall on her father, when left to bear the +whole burthen of the management of the children and household, felt it +was her duty to give up her own prospects of happiness, and to remain at +home. How could she leave the tender little ones to the care of +servants—trust her sisters to a governess, and make her brothers’ home +yet more dreary? She knew her father to be strong in sense and firm in +judgment, but indolent, indulgent, and inattentive to details, and she +could not bear to leave him to be harassed by the petty cares of a +numerous family, especially when broken in spirits and weighed down with +sorrow. She thought her duty was plain, and, accordingly, she wrote to +Mr. Hawkesworth, to beg him to allow her to withdraw her promise. + +Her brother Henry was the only person who knew what she had done, and he +alone perceived something of tremulousness about her in the midst of the +even cheerfulness with which she had from the first supported her +father’s spirits. Mr. Mohun, however, did not long remain in ignorance, +for Frank Hawkesworth himself arrived at Beechcroft to plead his cause +with Eleanor. He knew her value too well to give her up, and Mr. Mohun +would not hear of her making such a sacrifice for his sake. But Eleanor +was also firm, and after weeks of unhappiness and uncertainty, it was at +length arranged that she should remain at home till Emily was old enough +to take her place, and that Frank should then return from India and claim +his bride. + +Well did she discharge the duties which she had undertaken; she kept her +father’s mind at ease, followed out his views, managed the boys with +discretion and gentleness, and made her sisters well-informed and +accomplished girls; but, for want of fully understanding the characters +of her two next sisters, Emily and Lilias, she made some mistakes with +regard to them. The clouds of sorrow, to her so dark and heavy, had been +to them but morning mists, and the four years which had changed her from +a happy girl into a thoughtful, anxious woman, had brought them to an age +which, if it is full of the follies of childhood, also partakes of the +earnestness of youth; an age when deep foundations of enduring confidence +may be laid by one who can enter into and direct the deeper flow of mind +and feeling which lurks hid beneath the freaks and fancies of the early +years of girlhood. But Eleanor had little sympathy for freaks and +fancies. She knew the realities of life too well to build airy castles +with younger and gayer spirits; her sisters’ romance seemed to her +dangerous folly, and their lively nonsense levity and frivolity. They +were too childish to share in her confidence, and she was too busy and +too much preoccupied to have ear or mind for visionary trifles, though to +trifles of real life she paid no small degree of attention. + +It might have been otherwise had Henry Mohun lived; but in the midst of +the affection of all who knew him, honour from those who could appreciate +his noble character, and triumphs gained by his uncommon talents, he was +cut off by a short illness, when not quite nineteen, a most grievous loss +to his family, and above all, to Eleanor. Unlike her, as he was joyous, +high-spirited, full of fun, and overflowing with imagination and poetry, +there was a very close bond of union between them, in the strong sense of +duty, the firmness of purpose, and energy of mind which both possessed, +and which made Eleanor feel perfect reliance on him, and look up to him +with earnest admiration. With him alone she was unreserved; he was the +only person who could ever make her show a spark of liveliness, and on +his death, it was only with the most painful efforts that she could +maintain her composed demeanour and fulfil her daily duties. Years +passed on, and still she felt the blank which Harry had left, almost as +much as the first day that she heard of his death, but she never spoke of +him, and to her sisters it seemed as if he was forgotten. The reserve +which had begun to thaw under his influence, again returning, placed her +a still greater distance from the younger girls, and unconsciously she +became still more of a governess and less of a sister. Little did she +know of the ‘blissful dreams in secret shared’ between Emily, Lilias, and +their brother Claude, and little did she perceive the danger that Lilias +would be run away with by a lively imagination, repressed and starved, +but entirely untrained. + +Whatever influenced Lilias, had, through her, nearly the same effect upon +Emily, a gentle girl, easily led, especially by Lilias, whom she regarded +with the fondest affection and admiration. The perils of fancy and +romance were not, however, to be dreaded for Jane, the fourth sister, a +strong resemblance of Eleanor in her clear common sense, love of +neatness, and active usefulness; but there were other dangers for her, in +her tendency to faults, which, under wise training, had not yet developed +themselves. + +Such were the three girls who were now left to assist each other in the +management of the household, and who looked forward to their new offices +with the various sensations of pleasure, anxiety, self-importance, and +self-mistrust, suited to their differing characters, and to the ages of +eighteen, sixteen, and fourteen. + + + + +CHAPTER II +THE NEW COURT + + + ‘Just at the age ’twixt boy and youth, + When thought is speech, and speech is truth.’ + +THE long-delayed wedding took place on the 13th of January, 1845, and the +bride and bridegroom immediately departed for a year’s visit among Mr. +Hawkesworth’s relations in Northumberland, whence they were to return to +Beechcroft, merely for a farewell, before sailing for India. + +It was half-past nine in the evening, and the wedding over—Mr. and Mrs. +Hawkesworth gone, and the guests departed, the drawing-room had returned +to its usual state. It was a very large room, so spacious that it would +have been waste and desolate, had it not been well filled with handsome, +but heavy old-fashioned furniture, covered with crimson damask, and one +side of the room fitted up with a bookcase, so high that there was a +spiral flight of library steps to give access to the upper shelves. +Opposite were four large windows, now hidden by their ample curtains; and +near them was at one end of the room a piano, at the other a +drawing-desk. The walls were wainscoted with polished black oak, the +panels reflecting the red fire-light like mirrors. Over the +chimney-piece hung a portrait, by Vandyke, of a pale, dark cavalier, of +noble mien, and with arched eyebrows, called by Lilias, in defiance of +dates, by the name of Sir Maurice de Mohun, the hero of the family, and +allowed by every one to be a striking likeness of Claude, the youth who +at that moment lay, extending a somewhat superfluous length of limb upon +the sofa, which was placed commodiously at right angles to the fire. + +The other side of the fire was Mr. Mohun’s special domain, and there he +sat at his writing-table, abstracted by deafness and letter writing, from +the various sounds of mirth and nonsense, which proceeded from the party +round the long narrow sofa table, which they had drawn across the front +of the fire, leaving the large round centre table in darkness and +oblivion. + +This party had within the last half hour been somewhat thinned; the three +younger girls had gone to bed, the Rector of Beechcroft, Mr. Robert +Devereux, had been called home to attend some parish business, and there +remained Emily and Lilias—tall graceful girls, with soft hazel eyes, +clear dark complexions, and a quantity of long brown curls. The latter +was busily completing a guard for the watch, which Mr. Hawkesworth had +presented to Reginald, a fine handsome boy of eleven, who, with his +elbows on the table, sat contemplating her progress, and sometimes +teasing his brother Maurice, who was earnestly engaged in constructing a +model with some cards, which he had pilfered from the heap before Emily. +She was putting her sister’s wedding cards into their shining envelopes, +and directing them in readiness for the post the next morning, while they +were sealed by a youth of the same age as Claude, a small slim figure, +with light complexion and hair, and dark gray eyes full of brightness and +vivacity. + +He was standing, so as to be more on a level with the high candle, and as +Emily’s writing was not quite so rapid as his sealing, he amused himself +in the intervals with burning his own fingers, by twisting the wax into +odd shapes. + +‘Why do you not seal up his eyes?’ inquired Reginald, with an arch glance +towards his brother on the sofa. + +‘Do it yourself, you rogue,’ was the answer, at the same time approaching +with the hot sealing-wax in his hand—a demonstration which occasioned +Claude to open his eyes very wide, without giving himself any further +trouble about the matter. + +‘Eh?’ said he, ‘now they try to look innocent, as if no one could hear +them plotting mischief.’ + +‘Them! it was not!—Redgie there—young ladies—I appeal—was not I as +innocent?’—was the very rapid, incoherent, and indistinct answer. + +‘After so lucid and connected a justification, no more can be said,’ +replied Claude, in a kind of ‘leave me, leave me to repose’ tone, which +occasioned Lilias to say, ‘I am afraid you are very tired.’ + +‘Tired! what has he done to tire him?’ + +‘I am sure a wedding is a terrible wear of spirits!’ said Emily—‘such +excitement.’ + +‘Well—when I give a spectacle to the family next year, I mean to tire you +to some purpose.’ + +‘Eh?’ said Mr. Mohun, looking up, ‘is Rotherwood’s wedding to be the +next?’ + +‘You ought to understand, uncle,’ said Lord Rotherwood, making two stops +towards him, and speaking a little more clearly, ‘I thought you longed to +get rid of your nephew and his concerns.’ + +‘You idle boy!’ returned Mr. Mohun, ‘you do not mean to have the +impertinence to come of age next year.’ + +‘As much as having been born on the 30th of July, 1825, can make me.’ + +‘But what good will your coming of age do us?’ said Lilias, ‘you will be +in London or Brighton, or some such stupid place.’ + +‘Do not be senseless, Lily,’ returned her cousin. ‘Devereux Castle is to +be in splendour—Hetherington in amazement—the county’s hair shall stand +on end—illuminations, bonfires, feasts, balls, colours flying, bands +playing, tenants dining, fireworks—’ + +‘Hurrah! jolly! jolly!’ shouted Reginald, dancing on the ottoman, ‘and +mind there are lots of squibs.’ + +‘And that Master Reginald Mohun has a new cap and bells for the +occasion,’ said Lord Rotherwood. + +‘Let me make some fireworks,’ said Maurice. + +‘You will begin like a noble baron of the hospitable olden time,’ said +Lily. + +‘It will be like the old days, when every birthday of yours was a happy +day for the people at Hetherington,’ said Emily. + +‘Ah! those were happy old days,’ said Lord Rotherwood, in a graver tone. + +‘These are happy days, are not they?’ said Lily, smiling. + +Her cousin answered with a sigh, ‘Yes, but you do not remember the old +ones, Lily;’ then, after a pause, he added, ‘It was a grievous mistake to +shut up the castle all these years. We have lost sight of everybody. I +do not even know what has become of the Aylmers.’ + +‘They went to live in London,’ said Emily, ‘Aunt Robert used to write to +them there.’ + +‘I know, I know, but where are they now?’ + +‘In London, I should think,’ said Emily. ‘Some one said Miss Aylmer was +gone out as a governess.’ + +‘Indeed! I wish I could hear more! Poor Mr. Aylmer! He was the first +man who tried to teach me Latin. I wonder what has become of that mad +fellow Edward, and Devereux, my father’s godson! Was not Mrs. Aylmer +badly off? I cannot bear that people should be forgotten!’ + +‘It is not so very long that we have lost sight of them,’ said Emily. + +‘Eight years,’ said Lord Rotherwood. ‘He died six weeks after my father. +Well! I have made my mother promise to come home.’ + +‘Really?’ said Lilias, ‘she has been coming so often.’ + +‘Aye—but she is coming this time. She is to spend the winter at the +castle, and make acquaintance with all the neighbourhood.’ + +‘His lordship is romancing,’ said Claude to Lily in a confidential tone. + +‘I’ll punish you for suspecting me of talking hyperborean +language—hyperbolical, I mean,’ cried Lord Rotherwood; ‘I’ll make you +dance the Polka with all the beauty and fashion.’ + +‘Then I shall stay at Oxford till it is over,’ said Claude. + +‘You do not know what a treasure you will be,’ said the Marquis, ‘ladies +like nothing so well as dancing with a fellow twice the height he should +be.’ + +‘Beware of putting me forward,’ said Claude, rising, and, as he leant +against the chimney-piece, looking down from his height of six feet +three, with a patronising air upon his cousin, ‘I shall be taken for the +hero, and you for my little brother.’ + +‘I wish I was,’ said Lord Rotherwood, ‘it would be much better fun. I +should escape the speechifying, the worst part of it.’ + +‘Yes,’ said Claude, ‘for one whose speeches will be scraps of three words +each, strung together with the burthen of the apprentices’ song, Radara +tadara, tandore.’ + +‘Radaratade,’ said the Marquis, laughing. ‘By the bye, if Eleanor and +Frank Hawkesworth manage well, they may be here in time.’ + +‘Because they are so devoted to gaiety?’ said Claude. ‘You will say next +that William is coming from Canada, on purpose.’ + +‘That tall captain!’ said Lord Rotherwood. ‘He used to be a very awful +person.’ + +‘Ah! he used to keep the spoilt Marquis in order,’ said Claude. + +‘To say nothing of the spoilt Claude,’ returned Lord Rotherwood. + +‘Claude never was spoilt,’ said Lily. + +‘It was not Eleanor’s way,’ said Emily. + +‘At least she cannot be accused of spoiling me,’ said Lord Rotherwood. +‘I shall never dare to write at that round table again—her figure will +occupy the chair like Banquo’s ghost, and wave me off with a knitting +needle.’ + +‘Ah! that stain of ink was a worse blot on your character than on the new +table cover,’ said Claude. + +‘She was rigidly impartial,’ said Lord Rotherwood. + +‘No,’ said Claude, ‘she made exceptions in favour of Ada and me. She +left the spoiling of the rest to Emily.’ + +‘And well Emily will perform it! A pretty state you will be in by the +30th of July, 1846,’ said Lord Rotherwood. + +‘Why should not Emily make as good a duenna as Eleanor?’ said Lily. + +‘Why should she not? She will not—that is all,’ said the Marquis. ‘Such +slow people you all are! You would all go to sleep if I did not +sometimes rouse you up a little—grow stagnant.’ + +‘Not an elegant comparison,’ said Lilias; ‘besides, you must remember +that your hasty brawling streams do not reflect like tranquil lakes.’ + +‘One of Lily’s poetical hits, I declare!’ said Lord Rotherwood, ‘but she +need not have taken offence—I did not refer to her—only Claude and Emily, +and perhaps—no, I will not say who else.’ + +‘Then, Rotherwood, I will tell you what I am—the Lily that derives all +its support from the calm lake.’ + +‘Well done, Lily, worthy of yourself,’ cried Lord Rotherwood, laughing, +‘but you know I am always off when you talk poetry.’ + +‘I suspect it is time for us all to be off,’ said Claude, ‘did I not hear +it strike the quarter?’ + +‘And to-morrow I shall be off in earnest,’ said Lord Rotherwood. ‘Half +way to London before Claude has given one turn to “his sides, and his +shoulders, and his heavy head.”’ + +‘Shall we see you at Easter?’ said Emily. + +‘No, I do not think you will. I am engaged to stay with somebody +somewhere, I forget the name of place and man; besides, Grosvenor Square +is more tolerable then than at any other time of the year, and I shall +spend a fortnight with my mother and Florence. It is after Easter that +you come to Oxford, is it not, Claude?’ + +‘Yes, my year of idleness will be over. And there is the Baron looking +at his watch.’ + +The ‘Baron’ was the title by which the young people were wont to +distinguish Mr. Mohun, who, as Lily believed, had a right to the title of +Baron of Beechcroft. It was certain that he was the representative of a +family which had been settled at Beechcroft ever since the Norman +Conquest, and Lily was very proud of the name of Sir William de Moune in +the battle roll, and of Sir John among the first Knights of the Garter. +Her favourite was Sir Maurice, who had held out Beechcroft Court for six +weeks against the Roundheads, and had seen the greater part of the walls +battered down. Witnesses of the strength of the old castle yet remained +in the massive walls and broad green ramparts, which enclosed what was +now orchard and farm-yard, and was called the Old Court, while the +dwelling-house, built by Sir Maurice after the Restoration, was named the +New Court. Sir Maurice had lost many an acre in the cause of King +Charles, and his new mansion was better suited to the honest squires who +succeeded him, than to the mighty barons his ancestors. It was +substantial and well built, with a square gravelled court in front, and +great, solid, folding gates opening into a lane, bordered with very tall +well-clipped holly hedges, forming a polished, green, prickly wall. +There was a little door in one of these gates, which was scarcely ever +shut, from whence a well-worn path led to the porch, where generally +reposed a huge Newfoundland dog, guardian of the hoops and walkingsticks +that occupied the corners. The front door was of heavy substantial oak, +studded with nails, and never closed in the daytime, and the hall, +wainscoted and floored with slippery oak, had a noble open fireplace, +with a wood fire burning on the hearth. + +On the other side of the house was a terrace sloping down to a lawn and +bowling-green, hedged in by a formal row of evergreens. A noble +plane-tree was in the middle of the lawn, and beyond it a pond renowned +for water-lilies. To the left was the kitchen garden, terminating in an +orchard, planted on the ramparts and moat of the Old Court; then came the +farm buildings, and beyond them a field, sloping upwards to an extensive +wood called Beechcroft Park. In the wood was the cottage of Walter +Greenwood, gamekeeper and woodman by hereditary succession, but able and +willing to turn his hand to anything, and, in fact, as Adeline once +elegantly termed him, the ‘family tee totum.’ + +To the right of the house there was a field, called Long Acre, bounded on +the other side by the turnpike road to Raynham, which led up the hill to +the village green, surrounded by well-kept cottages and gardens. The +principal part of the village was, however, at the foot of the hill, +where the Court lane crossed the road, led to the old church, the school, +and parsonage, in its little garden, shut in by thick yew hedges. Beyond +was the blacksmith’s shop, more cottages, and Mrs. Appleton’s wondrous +village warehouse; and the lane, after passing by the handsome old +farmhouse of Mr. Harrington, Mr. Mohun’s principal tenant, led to a +bridge across a clear trout stream, the boundary of the parish of +Beechcroft. + + + + +CHAPTER III +THE NEW PRINCIPLE + + + ‘And wilt thou show no more, quoth he, + Than doth thy duty bind? + I well perceive thy love is small.’ + +ON the Sunday evening which followed Eleanor’s wedding, Lilias was +sitting next to Emily, and talking in very earnest tones, which after a +time occasioned Claude to look up and say, ‘What is all this about? +Something remarkably absurd I suspect.’ + +‘Only a new principle,’ said Emily. + +‘New!’ cried Lily, ‘only what must be the feeling of every person of any +warmth of character?’ + +‘Now for it then,’ said Claude. + +‘No, no, Claude, I really mean it (and Lily sincerely thought she did). +I will not tell you if you are going to laugh.’ + +‘That depends upon what your principle may chance to be,’ said Claude. +‘What is it, Emily? She will be much obliged to you for telling.’ + +‘She only says she cannot bear people to do their duty, and not to act +from a feeling of love,’ said Emily. + +‘That is not fair,’ returned Lily, ‘all I say is, that it is better that +people should act upon love for its own sake, than upon duty for its own +sake.’ + +‘What comes in rhyme with Lily?’ said Claude. + +‘Don’t be tiresome, Claude, I really want you to understand me.’ + +‘Wait till you understand yourself,’ said the provoking brother, ‘and let +me finish what I am reading.’ + +For about a quarter of an hour he was left in peace, while Lily was +busily employed with a pencil and paper, under the shadow of a book, and +at length laid before him the following verses:— + + ‘What is the source of gentleness, + The spring of human blessedness, + Bringing the wounded spirit healing, + The comforts high of heaven revealing, + The lightener of each daily care, + The wing of hope, the life of prayer, + The zest of joy, the balm of sorrow, + Bliss of to-day, hope of to-morrow, + The glory of the sun’s bright beam, + The softness of the pale moon stream, + The flow’ret’s grace, the river’s voice, + The tune to which the birds rejoice; + Without it, vain each learned page, + Cold and unfelt each council sage, + Heavy and dull each human feature, + Lifeless and wretched every creature; + In which alone the glory lies, + Which value gives to sacrifice? + ’Tis that which formed the whole creation, + Which rests on every generation. + Of Paradise the only token + Just left us, ’mid our treasures broken, + Which never can from us be riven, + Sure earnest of the joys of Heaven. + And which, when earth shall pass away, + Shall be our rest on the last day, + When tongues shall fail and knowledge cease, + And throbbing hearts be all at peace: + When faith is sight, and hope is sure, + That which alone shall still endure + Of earthly joys in heaven above, + ’Tis that best gift, eternal Love!’ + +‘What have you there?’ said Mr. Mohun, who had come towards them while +Claude was reading the lines. Taking the paper from Claude’s hand, he +read it to himself, and then saying, ‘Tolerable, Lily; there are some +things to alter, but you may easily make it passable,’ he went on to his +own place, leaving Lilias triumphant. + +‘Well, Claude, you see I have the great Baron on my side.’ + +‘I am of the Baron’s opinion,’ said Claude, ‘the only wonder is that you +doubted it.’ + +‘You seemed to say that love was good for nothing.’ + +‘I said nothing but that Lily has a rhyme.’ + +‘And saying that I was silly, was equivalent to saying that love was +nothing,’ said Lily. + +‘O Lily, I hope not,’ said Claude, with a comical air. + +‘Well, I know I often am foolish, but not in this,’ said Lily; ‘I do say +that mere duty is not lovable.’ + +‘Say it if you will then,’ said Claude, yawning, ‘only let me finish this +sermon.’ + +Lily set herself to reconsider some of her lines: but presently Emily +left the room, Claude looked up, and Lily exclaimed, ‘Now, Claude, let us +make a trial of it.’ + +‘Well,’ said Claude, yawning again, and looking resigned. + +‘Think how Eleanor went on telling us of duty, duty, duty—never making +allowances—never relaxing her stiff rules about trifles—never unbending +from her duenna-like dignity—never showing one spark of enthusiasm—making +great sacrifices, but only because she thought them her duty—because it +was right—good for herself—only a higher kind of selfishness—not because +her feeling prompted her.’ + +‘Certainly, feeling does not usually prompt people to give up their +lovers for the sake of their brothers and sisters.’ + +‘She did it because it was her duty,’ said Lily, ‘quite as if she did not +care.’ + +‘I wonder whether Frank thought so,’ said Claude. + +‘At any rate you will confess that Emily is a much more engaging person,’ +said Lily. + +‘Certainly, I had rather talk nonsense to her,’ said Claude. + +‘You feel it, though you will not allow it,’ said Lily. ‘Now think of +Emily’s sympathy, and gentleness, and sweet smile, and tell me if she is +not a complete personification of love. And then Eleanor, +unpoetical—never thrown off her balance by grief or joy, with no ups and +downs—no enthusiasm—no appreciation of the beautiful—her highest praise +“very right,” and tell me if there can be a better image of duty.’ + +Claude might have had some chance of bringing Lily to her senses, if he +had allowed that there was some truth in what she had said; but he +thought the accusation so unjust in general, that he would not agree to +any part of it, and only answered, ‘You have very strange views of duty +and of Eleanor.’ + +‘Well!’ replied Lily, ‘I only ask you to watch; Emily and I are +determined to act on the principle of love, and you will see if her +government is not more successful than that of duty.’ + +Such was the principle upon which Lily intended her sister to govern the +household, and to which Emily listened without knowing what she meant +much better than she did herself. Emily’s own views, as far as she +possessed any, were to get on as smoothly as she could, and make +everybody pleased and happy, without much trouble to herself, and also to +make the establishment look a little more as if a Lady Emily had lately +been its mistress, than had been the case in Eleanor’s time. Mr. Mohun’s +property was good, but he wished to avoid unnecessary display and +expense, and he expected his daughters to follow out these views, keeping +a wise check upon Emily, by looking over her accounts every Saturday, and +turning a deaf ear when she talked of the age of the drawing-room carpet, +and the ugliness of the old chariot. Emily had a good deal on her hands, +requiring sense and activity, but Lilias and Jane were now quite old +enough to assist her. Lily however, thought fit to despise all household +affairs, and bestowed the chief of her attention on her own +department—the village school and poor people; and she was also much +engrossed by her music and drawing, her German and Italian, and her verse +writing. + +Claude had more power over her than any one else. He was a gentle, +amiable boy, of high talent, but disposed to indolence by ill health. In +most matters he was, however, victorious over this propensity, which was +chiefly visible in his love of easy chairs, and his dislike of active +sports, which made him the especial companion of his sisters. A +dangerous illness had occasioned his removal from Eton, and he had since +been at home, reading with his cousin Mr. Devereux, and sharing his +sisters’ amusements. + +Jane was in her own estimation an important member of the administration, +and in fact, was Emily’s chief assistant and deputy. She was very small +and trimly made, everything fitted her precisely, and she had tiny +dexterous fingers, and active little feet, on which she darted about +noiselessly and swiftly as an arrow; an oval brown face, bright colour, +straight features, and smooth dark hair, bright sparkling black eyes, a +little mouth, wearing an arch subdued smile, very white teeth, and +altogether the air of a woman in miniature. Brisk, bold, and blithe—ever +busy and ever restless, she was generally known by the names of Brownie +and Changeling, which were not inappropriate to her active and prying +disposition. + +Excepting Claude and Emily, the young party were early risers, and Lily +especially had generally despatched a good deal of business before the +eight o’clock breakfast. + +At nine they went to church, Mr. Devereux having restored the custom of +daily service, and after this, Mr. Mohun attended to his multitudinous +affairs; Claude went to the parsonage,—Emily to the storeroom, Lily to +the village, the younger girls to the schoolroom, where they were +presently joined by Emily. Lily remained in her own room till one +o’clock, when she joined the others in the schoolroom, and they read +aloud some book of history till two, the hour of dinner for the younger, +and of luncheon for the elder. They then went out, and on their return +from evening service, which began at half-past four, the little ones had +their lessons to learn, and the others were variously employed till +dinner, the time of which was rather uncertain but always late. The +evening passed pleasantly and quickly away in reading, work, music, and +chatter. + +As Emily had expected, her first troubles were with Phyllis; called, not +the neat handed, by her sisters; Master Phyl, by her brothers; and Miss +Tomboy, by the maids. She seemed born to be a trial of patience to all +concerned with her; yet without many actual faults, except giddiness, +restlessness, and unrestrained spirits. In the drawing-room, schoolroom, +and nursery she was continually in scrapes, and so often reproved and +repentant, that her loud roaring fits of crying were amongst the ordinary +noises of the New Court. She was terribly awkward when under constraint, +or in learning any female accomplishment, but swift and ready when at her +ease, and glorying in the boyish achievements of leaping ditches and +climbing trees. Her voice was rather highly pitched, and she had an +inveterate habit of saying, ‘I’ll tell you what,’ at the beginning of all +her speeches. She was not tall, but strong, square, firm, and active; +she had a round merry face, a broad forehead, and large bright laughing +eyes, of a doubtful shade between gray and brown. Her mouth was wide, +her nose turned up, her complexion healthy, but not rosy, and her stiff +straight brown hair was more apt to hang over her eyes, than to remain in +its proper place behind her ears. + +Adeline was very different; her fair and brilliant complexion, her deep +blue eyes and golden ringlets, made her a very lovely little creature; +her quietness was a relief after her sister’s boisterous merriment, and +her dislike of dirt and brambles, continually contrasted with poor +Phyllis’s recklessness of such impediments. Ada readily learnt lessons, +which cost Phyllis and her teacher hours of toil; Ada worked deftly when +Phyllis’s stiff fingers never willingly touched a needle; Ada played with +a doll, drew on scraps of paper, or put up dissected maps, while Phyllis +was in mischief or in the way. A book was the only chance of interesting +her; but very few books took her fancy enough to occupy her long;—those +few, however, she read over and over again, and when unusual tranquillity +reigned in the drawing-room, she was sure to be found curled up at the +top of the library steps, reading one of three books—_Robinson Crusoe_, +_Little Jack_, or _German Popular Tales_. Then Emily blamed her +ungraceful position, Jane laughed at her uniform taste, and Lily proposed +some story about modern children, such as Phyllis never could like, and +the constant speech was repeated, ‘Only look at Ada!’ till Phyllis +considered her sister as a perfect model, and sighed over her own +naughtiness. + +_German Popular Tales_ were a recent introduction of Claude’s, for +Eleanor had carefully excluded all fairy tales from her sisters’ library; +so great was her dread of works of fiction, that Emily and Lilias had +never been allowed to read any of the Waverley Novels, excepting _Guy +Mannering_, which their brother Henry had insisted upon reading aloud to +them the last time he was at home, and that had taken so strong a hold on +their imagination, that Eleanor was quite alarmed. + +One day Mr. Mohun chanced to refer to some passage in _Waverley_, and on +finding that his daughters did not understand him, he expressed great +surprise at their want of taste. + +Poor things,’ said Claude, ‘they cannot help it; do not you know that +Eleanor thinks the Waverley Novels a sort of slow poison? They know no +more of them than their outsides.’ + +‘Well, the sooner they know the inside the better.’ + +‘Then may we really read them, papa?’ cried Lily. + +‘And welcome,’ said her father. + +This permission once given, the young ladies had no idea of moderation; +Lily’s heart and soul were wrapped up in whatever tale she chanced to be +reading—she talked of little else, she neglected her daily occupations, +and was in a kind of trance for about three weeks. At length she was +recalled to her senses by her father’s asking her why she had shown him +no drawings lately. Lily hesitated for a moment, and then said, ‘Papa, I +am sorry I was so idle.’ + +‘Take care,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘let us be able to give a good account of +ourselves when Eleanor comes.’ + +‘I am afraid, papa,’ said Lily, ‘the truth is, that my head has been so +full of _Woodstock_ for the last few days, that I could do nothing.’ + +‘And before that?’ + +‘_The Bride of Lammermoor_.’ + +‘And last week?’ + +‘_Waverley_. Oh! papa, I am afraid you must be very angry with me.’ + +‘No, no, Lily, not yet,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘I do not think you quite knew +what an intoxicating draught you had got hold of; I should have cautioned +you. Your negligence has not yet been a serious fault, though remember, +that it becomes so after warning.’ + +‘Then,’ said Lily, ‘I will just finish _Peveril_ at once, and get it out +of my head, and then read no more of the dear books,’ and she gave a deep +sigh. + +‘Lily would take the temperance pledge, on condition that she might +finish her bottle at a draught,’ said Mr. Mohun. + +Lily laughed, and looked down, feeling quite unable to offer to give up +_Peveril_ before she had finished it, but her father relieved her, by +saying in his kind voice, ‘No, no, Lily, take my advice, read those +books, for most of them are very good reading, and very pretty reading, +and very useful reading, and you can hardly be called a well-educated +person if you do not know them; but read them only after the duties of +the day are done—make them your pleasure, but do not make yourself their +slave.’ + +‘Lily,’ said Claude the next morning, as he saw her prepare her +drawing-desk, ‘why are you not reading _Peveril_?’ + +‘You know what papa said yesterday,’ was the answer. + +‘Oh! but I thought your feelings were with poor Julian in the Tower,’ +said Claude. + +‘My feelings prompt me to sacrifice my pleasure in reading about him to +please papa, after he spoke so kindly.’ + +‘If that is always the effect of your principle, I shall think better of +it,’ said Claude. + +Lily, whether from her new principle, or her old habits of obedience, +never ventured to touch one of her tempters till after five o’clock, but, +as she was a very rapid reader, she generally contrived to devour more +than a sufficient quantity every evening, so that she did not enjoy them +as much as she would, had she been less voracious in her appetite, and +they made her complain grievously of the dulness of the latter part of +Russell’s _Modern Europe_, which was being read in the schoolroom, and +yawn nearly as much as Phyllis over the ‘Pragmatic Sanction.’ However, +when that book was concluded, and they began Palgrave’s _Anglo Saxons_, +Lily was seized within a sudden historical fever. She could hardly wait +till one o’clock, before she settled herself at the schoolroom table with +her work, and summoned every one, however occupied, to listen to the +reading. + + + + +CHAPTER IV +HONEST PHYL + + + ‘Multiplication + Is a vexation.’ + +IT was a bright and beautiful afternoon in March, the song of the +blackbird and thrush, and the loud chirp of the titmouse, came merrily +through the schoolroom window, mixed with the sounds of happy voices in +the garden; the western sun shone brightly in, and tinged the white +wainscoted wall with yellow light; the cat sat in the window-seat, +winking at the sun, and sleepily whisking her tail for the amusement of +her kitten, which was darting to and fro, and patting her on the head, in +the hope of rousing her to some more active sport. + +But in the midst of all these joyous sights and sounds, was heard a +dolorous voice repeating, ‘three and four are—three and four are—oh dear! +they are—seven, no, but I do not think it is a four after all, is it not +a one? Oh dear!’ And on the floor lay Phyllis, her back to the window, +kicking her feet slowly up and down, and yawning and groaning over her +slate. + +Presently the door opened, and Claude looked in, and very nearly departed +again instantly, for Phyllis at that moment made a horrible squeaking +with her slate-pencil, the sound above all others that he disliked. He, +however, stopped, and asked where Emily was. + +‘Out in the garden,’ answered Phyllis, with a tremendous yawn. + +‘What are you doing here, looking so piteous?’ said Claude. + +‘My sum,’ said Phyllis. + +‘Is this your time of day for arithmetic?’ asked he. + +‘No,’ said Phyllis, ‘only I had not done it by one o’clock to-day, and +Lily said I must finish after learning my lessons for to-morrow, but I do +not think I shall ever have done, it is so hard. Oh!’ (another stretch +and a yawn, verging on a howl), ‘and Jane and Ada are sowing the +flower-seeds. Oh dear! Oh dear!’ and Phyllis’s face contracted, in +readiness to cry. + +‘And is that the best position for doing sums?’ said Claude. + +‘I was obliged to lie down here to get out of the way of Ada’s sum,’ said +Phyllis, getting up. + +‘Get out of the way of Ada’s sum?’ repeated Claude. + +‘Yes, she left it on the table where I was sitting, where I could see it, +and it is this very one, so I must not look at it; I wish I could do sums +as fast as she can.’ + +‘Could you not have turned the other side of the slate upwards?’ said +Claude, smiling. + +‘So I could!’ said Phyllis, as if a new light had broken in upon her. +‘But then I wanted to be out of sight of pussy, for I could not think a +bit, while the kitten was at play so prettily, and I kicked my heels to +keep from hearing the voices in the garden, for it does make me so +unhappy!’ + +Some good-natured brothers would have told the little girl not to mind, +and sent her out to enjoy herself, but Claude respected Phyllis’s honesty +too much to do so, and he said, ‘Well, Phyl, let me see the sum, and we +will try if we cannot conquer it between us.’ + +Phyllis’s face cleared up in an instant, as she brought the slate to her +brother. + +‘What is this?’ said he; ‘I do not understand.’ + +‘Compound Addition,’ said Phyllis, ‘I did one with Emily yesterday, and +this is the second.’ + +‘Oh! these are marks between the pounds, shillings, and pence,’ said +Claude, ‘I took them for elevens; well, I do not wonder at your troubles, +I could not do this sum as it is set.’ + +‘Could not you, indeed?’ cried Phyllis, quite delighted. + +‘No, indeed,’ said Claude. ‘Suppose we set it again, more clearly; but +how is this? When I was in the schoolroom we always had a sponge +fastened to the slate.’ + +‘Yes,’ said Phyllis, ‘I had one before Eleanor went, but my string broke, +and I lost it, and Emily always forgets to give me another. I will run +and wash the slate in the nursery; but how shall we know what the sum +is?’ + +‘Why, I suppose I may look at Ada’s slate, though you must not,’ said +Claude, laughing to himself at poor little honest simplicity, as he +applied himself to cut a new point to her very stumpy slate-pencil, and +she scampered away, and returned in a moment with her clean slate. + +‘Oh, how nice and fresh it all looks!’ said she as he set down the clear +large figures. ‘I cannot think how you can do it so evenly.’ + +‘Now, Phyl, do not let the pencil scream if you can help it.’ + +Claude found that Phyllis’s great difficulty was with the farthings. She +could not understand the fractional figures, and only knew thus far, that +‘Emily said it never meant four.’ + +Claude began explaining, but his first attempt was far too scientific. +Phyllis gave a desponding sigh, looking so mystified, that he began to +believe that she was hopelessly dull, and to repent of having offered to +help her; but at last, by means of dividing a card into four pieces, he +succeeded in making her comprehend him, and her eyes grew bright with the +pleasure of understanding. + +Even then the difficulties were not conquered, her addition was very +slow, and dividing by twelve and twenty seemed endless work; at length +the last figure of the pounds was set down, the slate was compared with +Adeline’s, and the sum pronounced to be right. Phyllis capered up to the +kitten and tossed it up in the air in her joy, then coming slowly back to +her brother, she said with a strange, awkward air, hanging down her head, +‘Claude, I’ll tell you what—’ + +‘Well, what?’ said Claude. + +‘I should like to kiss you.’ + +Then away she bounded, clattered down stairs, and flew across the lawn to +tell every one she met that Claude had helped her to do her sum, and that +it was quite right. + +‘Did you expect that it would be too hard for him, Phyl?’ said Jane, +laughing. + +‘No,’ said Phyllis, ‘but he said he could not do it as it was set.’ + +‘And whose fault was that?’ said Jane. + +‘Oh! but he showed me how to set it better,’ said Phyllis, ‘and he said +that when he learnt the beginning of fractions, he thought them as hard +as I do.’ + +‘Fractions!’ said Jane, ‘you do not fancy you have come to fractions yet! +Fine work you will make of them when you do!’ + +In the evening, as soon as the children were gone to bed, Jane took a +paper out of her work-basket, saying, ‘There, Emily, is my account of +Phyl’s scrapes through this whole week; I told you I should write them +all down.’ + +‘How kind!’ muttered Claude. + +Regardless of her brother, who had not looked up from his book, Jane +began reading her list of poor Phyllis’s misadventures. ‘On Monday she +tore her frock by climbing a laurel-tree, to look at a blackbird’s nest.’ + +‘I gave her leave,’ said Emily. ‘Rachel had ordered her not to climb; +and she was crying because she could not see the nest that Wat Greenwood +had found.’ + +‘On Tuesday she cried over her French grammar, and tore a leaf out of the +old spelling-book.’ + +‘That was nearly out before,’ said Emily, ‘Maurice and Redgie spoilt that +long ago.’ + +‘I do not know of anything on Wednesday, but on Thursday she threw Ada +down the steps out of the nursery.’ + +‘Oh! that accounts for the dreadful screaming that I heard,’ said Claude; +‘I forgot to ask the meaning of it.’ + +‘I am sure it was Phyl that was the most dismayed, and cried the +loudest,’ said Lily. + +‘That she always does,’ said Jane. ‘On Friday we had an uproar in the +schoolroom about her hemming, and on Saturday she tumbled into a wet +ditch, and tore her bonnet in the brambles; on Sunday, she twisted her +ancles together at church.’ + +‘Well, there I did chance to observe her,’ said Lily, ‘there seemed to be +a constant struggle between her ancles and herself, they were continually +coming lovingly together, but were separated the next moment.’ + +‘And to-day this sum,’ said Jane; ‘seven scrapes in one week! I really +am of opinion, as Rachel says when she is angry, that school is the best +place for her.’ + +‘I think so too,’ said Claude. + +‘I do not know,’ said Emily, ‘she is very troublesome, but—’ + +‘Oh, Claude!’ cried Lily, ‘you do not mean that you would have that poor +dear merry Master Phyl sent to school, she would pine away like a wild +bird in a cage; but papa will never think of such a thing.’ + +‘If I thought of her being sent to school,’ said Claude, ‘it would be to +shield her from—the rule of love.’ + +‘Oh! you think we are too indulgent,’ said Emily; ‘perhaps we are, but +you know we cannot torment a poor child all day long.’ + +‘If you call the way you treat her indulgent, I should like to know what +you call severe.’ + +‘What do you mean, Claude?’ said Emily. + +‘I call your indulgence something like the tender mercies of the wicked,’ +said Claude. ‘On a fine day, when every one is taking their pleasure in +the garden, to shut an unhappy child up in the schoolroom, with a hard +sum that you have not taken the trouble to teach her how to do, and late +in the day, when no one’s head is clear for difficult arithmetic—’ + +‘Hard sum do you call it?’ said Jane. + +‘Indeed I explained it to her,’ said Emily. + +‘And well she understood you,’ said Claude. + +‘She might have learnt if she had attended,’ said Emily; ‘Ada understood +clearly, with the same explanation.’ + +‘And do not you be too proud of the effect of your instructions, Claude,’ +said Jane, ‘for when honest Phyl came into the garden, she did not know +farthings from fractions.’ + +‘And pray, Mrs. Senior Wrangler,’ said Claude, ‘will you tell me where is +the difference between a half-penny and half a penny?’ + +After a good laugh at Jane’s expense, Emily went on, ‘Now, Claude, I will +tell you how it happened; Phyllis is so slow, and dawdles over her +lessons so long, that it is quite a labour to hear her; Ada is quick +enough, but if you were to hear Phyllis say one column of spelling, you +would know what misery is. Then before she has half finished, the clock +strikes one, it is time to read, and the lessons are put off till the +afternoon. I certainly did not know that she was about her sum all that +time, or I would have sent her out as I did on Saturday.’ + +‘And the reading at one is as fixed as fate,’ said Claude. + +‘Oh, no!’ said Jane, ‘when we were about old “Russell,” we did not begin +till nearly two, but since we have been reading this book, Lily will +never let us rest till we begin; she walks up and down, and hurries and +worries and—’ + +‘Yes,’ said Emily, in a murmuring voice, ‘we should do better if Lily +would not make such a point of that one thing; but she never minds what +else is cut short, and she never thinks of helping me. It never seems to +enter her head how much I have on my hands, and no one does anything to +help me.’ + +‘Oh, Emily! you never asked me,’ said Lily. + +‘I knew you would not like it,’ said Emily. ‘No, it is not my way to +complain, people may see how to help me if they choose to do it.’ + +‘Lily, Lily, take care,’ said Claude, in a low voice; ‘is not the rule +you admire, the rule of love of yourself?’ + +‘Oh, Claude!’ returned Lily, ‘do not say so, you know it was Emily that I +called an example of it, not myself, and see how forbearing she has been. +Now I see that I am really wanted, I will help. It must be love, not +duty, that calls me to the schoolroom, for no one ever said that was my +province.’ + +‘Poor duty! you give it a very narrow boundary.’ + +Lilias, who, to say the truth, had been made more careful of her own +conduct, by the wish to establish her principle, really betook herself to +the schoolroom for an hour every morning, with a desire to be useful. +She thought she did great things in undertaking those tasks of Phyllis’s +which Emily most disliked. But Lilias was neither patient nor humble +enough to be a good teacher, though she could explain difficult rules in +a sensible way. She could not, or would not, understand the difference +between dulness and inattention; her sharp hasty manner would frighten +away all her pupil’s powers of comprehension; she sometimes fell into the +great error of scolding, when Phyllis was doing her best, and the poor +child’s tears flowed more frequently than ever. + +Emily’s gentle manner made her instructions far more agreeable, though +she was often neither clear nor correct in her explanations; she was +contented if the lessons were droned through in any manner, so long as +she could say they were done; she disliked a disturbance, and overlooked +or half corrected mistakes rather than cause a cry. Phyllis naturally +preferred being taught by her, and Lily was vexed and unwilling to +persevere. She went to the schoolroom expecting to be annoyed, created +vexation for herself, and taught in anything but a loving spirit. Still, +however, the thought of Claude, and the wish to do more than her duty, +kept her constant to her promise, and her love of seeing things well done +was useful, though sadly counterbalanced by her deficiency in temper and +patience. + + + + +CHAPTER V +VILLAGE GOSSIP + + + ‘The deeds we do, the words we say, + Into still air they seem to fleet; + We count them past, + But they shall last.’ + +SOON after Easter, Claude went to Oxford. He was much missed by his +sisters, who wanted him to carve for them at luncheon, to escort them +when they rode or walked, to hear their music, talk over their books, +advise respecting their drawings, and criticise Lily’s verses. A new +subject of interest was, however, arising for them in the neighbours who +were shortly expected to arrive at Broom Hill, a house which had lately +been built in a hamlet about a mile and a half from the New Court. + +These new comers were the family of a barrister of the name of Weston, +who had taken the house for the sake of his wife, her health having been +much injured by her grief at the loss of two daughters in the scarlet +fever. Two still remained, a grown-up young lady, and a girl of eleven +years old, and the Miss Mohuns learnt with great delight that they should +have near neighbours of their own age. They had never had any young +companions as young ladies were scarce among their acquaintance, and they +had not seen their cousin, Lady Florence Devereux, since they were +children. + +It was with great satisfaction that Emily and Lilias set out with their +father to make the first visit, and they augured well from their first +sight of Mrs. Weston and her daughters. Mrs. Weston was alone, her +daughters being out walking, and Lily spent the greater part of the visit +in silence, though her mind was made up in the first ten minutes, as she +told Emily on leaving the house, ‘that Miss Weston’s tastes were in +complete accordance with her own.’ + +‘Rapid judgment,’ said Emily. ‘Love before first sight. But Mrs. Weston +is a very sweet person.’ + +‘And, Emily, did you see the music-book open at “Angels ever bright and +fair?” If Miss Weston sings that as I imagine it!’ + +‘How could you see what was in the music-book at the other end of the +room? I only saw it was a beautiful piano. And what handsome furniture! +it made me doubly ashamed of our faded carpet and chairs, almost as old +as the house itself.’ + +‘Emily!’ said Lily, in her most earnest tones, ‘I would not change one of +those dear old chairs for a king’s ransom!’ + +The visit was in a short time returned, and though it was but a formal +morning call, Lilias found her bright expectations realised by the +sweetness of Alethea Weston’s manners, and the next time they met it was +a determined thing in her mind that, as Claude would have said, they had +sworn an eternal friendship. + +She had the pleasure of lionising the two sisters over the Old Court, +telling all she knew and all she imagined about the siege, Sir Maurice +Mohun, and his faithful servant, Walter Greenwood. ‘Miss Weston,’ said +she in conclusion, ‘have you read _Old Mortality_?’ + +‘Yes,’ said Alethea, amused at the question. + +‘Because they say I am as bad as Lady Margaret about the king’s visit.’ + +‘I have not heard the story often enough to think so,’ said Miss Weston, +‘I will warn you if I do.’ + +In the meantime Phyllis and Adeline were equally charmed with Marianne, +though shocked at her ignorance of country manners, and, indeed, Alethea +was quite diverted with Lily’s pity at the discovery that she had never +before been in the country in the spring. ‘What,’ she cried, ‘have you +never seen the tufts of red on the hazel, nor the fragrant golden palms, +and never heard the blackbird rush twittering out of the hedge, nor the +first nightingale’s note, nor the nightjar’s low chirr, nor the +chattering of the rooks? O what a store of sweet memories you have lost! +Why, how can you understand the beginning of the Allegro?’ + +Both the Miss Westons had so much pleasure in making acquaintance with +‘these delights,’ as quite to compensate for their former ignorance, and +soon the New Court rang with their praises. Mr. Mohun thought very +highly of the whole family, and rejoiced in such society for his +daughters, and they speedily became so well acquainted, that it was the +ordinary custom of the Westons to take luncheon at the New Court on +Sunday. On her side, however, Alethea Weston felt some reluctance to +become intimate with the young ladies of the New Court. She was pleased +with Emily’s manners, interested by Lily’s earnestness and simplicity, +and thought Jane a clever and amusing little creature, but even their +engaging qualities gave her pain, by reminding her of the sisters she had +lost, or by making her think how they would have liked them. A country +house and neighbours like these had been the objects of many visions of +their childhood, and now all the sweet sights and sounds around her only +made her think how she should have enjoyed them a year ago. She felt +almost jealous of Marianne’s liking for her new friends, lest they should +steal her heart from Emma and Lucy; but knowing that these were morbid +and unthankful feelings, she struggled against them, and though she +missed her sisters even more than when her mother and Marianne were in +greater need of her attention, she let no sign of her sorrowful feeling +appear, and seeing that Marianne was benefited in health and spirits, by +intercourse with young companions, she gave no hint of her disinclination +to join in the walks and other amusements of the Miss Mohuns. + +She also began to take interest in the poor people. By Mrs. Weston’s +request, Mr. Devereux had pointed out the families which were most in +need of assistance, and Alethea made it her business to find out the best +way of helping them. She visited the village school with Lilias, and +when requested by her and by the Rector to give her aid in teaching, she +did not like to refuse what might be a duty, though she felt very +diffident of her powers of instruction. Marianne, like Phyllis and +Adeline, became a Sunday scholar, and was catechised with the others in +church. Both Mr. Mohun and his nephew thought very highly of the family, +and the latter was particularly glad that Lily should have some older +person to assist her in those parish matters which he left partly in her +charge. + +Mr. Devereux had been Rector of Beechcroft about a year and a half, and +had hitherto been much liked. His parishioners had known him from a boy, +and were interested about him, and though very young, there was something +about him that gained their respect. Almost all his plans were going on +well, and things were, on the whole, in a satisfactory state, though no +one but Lilias expected even Cousin Robert to make a Dreamland of +Beechcroft, and there were days when he looked worn and anxious, and the +girls suspected that some one was behaving ill. + +‘Have you a headache, Robert?’ asked Emily, a few evenings before +Whit-Sunday, ‘you have not spoken three words this evening.’ + +‘Not at all, thank you,’ said Mr. Devereux, smiling, ‘you need not think +to make me your victim, now you have no Claude to nurse.’ + +‘Then if it is not bodily, it is mental,’ said Lily. + +‘I am in a difficulty about the christening of Mrs. Naylor’s child.’ + +‘Naylor the blacksmith?’ said Jane. ‘I thought it was high time for it +to be christened. It must be six weeks old.’ + +‘Is it not to be on Whit-Sunday?’ said Lily, disconsolately. + +‘Oh no! Mrs. Naylor will not hear of bringing the child on a Sunday, and +I could hardly make her think it possible to bring it on Whit-Tuesday.’ + +‘Why did you not insist?’ said Lily. + +‘Perhaps I might, if there was no other holy day at hand, or if there was +not another difficulty, a point on which I cannot give way.’ + +‘Oh! the godfathers and godmothers,’ said Lily, ‘does she want that +charming brother of hers, Edward Gage?’ + +‘Yes, and what is worse, Edward Gage’s dissenting wife, and Dick Rodd, +who shows less sense of religion than any one in the parish, and has +never been confirmed.’ + +‘Could you make them hear reason?’ + +‘They were inclined to be rather impertinent,’ said Mr. Devereux. ‘Old +Mrs. Gage—’ + +‘Oh!’ interrupted Jane, ‘there is no hope for you if the sour Gage is in +the pie.’ + +‘The sour Gage told me people were not so particular in her younger days, +and perhaps they should not have the child christened at all, since I was +such a _contrary_ gentleman. Tom Naylor was not at home, I am to see him +to-morrow.’ + +‘Well, I do not think Tom Naylor is as bad as the rest,’ said Lily; ‘he +would have been tolerable, if he had married any one but Martha Gage.’ + +‘Yes, he is an open good-natured fellow, and I have hopes of making an +impression on him.’ + +‘If not,’ said Lily, ‘I hope papa will take away his custom.’ + +‘What?’ said Mr. Mohun, who always heard any mention of himself. Mr. +Devereux repeated his history, and discussed the matter with his uncle, +only once interrupted by an inquiry from Jane about the child’s name, a +point on which she could gain no intelligence. His report the next day +was not decidedly unfavourable, though he scarcely hoped the christening +would be so soon as Tuesday. He had not seen the father, and suspected +he had purposely kept out of the way. + +Jane, disappointed that the baby’s name remained a mystery, resolved to +set out on a voyage of discovery. Accordingly, as soon as her cousin was +gone, she asked Emily if she had not been saying that Ada wanted some +more cotton for her sampler. + +‘Yes,’ said Emily, ‘but I am not going to walk all the way to Mrs. +Appleton’s this afternoon.’ + +‘Shall I go?’ said Jane. ‘Ada, run and fetch your pattern.’ Emily and +Ada were much obliged by Jane’s disinterested offer, and in a quarter of +an hour Ada’s thoughts and hands were busy in Mrs. Appleton’s drawer of +many-coloured cotton. + +‘What a pity this is about Mrs. Naylor’s baby,’ began Jane. + +‘It is a sad story indeed, Miss Jane, I am sure it must be grievous to +Mr. Devereux,’ said Mrs. Appleton. ‘Betsy Wall said he had been there +three times about it.’ + +‘Ah! we all know that Walls have ears,’ said Jane; ‘how that Betsy does +run about gossiping!’ + +‘Yes, Miss Jane, there she bides all day long at the stile gaping; not a +stitch does she do for her mother; I cannot tell what is to be the end of +it.’ + +‘And do you know what the child’s name is to be, Mrs. Appleton?’ + +‘No, Miss Jane,’ answered Mrs. Appleton. ‘Betsy did say they talked of +naming him after his uncle, Edward Gage, only Mr. Devereux would not let +him stand.’ + +‘No,’ said Jane. ‘Since he married that dissenting wife he never comes +near the church; he is too much like the sour Gage, as we call his +mother, to be good for much. But, after all, he is not so bad as Dick +Rodd, who has never been confirmed, and has never shown any sense of +religion in his life.’ + +‘Yes, Miss, Dick Rodd is a sad fellow: did you hear what a row there was +at the Mohun Arms last week, Miss Jane?’ + +‘Aye,’ said Jane, ‘and papa says he shall certainly turn Dick Rodd out of +the house as soon as the lease is out, and it is only till next +Michaelmas twelve-months.’ + +‘Yes, Miss, as I said to Betsy Wall, it would be more for their interest +to behave well.’ + +‘Indeed it would,’ said Jane. ‘Robert and papa were talking of having +their horses shod at Stoney Bridge, if Tom Naylor will be so obstinate, +only papa does not like to give Tom up if he can help it, because his +father was so good, and Tom would not be half so bad if he had not +married one of the Gages.’ + +‘Here is Cousin Robert coming down the lane,’ said Ada, who had chosen +her cotton, and was gazing from the door. Jane gave a violent start, +took a hurried leave of Mrs. Appleton, and set out towards home; she +could not avoid meeting her cousin. + +‘Oh, Jenny! have you been enjoying a gossip with your great ally?’ said +he. + +‘We have only been buying pink cotton,’ said Ada, whose conscience was +clear. + +‘Ah!’ said Mr. Devereux, ‘Beechcroft affairs would soon stand still, +without those useful people, Mrs. Appleton, Miss Wall, and Miss Jane +Mohun,’ and he passed on. Jane felt her face colouring, his freedom from +suspicion made her feel very guilty, but the matter soon passed out of +her mind. + +Blithe Whit-Sunday came, the five Miss Mohuns appeared in white frocks, +new bonnets were plenty, the white tippets of the children, and the +bright shawls of the mothers, made the village look gay; Wat Greenwood +stuck a pink between his lips, and the green boughs of hazel and birch +decked the dark oak carvings in the church. + +And Whit-Monday came. At half-past ten the rude music of the band of the +Friendly Society came pealing from the top of the hill, then appeared two +tall flags, crowned with guelder roses and peonies, then the great blue +drum, the clarionet blown by red-waist-coated and red-faced Mr. Appleton, +the three flutes and the triangle, all at their loudest, causing some of +the spectators to start, and others to dance. Then behold the whole +procession of labourers, in white round frocks, blue ribbons in their +hats, and tall blue staves in their hands. In the rear, the confused +mob, women and children, cheerful faces and mirthful sounds everywhere. +These were hushed as the flags were lowered to pass under the low-roofed +gateway of the churchyard, and all was still, except the trampling of +feet on the stone floor. Then the service began, the responses were made +in full and hearty tones, almost running into a chant, the old 133rd +Psalm was sung as loudly and as badly as usual, a very short but very +earnest sermon was preached, and forth came the troop again. + +Mr. Devereux always dined with the club in a tent, at the top of the +hill, but his uncle made him promise to come to a second dinner at the +New Court in the evening. + +‘Robert looks anxious,’ said Lily, as she parted with him after the +evening service; ‘I am afraid something is going wrong.’ + +‘Trust me for finding out what it is,’ said Jane. + +‘No, no, Jenny, do not ask him,’ said Lily; ‘if he tells us to relieve +his mind, I am very glad he should make friends of us, but do not ask. +Let us talk of other things to put it out of his head, whatever it may +be.’ + +Jane soon heard more of the cause of the depression of her cousin’s +spirits than even she had any desire to do. After dinner, the girls were +walking in the garden, enjoying the warmth of the evening, when Mr. +Devereux came up to her and drew her aside from the rest, telling her +that he wished to speak to her. + +‘Oh!’ said Jane, ‘when am I to meet you at school again? You never told +me which chapter I was to prepare; I cannot think what would become of +your examinations if it was not for me, you could not get an answer to +one question in three.’ + +‘That was not what I wished to speak to you about,’ said Mr. Devereux. +‘What had you been saying to Mrs. Appleton when I met you at her door on +Saturday?’ + +The colour rushed into Jane’s cheeks, but she replied without hesitation, +‘Oh! different things, _La pluie et le beau temps_, just as usual.’ + +‘Cannot you remember anything more distinctly?’ + +‘I always make a point of forgetting what I talk about,’ said Jane, +trying to laugh. + +‘Now, Jane, let me tell you what has happened in the village—as I came +down the hill from the club-dinner—’ + +‘Oh,’ said Jane, hoping to make a diversion, ‘Wat Greenwood came back +about a quarter of an hour ago, and he—’ + +Mr. Devereux proceeded without attending to her, ‘As I came down the hill +from the club-dinner, old Mrs. Gage came out of Naylor’s house, and her +daughter with her, in great anger, calling me to account for having +spoken of her in a most unbecoming way, calling her the sour Gage, and +trying to set the Squire against them.’ + +‘Oh, that abominable chattering woman!’ Jane exclaimed; ‘and Betsy Wall +too, I saw her all alive about something. What a nuisance such people +are!’ + +‘In short,’ said Mr. Devereux, ‘I heard an exaggerated account of all +that passed here on the subject the other day. Now, Jane, am I doing you +any injustice in thinking that it must have been through you that this +history went abroad into the village?’ + +‘Well,’ said Jane, ‘I am sure you never told us that it was any secret. +When a story is openly told to half a dozen people they cannot be +expected to keep it to themselves.’ + +‘I spoke uncharitably and incautiously,’ said he, ‘I am willing to +confess, but it is nevertheless my duty to set before you the great +matter that this little fire has kindled.’ + +‘Why, it cannot have done any great harm, can it?’ asked Jane, the +agitation of her voice and laugh betraying that she was not quite so +careless as she wished to appear. ‘Only the sour Gage will ferment a +little.’ + +‘Oh, Jane! I did not expect that you would treat this matter so +lightly.’ + +‘But tell me, what harm has it done?’ asked she. + +‘Do you consider it nothing that the poor child should remain unbaptized, +that discord should be brought into the parish, that anger should be on +the conscience of your neighbour, that he should be driven from the +church?’ + +‘Is it as bad as that?’ said Jane. + +‘We do not yet see the full extent of the mischief our idle words may +have done,’ said Mr. Devereux. + +‘But it is their own fault, if they will do wrong,’ said Jane; ‘they +ought not to be in a rage, we said nothing but the truth.’ + +‘I wish I was clear of the sin,’ said her cousin. + +‘And after all,’ said Jane, ‘I cannot see that I was much to blame; I +only talked to Mrs. Appleton, as I have done scores of times, and no one +minded it. You only laughed at me on Saturday, and papa and Eleanor +never scolded me.’ + +‘You cannot say that no one has ever tried to check you,’ said the +Rector. + +‘And how was I to know that that mischief-maker would repeat it?’ said +Jane. + +‘I do not mean to say,’ said Mr. Devereux, ‘that you actually committed a +greater sin than you may often have done, by talking in a way which you +knew would displease your father. I know we are too apt to treat lightly +the beginnings of evil, until some sudden sting makes us feel what a +serpent we have been fostering. Think this a warning, pray that the evil +we dread may be averted; but should it ensue, consider it as a punishment +sent in mercy. It will be better for you not to come to school +to-morrow; instead of the references you were to have looked out, I had +rather you read over in a humble spirit the Epistle of St. James.’ + +Jane’s tears by this time were flowing fast, and finding that she no +longer attempted to defend herself, her cousin said no more. He joined +the others, and Jane, escaping to her own room, gave way to a passionate +fit of crying. Whether her tears were of true sorrow or of anger she +could not have told herself; she was still sobbing on her bed when the +darkness came on, and her two little sisters came in on their way to bed +to wish her good-night. + +‘Oh, Jane, Jane! what is the matter? have you been naughty?’ asked the +little girls in great amazement. + +‘Never mind,’ said Jane, shortly; ‘good-night,’ and she sat up and wiped +away her tears. The children still lingered. ‘Go away, do,’ said she. +‘Is Robert gone?’ + +‘No,’ said Phyllis, ‘he is reading the newspaper.’ + +Phyllis and Adeline left the room, and Jane walked up and down, +considering whether she should venture to go down to tea; perhaps her +cousin had waited till the little girls had gone before he spoke to Mr. +Mohun, or perhaps her red eyes might cause questions on her troubles; she +was still in doubt when Lily opened the door, a lamp in her hand. + +‘My dear Jenny, are you here? Ada told me you were crying, what is the +matter?’ + +‘Then you have not heard?’ said Jane. + +‘Only Robert began just now, “Poor Jenny, she has been the cause of +getting us into a very awkward scrape,” but then Ada came to tell me +about you, and I came away.’ + +‘Yes,’ said Jane, angrily, ‘he will throw all the blame upon me, when I +am sure it was quite as much the fault of that horrible Mrs. Appleton, +and papa will be as angry as possible.’ + +‘But what has happened?’ asked Lily. + +‘Oh! that chatterer, that worst of gossipers, has gone and told the +Naylors and Mrs. Gage all we said about them the other day.’ + +‘So you told Mrs. Appleton?’ said Lily; ‘so that was the reason you were +so obliging about the marking thread. Oh, Jane, you had better say no +more about Mrs. Appleton! And has it done much mischief?’ + +‘Oh! Mrs. Gage “pitched” into Robert, as Wat Greenwood would say, and +the christening is off again.’ + +‘Jane, this is frightful,’ said Lily; ‘I do not wonder that you are +unhappy.’ + +‘Well, I daresay it will all come right again,’ said Jane; ‘there will +only be a little delay, papa and Robert will bring them to their senses +in time.’ + +‘Suppose the baby was to die,’ said Lily. + +‘Oh, it will not die,’ said Jane, ‘a great fat healthy thing like that +likely to die indeed!’ + +‘I cannot make you out, Jane,’ said Lily. ‘If I had done such a thing, I +do not think I could have a happy minute till it was set right.’ + +‘Well, I told you I was very sorry,’ said Jane, ‘only I wish they would +not all be so hard upon me. Robert owns that he should not have said +such things if he did not wish them to be repeated.’ + +‘Does he?’ cried Lily. ‘How exactly like Robert that is, to own himself +in fault when he is obliged to blame others. Jane, how could you hear +him say such things and not be overcome with shame? And then to turn it +against him! Oh, Jane, I do not think I can talk to you any more.’ + +‘I do not mean to say it was not very good of him,’ said Jane. + +‘Good of him—what a word!’ cried Lily. ‘Well, good-night, I cannot bear +to talk to you now. Shall I say anything for you downstairs?’ + +‘Oh, tell papa and Robert I am very sorry,’ said Jane. ‘I shall not come +down again, you may leave the lamp.’ + +On her way downstairs in the dark Lilias was led, by the example of her +cousin, to reflect that she was not without some share in the mischief +that had been done; the words which report imputed to Mr. Devereux were +mostly her own or Jane’s. There was no want of candour in Lily, and as +soon as she entered the drawing-room she went straight up to her father +and cousin, and began, ‘Poor Jenny is very unhappy; she desired me to +tell you how sorry she is. But I really believe that I did the mischief, +Robert. It was I who said those foolish things that were repeated as if +you had said them. It is a grievous affair, but who could have thought +that we were doing so much harm?’ + +‘Perhaps it may not do any,’ said Emily. ‘The Naylors have a great deal +of good about them.’ + +‘They must have more than I suppose, if they can endure what Robert is +reported to have said of them,’ said Mr. Mohun. + +‘What did you say, Robert,’ said Lily, ‘did you not tell them all was +said by your foolish young cousins?’ + +‘I agreed with you too much to venture on contradicting the report; you +know I could not even deny having called Mrs. Gage by that name.’ + +‘Oh, if I could do anything to mend it!’ cried Lily. + +But wishes had no effect. Lilias and Jane had to mourn over the full +extent of harm done by hasty words. After the more respectable men had +left the Mohun Arms on the evening of Whit-Monday, the rest gave way to +unrestrained drunkenness, not so much out of reckless self-indulgence, as +to defy the clergyman and the squire. They came to the front of the +parsonage, yelled and groaned for some time, and ended by breaking down +the gate. + +This conduct was repeated on Tuesday, and on many Saturdays following; +some young trees in the churchyard were cut, and abuse of the parson +written on the walls the idle young men taking this opportunity to +revenge their own quarrels, caused by Mr. Devereux’s former efforts for +their reformation. + +On Sunday several children were absent from school; all those belonging +to Farmer Gage’s labourers were taken away, and one man was turned off by +the farmers for refusing to remove his child. + +Now that the war was carried on so openly, Mr. Mohun considered it his +duty to withdraw his custom from one who chose to set his pastor at +defiance. He went to the forge, and had a long conversation with the +blacksmith, but though he was listened to with respect, it was not easy +to make much impression on an ignorant, hot-tempered man, who had been +greatly offended, and prided himself on showing that he would support the +quarrel of his wife and her relations against both squire and parson; and +though Mr. Mohun did persuade him to own that it was wrong to be at war +with the clergyman, the effect of his arguments was soon done away with +by the Gages, and no ground was gained. + +Mr. Gage’s farm was unhappily at no great distance from a dissenting +chapel and school, in the adjoining parish of Stoney Bridge, and thither +the farmer and blacksmith betook themselves, with many of the cottagers +of Broom Hill. + +One alone of the family of Tom Naylor refused to join him in his dissent, +and that was his sister, Mrs. Eden, a widow, with one little girl about +seven years old, who, though in great measure dependent upon him for +subsistence, knew her duty too well to desert the church, or to take her +child from school, and continued her even course, toiling hard for bread, +and uncomplaining, though often munch distressed. All the rest of the +parish who were not immediately under Mr. Mohun’s influence were in a sad +state of confusion. + +Jane was grieved at heart, but would not confess it, and Lilias was so +restless and unhappy, that Emily was quite weary of her lamentations. +Her best comforter was Miss Weston, who patiently listened to her, sighed +with her over the evident sorrow of the Rector, and the mischief in the +parish, and proved herself a true friend, by never attempting to +extenuate her fault. + + + + +CHAPTER VI +THE NEW FRIEND + + + ‘Maidens should be mild and meek, + Swift to hear, and slow to speak.’ + +MISS WESTON had been much interested by what she heard respecting Mrs. +Eden, and gladly discovered that she was just the person who could assist +in some needlework which was required at Broom Hill. She asked Lilias to +tell her where to find her cottage, and Lily replied by an offer to show +her the way; Miss Weston hesitated, thinking that perhaps in the present +state of things Lily had rather not see her; but her doubts were quickly +removed by this speech, ‘I want to see her particularly. I have been +there three times without finding her. I think I can set this terrible +matter right by speaking to her.’ + +Accordingly, Lilias and Phyllis set out with Alethea and Marianne one +afternoon to Mrs. Eden’s cottage, which stood at the edge of a long field +at the top of the hill. Very fast did Lily talk all the way, but she +grew more silent as she came to the cottage, and knocked at the door; it +was opened by Mrs. Eden herself, a pale, but rather pretty young woman, +with a remarkable gentle and pleasing face, and a manner which was almost +ladylike, although her hands were freshly taken out of the wash-tub. She +curtsied low, and coloured at the sight of Lilias, set chairs for the +visitors, and then returned to her work. + +‘Oh! Mrs. Eden,’ Lily began, intending to make her explanation, but +feeling confused, thought it better to wait till her friend’s business +was settled, and altered her speech into ‘Miss Weston is come to speak to +you about some work.’ + +Mrs. Eden looked quite relieved, and Alethea proceeded to appoint the day +for her coming to Broom Hill, and arrange some small matters, during +which Lily not only settled what to say, but worked herself into a fit of +impatience at the length of Alethea’s instructions. When they were +concluded, however, and there was a pause, her words failed her, and she +wished that she was miles from the cottage, or that she had never +mentioned her intentions. At last she stammered out, ‘Oh! Mrs. Eden—I +wanted to speak to you about—about Mr. Devereux and your brother.’ + +Mrs. Eden bent over her wash-tub, Miss Weston examined the shells on the +chimney-piece, Marianne and Phyllis listened with all their ears, and +poor Lily was exceedingly uncomfortable. + +‘I wished to tell you—I do not think—I do not mean—It was not his saying. +Indeed, he did not say those things about the Gages.’ + +‘I told my brother I did not think Mr. Devereux would go for to say such +a thing,’ said Mrs. Eden, as much confused as Lily. + +‘Oh! that was right, Mrs. Eden. The mischief was all my making and +Jane’s. We said those foolish things, and they were repeated as if it +was he. Oh! do tell your brother so, Mrs. Eden. It was very good of you +to think it was not Cousin Robert. Pray tell Tom Naylor. I cannot bear +that things should go on in this dreadful way.’ + +‘Indeed, Miss, I am very sorry,’ said Mrs. Eden. + +‘But, Mrs Eden, I am sure that would set it right again,’ said Lily, ‘are +not you? I would do anything to have that poor baby christened.’ + +Lily’s confidence melted away as she saw that Mrs. Eden’s tears were +falling fast, and she ended with, ‘Only tell them, and we shall see what +will happen.’ + +‘Very well, Miss Lilias,’ said Mrs. Eden. ‘I am very sorry.’ + +‘Let us hope that time and patience will set things right,’ said Miss +Weston, to relieve the embarrassment of both parties. ‘Your brother must +soon see that Mr. Devereux only wishes to do his duty.’ + +Alethea skilfully covered Lily’s retreat, and the party took leave of +Mrs. Eden, and turned into their homeward path. + +Lily at first seemed disposed to be silent, and Miss Weston therefore +amused herself with listening to the chatter of the little girls as they +walked on before them. + +‘There are only thirty-six days to the holidays,’ said Phyllis; ‘Ada and +I keep a paper in the nursery with the account of the number of days. We +shall be so glad when Claude, and Maurice, and Redgie come home.’ + +‘Are they not very boisterous?’ said Marianne. + +‘Not Maurice,’ said Phyllis. + +‘No, indeed,’ said Lily, ‘Maurice is like nobody else. He takes up some +scientific pursuit each time he comes home, and cares for nothing else +for some time, and then quite forgets it. He is an odd-looking boy too, +thick and sturdy, with light flaxen hair, and dark, overhanging eyebrows, +and he makes the most extraordinary grimaces.’ + +‘And Reginald?’ said Alethea. + +‘Oh! Redgie is a noble-looking fellow. But just eleven, and taller than +Jane. His complexion so fair, yet fresh and boyish, and his eyes that +beautiful blue that Ada’s are—real blue. Then his hair, in dark brown +waves, with a rich auburn shine. The old knights must have been just +like Redgie. And Claude—Oh! Miss Weston, have you ever seen Claude?’ + +‘No, but I have seen your eldest brother.’ + +‘William? Why, he has been in Canada these three years. Where could you +have seen him?’ + +‘At Brighton, about four years ago.’ + +‘Ah! the year before he went. I remember that his regiment was there. +Well, it is curious that you should know him; and did you ever hear of +Harry, the brother that we lost?’ + +‘I remember Captain Mohun’s being called away to Oxford by his illness,’ +said Alethea. + +‘Ah, yes! William was the only one of us who was with him, even papa was +not there. His illness was so short.’ + +‘Yes,’ said Alethea, ‘I think it was on a Tuesday that Captain Mohun left +Brighton, and we saw his death in the paper on Saturday.’ + +‘William only arrived the evening that he died. Papa was gone to Ireland +to see about Cousin Rotherwood’s property. Robert, not knowing that, +wrote to him at Beechcroft; Eleanor forwarded the letter without opening +it, and so we knew nothing till Robert came to tell us that all was +over.’ + +‘Without any preparation?’ + +‘With none. Harry had left home about ten days before, quite well, and +looking so handsome. You know what a fine-looking person William is. +Well, Harry was very like him, only not so tall and strong, with the same +clear hazel eyes, and more pink in his cheeks—fairer altogether. Then +Harry wrote, saying that he had caught one of his bad colds. We did not +think much of it, for he was always having coughs. We heard no more for +a week, and then one morning Eleanor was sent for out of the schoolroom, +and there was Robert come to tell us. Oh! it was such a thunderbolt. +This was what did the mischief. You know papa and mamma being from home +so long, the elder boys had no settled place for the holidays; sometimes +they stayed with one friend, sometimes with another, and so no one saw +enough of them to find out how delicate poor Harry really was. I think +papa had been anxious the only winter they were at home together, and +Harry had been talked to and advised to take care; but in the summer and +autumn he was well, and did not think about it. He went to Oxford by the +coach—it was a bitterly cold frosty day—there was a poor woman outside, +shivering and looking very ill, and Harry changed places with her. He +was horribly chilled, but thinking he had only a common cold, he took no +care. Robert, coming to Oxford about a week after, found him very ill, +and wrote to papa and William, but William scarcely came in time. Harry +just knew him, and that was all. He could not speak, and died that +night. Then William stayed at Oxford to receive papa, and Robert came to +tell us.’ + +‘It must have been a terrible shock.’ + +‘Such a loss—he was so very good and clever. Every one looked up to +him—William almost as much as the younger ones. He never was in any +scrape, had all sorts of prizes at Eton, besides getting his scholarship +before he was seventeen.’ + +Whenever Lily could get Miss Weston alone, it was her way to talk in this +manner. She loved the sound of her own voice so well, that she was never +better satisfied than when engrossing the whole conversation. Having +nothing to talk of but her books, her poor people, and her family, she +gave her friend the full benefit of all she could say on each subject, +while Alethea had kindness enough to listen with real interest to her +long rambling discourses, well pleased to see her happy. + +The next time they met, Lilias told her all she knew or imagined +respecting Eleanor, and of her own debate with Claude, and ended, ‘Now, +Miss Weston, tell me your opinion, which would you choose for a sister, +Eleanor or Emily?’ + +‘I have some experience of Miss Mohun’s delightful manners, and none of +Mrs. Hawkesworth’s, so I am no fair judge,’ said Alethea. + +‘I really have done justice to Eleanor’s sterling goodness,’ said Lily. +‘Now what should you think?’ + +‘I can hardly imagine greater proofs of affection than Mrs. Hawkesworth +has given you,’ said Miss Weston, smiling. + +‘It was because it was her duty,’ said Lilias. ‘You have only heard the +facts, but you cannot judge of her ways and looks. Now only think, when +Frank came home, after seven years of perils by field and flood—there she +rose up to receive him as if he had been Mr. Nobody making a morning +call. And all the time before they were married, I do believe she +thought more of showing Emily how much tea we were to use in a week than +anything else.’ + +‘Perhaps some people might have admired her self-command,’ said Alethea. + +‘Self-command, the refuge of the insensible? And now, I told you about +dear Harry the other day. He was Eleanor’s especial brother, yet his +death never seemed to make any difference to her. She scarcely cried: +she heard our lessons as usual, talked in her quiet voice—showed no +tokens of feeling.’ + +‘Was her health as good as before?’ asked Miss Weston. + +‘She was not ill,’ said Lily; ‘if she had, I should have been satisfied. +She certainly could not take long walks that winter, but she never likes +walking. People said she looked ill, but I do not know.’ + +‘Shall I tell you what I gather from your history?’ + +‘Pray do.’ + +‘Then do not think me very perverse, if I say that perhaps the grief she +then repressed may have weighed down her spirits ever since, so that you +can hardly remember any alteration.’ + +‘That I cannot,’ said Lily. ‘She is always the same, but then she ought +to have been more cheerful before his death.’ + +‘Did not you lose him soon after your mother?’ said Alethea. + +‘Two whole years,’ said Lily. ‘Oh! and aunt, Robert too, and Frank went +to India the beginning of that year; yes, there was enough to depress +her, but I never thought of grief going on in that quiet dull way for so +many years.’ + +‘You would prefer one violent burst, and then forgetfulness?’ + +‘Not exactly,’ said Lily; ‘but I should like a little evidence of it. If +it is really strong, it cannot be hid.’ + +Little did Lily think of the grief that sat heavy upon the spirit of +Alethea, who answered—‘Some people can do anything that they consider +their duty.’ + +‘Duty: what, are you a duty lover?’ exclaimed Lilias. ‘I never suspected +it, because you are not disagreeable.’ + +‘Thank you,’ said Alethea, laughing, ‘your compliment rather surprises +me, for I thought you told me that your brother Claude was on the duty +side of the question.’ + +‘He thinks he is,’ said Lily, ‘but love is his real motive of action, as +I can prove to you. Poor Claude had a very bad illness when he was about +three years old; and ever since he has been liable to terrible headaches, +and he is not at all strong. Of course he cannot always study hard, and +when first he went to school, every one scolded him for being idle. I +really believe he might have done more, but then he was so clever that he +could keep up without any trouble, and, as Robert says, that was a great +temptation; but still papa was not satisfied, because he said Claude +could do better. So said Harry. Oh! you cannot think what a person +Harry was, as high-spirited as William, and as gentle as Claude; and in +his kind way he used to try hard to make Claude exert himself, but it +never would do—he was never in mischief, but he never took pains. Then +Harry died, and when Claude came home, and saw how changed things were, +how gray papa’s hair had turned, and how silent and melancholy William +had grown, he set himself with all his might to make up to papa as far as +he could. He thought only of doing what Harry would have wished, and +papa himself says that he has done wonders. I cannot see that Henry +himself could have been more than Claude is now; he has not spared +himself in the least, his tutor says, and he would have had the Newcastle +Scholarship last year, if he had not worked so hard that he brought on +one of his bad illnesses, and was obliged to come home. Now I am sure +that he has acted from love, for it was as much his duty to take pains +while Harry was alive as afterwards.’ + +‘Certainly,’ said Miss Weston, ‘but what does he say himself?’ + +‘Oh! he never will talk of himself,’ said Lily. + +‘Have you not overlooked one thing which may be the truth,’ said Alethea, +as if she was asking for information, ‘that duty and love may be +identical? Is not St. Paul’s description of charity very like the duty +to our neighbour?’ + +‘The practice is the same, but not the theory,’ said Lily. + +‘Now, what is called duty, seems to me to be love doing unpleasant work,’ +said Miss Weston; ‘love disguised under another name, when obliged to act +in a way which seems, only seems, out of accordance with its real title.’ + +‘That is all very well for those who have love,’ said Lily. ‘Some have +not who do their duty conscientiously—another word which I hate, by the +bye.’ + +‘They have love in a rough coat, perhaps,’ said Alethea, ‘and I should +expect it soon to put on a smoother one.’ + + + + +CHAPTER VII +SIR MAURICE + + + ‘Shall thought was his, in after time, + Thus to be hitched into a rhyme; + The simple sire could only boast + That he was loyal to his cost, + The banished race of kings revered, + And lost his land.’ + +THE holidays arrived, and with them the three brothers, for during the +first few weeks of the Oxford vacation Claude accompanied Lord Rotherwood +on visits to some college friends, and only came home the same day as the +younger ones. + +Maurice did not long leave his sisters in doubt as to what was to be his +reigning taste, for as soon as dinner was over, he made Jane find the +volume of the Encyclopædia containing Entomology, and with his elbows on +the table, proceeded to study it so intently, that the young ladies gave +up all hopes of rousing him from it. Claude threw himself down on the +sofa to enjoy the luxury of a desultory talk with his sisters; and +Reginald, his head on the floor, and his heels on a chair, talked loud +and fast enough for all three, with very little regard to what the +damsels might be saying. + +‘Oh! Claude,’ said Lily, ‘you cannot think how much we like Miss Weston, +she lets us call her Alethea, and—’ + +Here came an interruption from Mr. Mohun, who perceiving the position of +Reginald’s dusty shoes, gave a loud ‘Ah—h!’ as if he was scolding a dog, +and ordered him to change them directly. + +‘Here, Phyl!’ said Reginald, kicking off his shoes, ‘just step up and +bring my shippers, Rachel will give them to you.’ + +Away went Phyllis, well pleased to be her brother’s fag. + +‘Ah! Redgie does not know the misfortune that hangs over him,’ said +Emily. + +‘What?’ said Reginald, ‘will not the Baron let Viper come to the house?’ + +‘Worse,’ said Emily, ‘Rachel is going away.’ + +‘Rachel?’ cried Claude, starting up from the sofa. + +‘Rachel?’ said Maurice, without raising his eyes. + +‘Rachel! Rachel! botheration!’ roared Reginald, with a wondrous caper. + +‘Yes, Rachel,’ said Emily; ‘Rachel, who makes so much of you, for no +reason that I could ever discover, but because you are the most +troublesome.’ + +‘You will never find any one to mend your jackets, and dress your wounds +like Rachel,’ said Lily, ‘and make a baby of you instead of a great +schoolboy. What will become of you, Redgie?’ + +‘What will become of any of us?’ said Claude; ‘I thought Rachel was the +mainspring of the house.’ + +‘Have you quarrelled with her, Emily?’ said Reginald. + +‘Nonsense,’ said Emily, ‘it is only that her brother has lost his wife, +and wants her to take care of his children.’ + +‘Well,’ said Reginald, ‘her master has lost his wife, and wants her to +take care of his children.’ + +‘I cannot think what I shall do,’ said Ada; ‘I cry about it every night +when I go to bed. What is to be done?’ + +‘Send her brother a new wife,’ said Maurice. + +‘Send him Emily,’ said Reginald; ‘we could spare her much better.’ + +‘Only I don’t wish him joy,’ said Maurice. + +‘Well, I hope you wish me joy of my substitute,’ said Emily; ‘I do not +think you would ever guess, but Lily, after being in what Rachel calls +quite a way, has persuaded every one to let us have Esther Bateman.’ + +‘What, the Baron?’ said Claude, in surprise. + +‘Yes,’ said Lily, ‘is it not delightful? He said at first, Emily was too +inexperienced to teach a young servant; but then we settled that Hannah +should be upper servant, and Esther will only have to wait upon Phyl and +Ada. Then he said Faith Longley was of a better set of people, but I am +sure it would give one the nightmare to see her lumbering about the +house, and then he talked it over with Robert and with Rachel.’ + +‘And was not Rachel against it, or was she too kind to her young ladies?’ + +‘Oh! she was cross when she talked it over with us,’ said Lily; ‘but we +coaxed her over, and she told the Baron it would do very well.’ + +‘And Robert?’ + +‘He was quite with us, for he likes Esther as much as I do,’ said lily. + +‘Now, Lily,’ said Jane, ‘how can you say he was quite with you, when he +said he thought it would be better if she was farther from home, and +under some older person?’ + +‘Yes, but he allowed that she would be much safer here than at home,’ +said Lily. + +‘But I thought she used to be the head of all the ill behaviour in +school,’ said Claude. + +‘Oh! that was in Eleanor’s time,’ said Lily; ‘there was nothing to draw +her out, she never was encouraged; but since she has been in my class, +and has found that her wishes to do right are appreciated and met by +affection, she has been quite a new creature.’ + +‘Since she has been in MY class,’ Claude repeated. + +‘Well,’ said Lily, with a slight blush, ‘it is just what Robert says. He +told her, when he gave her her prize Bible on Palm Sunday, that she had +been going on very well, but she must take great care when removed from +those whose influence now guided her, and who could he have meant but me? +And now she is to go on with me always. She will be quite one of the old +sort of faithful servants, who feel that they owe everything to their +masters, and will it not be pleasant to have so sweet and expressive a +face about the house?’ + +‘Do I know her face?’ said Claude. ‘Oh yes! I do. She has black eyes, +I think, and would be pretty if she did not look pert.’ + +‘You provoking Claude!’ cried Lily, ‘you are as bad as Alethea, who never +will say that Esther is the best person for us.’ + +‘I was going to inquire for the all-for-love principle,’ said Claude, +‘but I see it is in full force. And how are the verses, Lily? Have you +made a poem upon Michael Moone, or Mohun, the actor, our uncle, whom I +discovered for you in Pepys’s Memoirs?’ + +‘Nonsense,’ said Lily; ‘but I have been writing something about Sir +Maurice, which you shall hear whenever you are not in this horrid +temper.’ + +The next afternoon, as soon as luncheon was over, Lily drew Claude out to +his favourite place under the plane-tree, where she proceeded to inflict +her poem upon his patient ears, while he lay flat upon the grass looking +up to the sky; Emily and Jane had promised to join them there in process +of time, and the four younger ones were, as usual, diverting themselves +among the farm buildings at the Old Court. + +Lily began: ‘I meant to have two parts about Sir Maurice going out to +fight when he was very young, and then about his brothers being killed, +and King Charles knighting him, and his betrothed, Phyllis Crossthwayte, +embroidering his black engrailed cross on his banner, and then the taking +the castle, and his being wounded, and escaping, and Phyllis not thinking +it right to leave her father; but I have not finished that, so now you +must hear about his return home.’ + + ‘A romaunt in six cantos, entitled Woe woe, + By Miss Fanny F. known more commonly so,’ + +muttered Claude to himself; but as Lily did not understand or know whence +his quotation came, it did not hurt her feelings, and she went merrily +on:— + + ‘’Tis the twenty-ninth of merry May; + Full cheerily shine the sunbeams to-day, + Their joyous light revealing + Full many a troop in garments gay, + With cheerful steps who take their way + By the green hill and shady lane, + While merry bells are pealing; + And soon in Beechcroft’s holy fane + The villagers are kneeling. + Dreary and mournful seems the shrine + Where sound their prayers and hymns divine; + For every mystic ornament + By the rude spoiler’s hand is rent; + Scarce is its ancient beauty traced + In wood-work broken and defaced, + Reft of each quaint device and rare, + Of foliage rich and mouldings fair; + Yet happy is each spirit there; + The simple peasantry rejoice + To see the altar decked with care, + To hear their ancient Pastor’s voice + Reciting o’er each well-known prayer, + To view again his robe of white, + And hear the services aright; + Once more to chant their glorious Creed, + And thankful own their nation freed + From those who cast her glories down, + And rent away her Cross and Crown. + A stranger knelt among the crowd, + And joined his voice in praises loud, + And when the holy rites had ceased, + Held converse with the aged Priest, + Then turned to join the village feast, + Where, raised on the hill’s summit green, + The Maypole’s flowery wreaths were seen; + Beneath the venerable yew + The stranger stood the sports to view, + Unmarked by all, for each was bent + On his own scheme of merriment, + On talking, laughing, dancing, playing— + There never was so blithe a Maying. + So thought each laughing maiden gay, + Whose head-gear bore the oaken spray; + So thought that hand of shouting boys, + Unchecked in their best joy—in noise; + But gray-haired men, whose deep-marked scars + Bore token of the civil wars, + And hooded dames in cloaks of red, + At the blithe youngsters shook the head, + Gathering in eager clusters told + How joyous were the days of old, + When Beechcroft’s lords, those Barons bold, + Came forth to join their vassals’ sport, + And here to hold their rustic court, + Throned in the ancient chair you see + Beneath our noble old yew tree. + Alas! all empty stands the throne, + Reserved for Mohun’s race alone, + And the old folks can only tell + Of the good lords who ruled so well. + “Ah! I bethink me of the time, + The last before those years of crime, + When with his open hearty cheer, + The good old squire was sitting here.” + “’Twas then,” another voice replied, + “That brave young Master Maurice tried + To pitch the ball with Andrew Grey— + We ne’er shall see so blithe a day— + All the young squires have long been dead.” + “No, Master Webb,” quoth Andrew Grey, + “Young Master Maurice safely fled, + At least so all the Greenwoods say, + And Walter Greenwood with him went + To share his master’s banishment; + And now King Charles is ruling here, + Our own good landlord may be near.” + “Small hope of that,” the old man said, + And sadly shook his hoary head, + “Sir Maurice died beyond the sea, + Last of his noble line was he.” + “Look, Master Webb!” he turned, and there + The stranger sat in Mohun’s chair; + At ease he sat, and smiled to scan + The face of each astonished man; + Then on the ground he laid aside + His plumed hat and mantle wide. + One moment, Andrew deemed he knew + Those glancing eyes of hazel hue, + But the sunk cheek, the figure spare, + The lines of white that streak the hair— + How can this he the stripling gay, + Erst, victor in the sports of May? + Full twenty years of cheerful toil, + And labour on his native soil, + On Andrew’s head had left no trace— + The summer’s sun, the winter’s storm, + They had but ruddier made his face, + More hard his hand, more strong his form. + Forth from the wandering, whispering crowd, + A farmer came, and spoke aloud, + With rustic bow and welcome fair, + But with a hesitating air— + He told how custom well preserved + The throne for Mohun’s race reserved; + The stranger laughed, “What, Harrington, + Hast thou forgot thy landlord’s son?” + Loud was the cry, and blithe the shout, + On Beechcroft hill that now rang out, + And still remembered is the day, + That merry twenty-ninth of May, + When to his father’s home returned + That knight, whose glory well was earned. + In poverty and banishment, + His prime of manhood had been spent, + A wanderer, scorned by Charles’s court, + One faithful servant his support. + And now, he seeks his home forlorn, + Broken in health, with sorrow worn. + And two short years just passed away, + Between that joyous meeting-day, + And the sad eve when Beechcroft’s bell + Tolled forth Sir Maurice’s funeral knell; + And Phyllis, whose love was so constant and tried, + Was a widow the year she was Maurice’s bride; + Yet the path of the noble and true-hearted knight, + Was brilliant with honour, and glory, and light, + And still his descendants shall sing of the fame + Of Sir Maurice de Mohun, the pride of his name.’ + +‘It is a pity they should sing of it in such lines as those last four,’ +said Claude. ‘Let me see, I like your bringing in the real names, though +I doubt whether any but Greenwood could have been found here.’ + +‘Oh! here come Emily and Jane,’ said Lily, ‘let me put it away.’ + +‘You are very much afraid of Jane,’ said Claude. + +‘Yes, Jane has no feeling for poetry,’ said Lily, with simplicity, which +made her brother smile. + +Jane and Emily now came up, the former with her work, the latter with a +camp-stool and a book. ‘I wonder,’ said she, ‘where those boys are! By +the bye, what character did they bring home from school?’ + +‘The same as usual,’ said Claude. ‘Maurice’s mind only half given to his +work, and Redgie’s whole mind to his play.’ + +‘Maurice’s talent does not lie in the direction of Latin and Greek,’ said +Emily. + +‘No,’ said Jane, ‘it is nonsense to make him learn it, and so he says.’ + +‘Perhaps he would say the same of mathematics and mechanics, if as great +a point were made of them,’ said Lily. + +‘I think not,’ said Claude; ‘he has more notion of them than of Latin +verses.’ + +‘Then you are on my side,’ said Jane, triumphantly. + +‘Did I say so?’ said Claude. + +‘Why not?’ said Jane. ‘What is the use of his knowing those stupid +languages? I am sure it is wasting time not to improve such a genius as +he has for mechanics and natural history. Now, Claude, I wish you would +answer.’ + +‘I was waiting till you had done,’ said Claude. + +‘Why do you not think it nonsense?’ persisted Jane. + +‘Because I respect my father’s opinion,’ said Claude, letting himself +fall on the grass, as if he had done with the subject. + +‘Pooh!’ said Jane, ‘that sounds like a good little boy of five years +old!’ + +‘Very likely,’ said Claude. + +‘But you have some opinion of your own,’ said Lily. + +‘Certainly.’ + +‘Then I wish you would give it,’ said Jane. + +‘Come, Emily,’ said Claude, ‘have you brought anything to read?’ + +‘But your opinion, Claude,’ said Jane. ‘I am sure you think with me, +only you are too grand, and too correct to say so.’ + +Claude made no answer, but Jane saw she was wrong by his countenance; +before she could say anything more, however, they were interrupted by a +great outcry from the Old Court regions. + +‘Oh,’ said Emily, ‘I thought it was a long time since we had heard +anything of those uproarious mortals.’ + +‘I hope there is nothing the matter,’ said Lily. + +‘Oh no,’ said Jane, ‘I hear Redgie’s laugh.’ + +‘Aye, but among that party,’ said Emily, ‘Redgie’s laugh is not always a +proof of peace: they are too much in the habit of acting the boys and the +frogs.’ + +‘We were better off,’ said Lily, ‘with the gentle Claude, as Miss +Middleton used to call him.’ + +‘Miss Molly, as William used to call him with more propriety,’ said +Claude, ‘not half so well worth playing with as such a fellow as Redgie.’ + +‘Not even for young ladies?’ said Emily. + +‘No, Phyllis and Ada are much the better for being teased,’ said Claude. +‘I am convinced that I never did my duty by you in that respect.’ + +‘There were others to do it for you,’ said Jane. + +‘Harry never teased,’ said Emily, ‘and William scorned us.’ + +‘His teasing was all performed upon Claude,’ said Lily, ‘and a great +shame it was.’ + +‘Not at all,’ said Claude, ‘only an injudicious attempt to put a little +life into a tortoise.’ + +‘A bad comparison,’ said Lily; ‘but what is all this? Here come the +children in dismay! What is the matter, my dear child?’ + +This was addressed to Phyllis, who was the first to come up at full +speed, sobbing, and out of breath, ‘Oh, the dragon-fly! Oh, do not let +him kill it!’ + +‘The dragon-fly, the poor dear blue dragon-fly!’ screamed Adeline, hiding +her face in Emily’s lap, ‘Oh, do not let him kill it! he is holding it; +he is hurting it! Oh, tell him not!’ + +‘I caught it,’ said Phyllis, ‘but not to have it killed. Oh, take it +away!’ + +‘A fine rout, indeed, you chicken,’ said Reginald; ‘I know a fellow who +ate up five horse-stingers one morning before breakfast.’ + +‘Stingers!’ said Phyllis, ‘they do not sting anything, pretty creatures.’ + +‘I told you I would catch the old pony and put it on him to try,’ said +Reginald. + +In the meantime, Maurice came up at his leisure, holding his prize by the +wings. ‘Look what a beautiful Libellulla Puella,’ said he to Jane. + +‘A demoiselle dragon-fly,’ said Lily; ‘what a beauty! what are you going +to do with it?’ + +‘Put it into my museum,’ said Maurice. ‘Here, Jane, put it under this +flower-pot, and take care of it, while I fetch something to kill it +with.’ + +‘Oh, Maurice, do not!’ said Emily. + +‘One good squeeze,’ said Reginald. ‘I will do it.’ + +‘How came you be so cruel?’ said Lily. + +‘No, a squeeze will not do,’ said Maurice; ‘it would spoil its beauty; I +must put it ever the fumes of carbonic acid.’ + +‘Maurice, you really must not,’ said Emily. + +‘Now do not, dear Maurice,’ said Ada, ‘there’s a dear boy; I will give +you such a kiss.’ + +‘Nonsense; get out of the way,’ said Maurice, turning away. + +‘Now, Maurice, this is most horrid cruelty,’ said Lily; ‘what right have +you to shorten the brief, happy life which—’ + +‘Well,’ interrupted Maurice, ‘if you make such a fuss about killing it, I +will stick a pin through it into a cork, and let it shift for itself.’ + +Poor Phyllis ran away to the other end of the garden, sat down and +sobbed, Ada screamed and argued, Emily complained, Lily exhorted Claude +to interfere, while Reginald stood laughing. + +‘Such useless cruelty,’ said Emily. + +‘Useless!’ said Maurice. ‘Pray how is any one to make a collection of +natural objects without killing things?’ + +‘I do not see the use of a collection,’ said Lily; ‘you can examine the +creatures and let them go.’ + +‘Such a young lady’s tender-hearted notion,’ said Reginald. + +‘Who ever heard of a man of science managing in such a ridiculous way?’ + +‘Man of science!’ exclaimed Lily, ‘when he will have forgotten by next +Christmas that insects ever existed.’ + +It was not convenient to hear this speech, so Maurice turned an empty +flower-pot over his prisoner, and left it in Jane’s care while he went to +fetch the means of destruction, probably choosing the lawn for the place +of execution, in order to show his contempt for his sisters. + +‘Fair damsel in boddice blue,’ said Lily, peeping in at the hole at the +top of the flower-pot, ‘I wish I could avert your melancholy fate. I am +very sorry for you, but I cannot help it.’ + +‘You might help it now, at any rate,’ muttered Claude. + +‘No,’ said Lily, ‘I know Monsieur Maurice too well to arouse his wrath so +justly. If you choose to release the pretty creature, I shall be +charmed.’ + +‘You forget that I am in charge,’ said Jane. + +‘There is a carriage coming to the front gate,’ cried Ada. ‘Emily, may I +go into the drawing-room? Oh, Jenny, will you undo my brown holland +apron?’ + +‘That is right, little mincing Miss,’ said Reginald, with a low bow; ‘how +fine we are to-day.’ + +‘How visitors break into the afternoon,’ said Emily, with a languid turn +of her head. + +‘Jenny, brownie,’ called Maurice from his bedroom window, ‘I want the +sulphuric acid.’ + +Jane sprang up and ran into the house, though her sisters called after +her, that she would come full upon the company in the hall. + +‘They shall not catch me here,’ cried Reginald, rushing off into the +shrubbery. + +‘Are you coming in, Claude?’ said Emily. + +‘Send Ada to call me, if there is any one worth seeing,’ said Claude + +‘They will see you from the window,’ said Emily. + +‘No,’ said Claude, ‘no one ever found me out last summer, under these +friendly branches.’ + +The old butler, Joseph, now showed himself on the terrace; and the young +ladies, knowing that he had no intention of crossing the lawn, hastened +to learn from him who their visitors were, and entered the house. Just +then Phyllis came running back from the kitchen garden, and without +looking round, or perceiving Claude, she took up the flower-pot and +released the captive, which, unconscious of its peril, rested on a blade +of grass, vibrating its gauzy wings and rejoicing in the restored +sunbeams. + +‘Fly away, fly away, you pretty creature,’ said Phyllis; ‘make haste, or +Maurice will come and catch you again. I wish I had not given you such a +fright. I thought you would have been killed, and a pin stuck all +through that pretty blue and black body of yours. Oh! that would be +dreadful. Make haste and go away! I would not have caught you, you +beautiful thing, if I had known what he wanted to do. I thought he only +wanted to look at your beautiful body, like a little bit of the sky come +down to look at the flowers, and your delicate wings, and great shining +eyes. Oh! I am very glad God made you so beautiful. Oh! there is +Maurice coming. I must blow upon you to make you go. Oh, that is +right—up quite high in the air—quite safe,’ and she clapped her hands as +the dragon-fly rose in the air, and disappeared behind the laurels, just +as Maurice and Reginald emerged from the shrubbery, the former with a +bottle in his hand. + +‘Well, where is the Libellulla?’ said he. + +‘The dragon-fly?’ said Phyllis. ‘I let it out.’ + +‘Sold, Maurice!’ cried Reginald, laughing at his brother’s disaster. + +‘Upon my word, Phyl, you are very kind!’ said Maurice, angrily. ‘If I +had known you were such an ill-natured crab—’ + +‘Oh! Maurice dear, don’t say so,’ exclaimed Phyllis. ‘I thought I might +let it out because I caught it myself; and I told you I did not catch it +for you to kill; Maurice, indeed, I am sorry I vexed you.’ + +‘What else did you do it for?’ said Maurice. ‘It is horrid not to be +able to leave one’s things a minute—’ + +‘But I did not know the dragon-fly belonged to you, Maurice,’ said +Phyllis. + +‘That is a puzzler, Mohun senior,’ said Reginald. + +‘Now, Redgie, do get Maurice to leave off being angry with me,’ implored +his sister. + +‘I will leave off being angry,’ said Maurice, seeing his advantage, ‘if +you will promise never to let out my things again.’ + +‘I do not think I can promise,’ said Phyllis. + +‘O yes, you can,’ said Reginald, ‘you know they are not his.’ + +‘Promise you will not let out any insects I may get,’ said Maurice, ‘or I +shall say you are as cross as two sticks.’ + +‘I’ll tell you what, Maurice,’ said Phyllis, ‘I do wish you would not +make me promise, for I do not think I _can_ keep it, for I cannot bear to +see the beautiful live things killed.’ + +‘Nonsense,’ said Maurice, fiercely, ‘I am very angry indeed, you naughty +child; promise—’ + +‘I cannot,’ said Phyllis, beginning to cry. + +‘Then,’ said Maurice, ‘I will not speak to you all day.’ + +‘No, no,’ shouted Reginald, ‘we will only treat her like the +horse-stinger; you wanted a puella, Maurice—here is one for you, here, +give her a dose of the turpentine.’ + +‘Yes,’ said Maurice, advancing with his bottle; ‘and do you take the +poker down to Naylor’s to be sharpened, it will just do to stick through +her back. Oh! no, not Naylor’s—the girls have made a hash there, as they +do everything else; but we will settle her before they come out again.’ + +Phyllis screamed and begged for mercy—her last ally had deserted her. + +‘Promise!’ cried the boys. + +‘Oh, don’t!’ was all her answer. + +Reginald caught her and held her fast, Maurice advanced upon her, she +struggled, and gave a scream of real terror. The matter was no joke to +any one but Reginald, for Maurice was very angry and really meant to +frighten her. + +‘Hands off, boys, I will not have her bullied,’ said Claude, half rising. + +Maurice gave a violent start, Reginald looked round laughing, and +exclaimed, ‘Who would have thought of Claude sneaking there?’ and Phyllis +ran to the protecting arm, which he stretched out. To her great +surprise, he drew her to him, and kissed her forehead, saying, ‘Well +done, Phyl!’ + +‘Oh, I knew he was not going to hurt me,’ said Phyllis, still panting +from the struggle. + +‘To be sure not,’ said Maurice, ‘I only meant to have a little fun.’ + +Claude, with his arm still round his sister’s waist, gave Maurice a look, +expressing, ‘Is that the truth?’ and Reginald tumbled head over heels, +exclaiming, ‘I would not have been Phyl just them.’ + +Ada now came running up to them, saying, ‘Maurice and Redgie, you are to +come in; Mr. and Mrs. Burnet heard your voices, and begged to see you, +because they never saw you last holidays.’ + +‘More’s the pity they should see us now,’ said Maurice. + +‘I shall not go,’ said Reginald. + +‘Papa is there, and he sent for you,’ said Ada. + +‘Plague,’ was the answer. + +‘See what you get by making such a row,’ said Claude. ‘If you had been +as orderly members of society as I am—’ + +‘Oh, but Claude,’ said Ada, ‘papa told me to see if I could find you. +Dear Claude, I wish,’ she proceeded, taking his hand, and looking +engaging, ‘I wish you would put your arm round me as you do round Phyl.’ + +‘You are not worth it, Ada,’ said Reginald, and Claude did not contradict +him. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII +THE BROTHERS + + + ‘But smiled to hear the creatures he had known + So long were now in class and order shown— + Genus and species. “Is it meet,” said he, + “This creature’s name should one so sounding be— + ’Tis but a fly, though first-born of the spring, + Bombylius Majus, dost thou call the thing?” + +IT was not till Sunday, that Lily’s eager wish was fulfilled, of +introducing her friend and her brothers; but, as she might have foreseen, +their first meeting did not make the perfections of either party very +clear to the other. Claude never spoke to strangers more than he could +help, Maurice and Reginald were in the room only a short time; so that +the result of Miss Weston’s observations, when communicated in reply to +Lily’s eager inquiries, was only that Claude was very like his father and +eldest brother, Reginald very handsome, and Maurice looked like a very +funny fellow. + +On Monday, Reginald and Maurice were required to learn what they had +always refused to acknowledge, that the holidays were not intended to be +spent in idleness. A portion of each morning was to be devoted to study, +Claude having undertaken the task of tutor—and hard work he found it; and +much did Lily pity him, when, as not unfrequently happened, the summons +to the children’s dinner would bring him from the study, looking +thoroughly fagged—Maurice in so sulky a mood that he would hardly deign +to open his lips—Reginald talking fast enough, indeed, but only to murmur +at his duties in terms, which, though they made every one laugh, were +painful to hear. Then Claude would take his brothers back to the study, +and not appear for an hour or more, and when he did come forth, it was +with a bad headache. Sometimes, as if to show that it was only through +their own fault that their tasks were wearisome, one or both boys would +finish quite early, when Reginald would betake himself to the schoolroom +and employ his idle time in making it nearly impossible for Ada and +Phyllis to learn, by talking, laughing, teasing the canary, overturning +everything in pursuing wasps, making Emily fretful by his disobedience, +and then laughing at her, and, in short, proving his right to the title +he had given himself at the end of the only letter he had written since +he first went to school, and which he had subscribed, ‘Your affectionate +bother, R. Mohun.’ So that, for their own sake, all would have preferred +the inattentive mornings. + +Lily often tried to persuade Claude to allow her to tell her father how +troublesome the boys were, but never with any effect. He once took up a +book he had been using with them, and pointing to the name in the first +page, in writing, which Lily knew full well, ‘Henry Mohun,’ she perceived +that he meant to convince her that it was useless to try to dissuade him, +as he thought the patience and forbearance his brother had shown to him +must be repaid by his not shrinking from the task he had imposed upon +himself with his young brothers, though he was often obliged to sit up +part of the night to pursue his own studies. + +If Claude had rather injudiciously talked too much to Lilias of ‘her +principle,’ and thus kept it alive in her mind, yet his example might +have made its fallacy evident. She believed that what she called love +had been the turning point in his character, that it had been his earnest +desire to follow in Henry’s steps, and so try to comfort his father for +his loss, that had roused him from his indolence; but she was beginning +to see that nothing but a sense of duty could have kept up the power of +that first impulse for six years. Lily began to enter a little into his +principle, and many things that occurred during these holidays made her +mistrust her former judgment. She saw that without the unvarying +principle of right and wrong, fraternal love itself would fail in outward +acts and words. Forbearance, though undeniably a branch of love, could +not exist without constant remembrance of duty; and which of them did not +sometimes fail in kindness, meekness, and patience? Did Emily show that +softness, which was her most agreeable characteristic, in her whining +reproofs—in her complaints that ‘no one listened to a word she said’—in +her refusal to do justice even to those who had vainly been seeking for +peace? Did Lily herself show any of her much valued love, by the sharp +manner in which she scolded the boys for roughness towards herself? or +for language often used by them on purpose to make her displeasure a +matter of amusement? She saw that her want of command of temper was a +failure both in love and duty, and when irritated, the thought of duty +came sooner to her aid than the feeling of love. + +And Maurice and Reginald were really very provoking. Maurice loved no +amusement better than teasing his sisters, and this was almost the only +thing in which Reginald agreed with him. Reginald was affectionate, but +too reckless and violent not to be very troublesome, and he too often +flew into a passion if Maurice attempted to laugh at him; the little +girls were often frightened and made unhappy; Phyllis would scream and +roar, and Ada would come sobbing to Emily, to be comforted after some +rudeness of Reginald’s. It was not very often that quarrels went so far, +but many a time in thought, word, and deed was the rule of love +transgressed, and more than once did Emily feel ready to give up all her +dignity, to have Eleanor’s hand over the boys once more. Claude, finding +that he could do much to prevent mischief, took care not to leave the two +boys long together with the elder girls. They were far more inoffensive +when separate, as Maurice never practised his tormenting tricks when no +one was present to laugh with him, and Reginald was very kind to Phyllis +and Ada, although somewhat rude. + +It was a day or two after they returned that Phyllis was leaning on the +window-sill in the drawing-room, watching a passing shower, and admiring +the soft bright tints of a rainbow upon the dark gray mass of cloud. ‘I +do set my bow in the cloud,’ repeated she to herself over and over again, +until Adeline entering the room, she eagerly exclaimed, ‘Oh Ada, come and +look at this beautiful rainbow, green, and pink, and purple. A double +one, with so many stripes, Ada. See, there is a little bit more green.’ + +‘There is no green in a rainbow,’ said Ada. + +‘But look, Ada, that is green.’ + +‘It is not real green. Blue, red, and yellow are the pragmatic colours,’ +said Ada, with a most triumphant air. ‘Now are not they, Maurice?’ said +she, turning to her brother, who was, as usual, deep in entomology. + +‘Pragmatic, you foolish child,’ said he. ‘Prismatic you mean. I am glad +you remember what I tell you, however; I think I might teach you some +science in time. You are right in saying that blue, red, and yellow are +the prismatic colours. Now do you know what causes a rainbow?’ + +‘It is to show there is never to be another flood,’ said Phyllis, +gravely. + +‘Oh, I did not mean that,’ said Maurice, addressing himself to Ada, whose +love of hard words made him deem her a promising pupil, and whom he could +lecture without interruption. ‘The rainbow is caused by—’ + +‘But, Maurice!’ exclaimed Phyllis, remaining with mouth wide open. + +‘The rainbow is occasioned by the refraction of the rays of the sun in +the drops of water of which a cloud is composed.’ + +‘But, Maurice!’ again said Phyllis. + +‘Well, what do you keep on “but, Mauricing,” about?’ + +‘But, Maurice, I thought it said, “I do set my bow in the cloud.” Is not +that right? I will look.’ + +‘I know that, but I know the iris, or rainbow, is a natural phenomenon +occasioned by the refraction.’ + +‘But, Maurice, I can’t bear you to say that;’ and poor Phyllis sat down +and began to cry. + +Ada interfered. ‘Why, Maurice, you believe the Bible, don’t you?’ + +This last speech was heard by Lilias, who just now entered the room, and +greatly surprised her. ‘What can you be talking of?’ said she. + +‘Only some nonsense of the children’s,’ said Maurice, shortly. + +‘But only hear what he says,’ cried Ada. ‘He says the rainbow was not +put there to show there is never to be another flood!’ + +‘Now, Lily,’ said Maurice, ‘I do not think there is much use in talking +to you, but I wish you to understand that all I said was, that the +rainbow, or iris, is a natural phenomenon occasioned by the refraction of +the solar—’ + +‘You will certainly bewilder yourself into something dreadful with that +horrid science,’ said Lily. ‘What is the matter with Phyl?’ + +‘Only crying because of what I said,’ answered Maurice. ‘So childish, +and you are just as bad.’ + +‘But do you mean to say,’ exclaimed Lily, ‘that you set this human theory +above the authority of the Bible?’ + +‘It is common sense,’ said Maurice; ‘I could make a rainbow any day.’ + +Whereupon Phyllis cried the more, and Lily looked infinitely shocked. +‘This is philosophy and vain deceit,’ said she; ‘the very thing that +tends to infidelity.’ + +‘I can’t help it—it is universally allowed,’ said the boy doggedly. + +It was fortunate that the next person who entered the room was Claude, +and all at once he was appealed to by the four disputants, Lily the +loudest and most vehement. ‘Claude, listen to him, and tell him to throw +away these hateful new lights, which lead to everything that is +shocking!’ + +‘Listen to him, with three ladies talking at once?’ said Claude. ‘No, +not Phyl—her tears only are eloquent; but it is a mighty war about the +token of peace and _love_, Lily.’ + +‘The love would be in driving these horrible philosophical speculations +out of Maurice’s mind,’ said Lily. + +‘No one can ever drive out the truth,’ said Maurice, with provoking +coolness. ‘Don’t let her scratch out my eyes, Claude.’ + +‘I am not so sure of that maxim,’ said Claude. ‘Truth is chiefly +injured—I mean, her force weakened, by her own supporters.’ + +‘Then you agree with me,’ said Maurice, ‘as, in fact, every rational +person must.’ + +‘Then you are with me,’ said Lily, in the same breath; ‘and you will +convince Maurice of the danger of this nonsense.’ + +‘Umph,’ sighed Claude, throwing himself into his father’s arm-chair, +‘’tis a Herculean labour! It seems I agree with you both.’ + +‘Why, every Christian must be with me, who has not lost his way in a mist +of his own raising,’ said Lilias. + +‘Do you mean to say,’ said Maurice, ‘that these colours are not produced +by refraction? Look at them on those prisms;’ and he pointed to an +old-fashioned lustre on the chimney-piece. ‘I hope this is not a part of +the Christian faith.’ + +‘Take care, Maurice,’ and Claude’s eyes were bent upon him in a manner +that made him shrink. And he added, ‘Of course I do believe that chapter +about Noah. I only meant that the immediate cause of the rainbow is the +refraction of light. I did not mean to be irreverent, only the girls +took me up in such a way.’ + +‘And I know well enough that you can make those colours by light on drops +of water,’ said Lily. + +‘So you agreed all the time,’ said Claude. + +‘But,’ added Lily, ‘I never liked to know it; for it always seemed to be +explaining away the Bible, and I cannot bear not to regard that lovely +bow as a constant miracle.’ + +‘You will remember,’ said Claude, ‘that some commentators say it should +be, “I _have_ set my bow in the cloud,” which would make what already +existed become a token for the future. + +‘I don’t like that explanation,’ said Lily. + +‘Others say,’ added Claude, ‘that there might have been no rain at all +till the windows of heaven were opened at the flood, and, in that case, +the first recurrence of rain must have greatly alarmed Noah’s family, if +they had not been supported and cheered by the sight of the rainbow.’ + +‘That is reasonable,’ said Maurice. + +‘I hate reason applied to revelation,’ said Lily. + +‘It is a happier state of mind which does not seek to apply it,’ said +Claude, looking at Phyllis, who had dried her tears, and stood in the +window gazing at him, in the happy certainty that he was setting all +right. Maurice respected Claude for his science as much as his +character, and did not make game of this observation as he would if it +had been made by one of his sisters, but he looked at him with an odd +expression of perplexity. ‘You do not think ignorant credulity better +than reasonable belief?’ said he at length. + +‘It is not I only who think most highly of child-like unquestioning +faith, Maurice,’ said Claude—‘faith, that is based upon love and +reverence,’ added he to Lily. ‘But come, the shower is over, and +philosophers, or no philosophers, I invite you to walk in the wood.’ + +‘Aye,’ said Maurice, ‘I daresay I can find some of the Arachne species +there. By the bye, Claude, do you think papa would let me have a piece +of plate-glass, eighteen by twenty, to cover my case of insects?’ + +‘Ask, and you will discover,’ said Claude. + +Accordingly, Maurice began the next morning at breakfast, ‘Papa, may I +have a piece of plate-glass, eighteen by—?’ + +But no one heard, for Emily was at the moment saying, ‘The Westons are to +dine here to-day.’ + +Claude and Maurice both looked blank. + +‘I persuaded papa to ask the Westons,’ said Lily, ‘because I am +determined that Claude shall like Alethea.’ + +‘You must expect that I shall not, you have given me so many orders on +the subject,’ said Claude. + +‘Take care it has not the same effect as to tell Maurice to like a book,’ +said Emily; ‘nothing makes his aversion so certain.’ + +‘Except when he takes it up by mistake, and forgets that it has been +recommended to him,’ said Claude. + +‘Take care, Redgie, with your knife; don’t put out my eyes in your ardour +against that wretched wasp. Wat Greenwood may well say “there is a +terrible sight of waspses this year.”’ + +‘I killed twenty-nine yesterday,’ said Reginald. + +‘And I will tell you what I saw,’ said Phyllis; ‘I was picking up apples, +and the wasps were flying all round, and there came a hornet.’ + +‘Vespa Crabro!’ cried Maurice; ‘oh, I must have one!’ + +‘Well, what of the hornet?’ said Mr. Mohun. + +‘I’ll tell you what,’ resumed Phyllis, ‘he saw a wasp flying, and so he +went up in the air, and pounced on the poor wasp as the hawk did on +Jane’s bantam. So then he hung himself up to the branch of a tree by one +of his legs, and held the wasp with the other five, and began to pack it +up. First he bit off the yellow tail, then the legs, and threw them +away, and then there was nothing left but the head, and so he flew away +with it to his nest.’ + +‘Which way did he go?’ said Maurice. + +‘To the Old Court,’ answered Phyllis; ‘I think the nest is in the roof of +the old cow-house, for they were flying in and out there yesterday, and +one was eating out the wood from the old rails.’ + +‘Well,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘you must show me a hornet hawking for wasps +before the nest is taken, Phyllis; I suppose you have seen the wasps +catching flies?’ + +‘Oh yes, papa! but they pack them up quite differently. They do not hang +by one leg, but they sit down quite comfortably on a branch while they +bite off the wings and legs.’ + +‘There, Maurice,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘I had rather hear of one such +well-observed fact than of a dozen of your hard names and impaled +insects.’ + +Phyllis looked quite radiant with delight at his approbation. + +‘But, papa,’ said Maurice, ‘may I have a piece of plate-glass, eighteen +by twenty?’ + +‘When you observe facts in natural history, perhaps I may say something +to your entomology,’ said Mr. Mohun. + +‘But, papa, all my insects will be spoilt if I may not have a piece of +glass, eighteen by—’ + +He was interrupted by the arrival of the post-bag, which Jane, as usual, +opened. ‘A letter from Rotherwood,’ said she; ‘I hope he is coming at +last.’ + +‘He is,’ said Claude, reading the letter, ‘but only from Saturday till +Wednesday.’ + +‘He never gave us so little of his good company as he has this summer,’ +said Emily. + +‘You will have them all in the autumn, to comfort you,’ said Claude, ‘for +he hereby announces the marvellous fact, that the Marchioness sends him +to see if the castle is fit to receive her.’ + +‘Are you sure he is not only believing what he wishes?’ said Mr. Mohun. + +‘I think he will gain his point at last,’ said Claude. + +‘How stupid of him to stay no longer!’ said Reginald. + +‘I think he has some scheme for this vacation,’ said Claude, ‘and I +suppose he means to crowd all the Beechcroft diversions of a whole summer +into those few days.’ + +‘Emily,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘I wish him to know the Carringtons; invite them +and the Westons to dinner on Tuesday.’ + +‘Oh don’t!’ cried Reginald. ‘It will be so jolly to have him to take +wasps’ nests; and may I go out rabbit-shooting with him?’ + +‘If he goes.’ + +‘And may I carry a gun?’ + +‘If it is not loaded,’ said his father. + +‘Indeed, I would do no mischief,’ said Reginald. + +‘Let me give you one piece of advice, Reginald,’ said Mr. Mohun, with a +mysterious air—‘never make rash promises.’ + +Lilias was rather disappointed in her hopes that Miss Weston and Claude +would become better acquainted. At dinner the conversation was almost +entirely between the elder gentlemen; Claude scarcely spoke, except when +referred to by his father or Mr. Devereux. Miss Weston never liked to +incur the danger of having to repeat her insignificant speeches to a deaf +ear, and being interested in the discussion that was going on, she by no +means seconded Lily’s attempt to get up an under-current of talk. In +general, Lily liked to listen to conversation in silence, but she was now +in very high spirits, and could not be quiet; fortunately, she had no +interest in the subject the gentlemen were discussing, so that she could +not meddle with that, and finding Alethea silent and Claude out of reach, +she turned to Reginald, and talked and tittered with him all dinner-time. + +In the drawing-room she had it all her own way, and talked enough for all +the sisters. + +‘Have you heard that Cousin Rotherwood is coming?’ + +‘Yes, you said so before dinner.’ + +‘We hope,’ said Emily, ‘that you and Mr. Weston will dine here on +Tuesday. The Carringtons are coming, and a few others.’ + +‘Thank you,’ said Alethea; ‘I daresay papa will be very glad to come.’ + +‘Have you ever seen Rotherwood?’ said Lilias. + +‘Never,’ was the reply. + +‘Do not expect much,’ said Lily, laughing, though she knew not why; ‘he +is a very little fellow; no one would suppose him to be twenty, he has +such a boyish look. Then he never sits down—’ + +‘Literally?’ said Emily. + +‘Literally,’ persisted Lily; ‘such a quick person you never did see.’ + +‘Is he at Oxford?’ + +‘Oh yes! it was all papa’s doing that he was sent to Eton. Papa is his +guardian. Aunt Rotherwood never would have parted with him.’ + +‘He is the only son,’ interposed Emily. + +‘Uncle Rotherwood put him quite in papa’s power; Aunt Rotherwood wanted +to keep him at home with a tutor, and what she would have made of him I +cannot think,’ said Lily; and regardless of Emily’s warning frowns, and +Alethea’s attempt to change the subject, she went on: ‘When he was quite +a child he used to seem a realisation of all the naughty Dicks and Toms +in story-books. Miss Middleton had a perfect horror of his coming here, +for he would mind no one, and played tricks and drew Claude into +mischief; but he is quite altered since papa had the management of +him—Oh! such talks as papa has had with Aunt Rotherwood—do you know, papa +says no one knows what it is to lose a father but those who have the care +of his children, and Aunt Rotherwood is so provoking.’ + +Here Alethea determined to put an end to this oration, and to Emily’s +great relief, she cut short the detail of Lady Rotherwood’s offences by +saying, ‘Do you think Faith Longley likely to suit us, if we took her to +help the housemaid?’ + +‘Are you thinking of taking her?’ cried Lily. ‘Yes, for steady, stupid +household work, Faith would do very well; she is just the stuff to make a +servant of—“for dulness ever must be regular”—I mean for those who like +mere steadiness better than anything more lovable.’ + +As Alethea said, laughing, ‘I must confess my respect for that quality,’ +Mr. Devereux and Claude entered the room. + +‘Oh, Robert!’ cried Lily, ‘Mrs. Weston is going to take Faith Longley to +help the housemaid.’ + +‘You are travelling too fast, Lily,’ said Alethea, ‘she is only going to +think about it.’ + +‘I should be very glad,’ said Mr. Devereux, ‘that Faith should have a +good place; the Longleys are very respectable people, and they behaved +particularly well in refusing to let this girl go and live with some +dissenters at Stoney Bridge.’ + +‘I like what I have seen of the girl very much,’ said Miss Weston. + +‘In spite of her sad want of feeling,’ said Robert, smiling, as he looked +at Lily. + +‘Oh! she is a good work-a-day sort of person,’ said Lily, ‘like all other +poor people, hard and passive. Now, do not set up your eyebrows, Claude, +I am quite serious, there is no warmth about any except—’ + +‘So this is what Lily is come to!’ cried Emily; ‘the grand supporter of +the poor on poetical principles.’ + +‘The poor not affectionate!’ said Alethea. + +‘Not, compared within people whose minds and affections have been +cultivated,’ said Lily. ‘Now just hear what Mrs. Wall said to me only +yesterday; she asked for a black stuff gown out of the clothing club, +“for,” said she, “I had a misfortune, Miss;” I thought it would be, “and +tore my gown,” but it was, “I had a misfortune, Miss, and lost my +brother.”’ + +‘A very harsh conclusion on very slight grounds,’ said Mr. Devereux. + +‘Prove the contrary,’ said Lily. + +‘Facts would scarcely demonstrate it either way,’ said Mr. Devereux. +‘They would only prove what was the case with individuals who chanced to +come in our way, and if we are seldom able to judge of the depth of +feeling of those with whom we are familiar, how much less of those who +feel our presence a restraint.’ + +‘Intense feeling mocks restraint,’ said Lily. + +‘Violent, not intense,’ said Mr. Devereux. ‘Besides, you talk of +cultivating the affections. Now what do you mean? Exercising them, or +talking about them?’ + +‘Ah!’ said Emily, ‘the affection of a poor person is more tried; we blame +a poor man for letting his old mother go to the workhouse, without +considering how many of us would do the same, if we had as little to live +upon.’ + +‘Still,’ said Alethea, ‘the same man who would refuse to maintain her if +poor, would not bear with her infirmities if rich.’ + +‘Are the poor never infirm and peevish?’ said Mr. Devereux. + +‘Oh! how much worse it must be to bear with ill-temper in poverty,’ said +Emily, ‘when we think it quite wonderful to see a young lady kind and +patient with a cross old relation; what must it be when she is denying +herself, not only her pleasure, but her food for her sake; not merely +sitting quietly with her all day, and calling a servant to wait upon her, +but toiling all day to maintain her, and keeping awake half the night to +nurse her?’ + +‘Those are realities, indeed,’ said Alethea; ‘our greatest efforts seem +but child’s play in comparison.’ + +Lilias could hardly have helped being sobered by this conversation if she +had attended to it, but she had turned away to repeat the story of Mrs. +Walls to Jane, and then, fancying that the others were still remarking +upon it, she said in a light, laughing tone, ‘Well, so far I agree with +you. I know of a person who may well be called one of ourselves, who I +could quite fancy making such a speech.’ + +‘Whom do you mean?’ said Mr. Devereux. Alethea wished she did not know. + +‘No very distant relation,’ said Jane. + +‘Do not talk nonsense, Jane,’ said Claude, gravely. + +‘No nonsense at all, Claude,’ cried Jane in her very very pertest tone, +‘it is exactly like Eleanor; I am sure I can see her with her hands +before her, saying in her prim voice, “I must turn my old black silk and +trim it with crape, for I have had a misfortune, and lost my brother.”’ + +‘Lilias,’ said Miss Weston, somewhat abruptly, ‘did you not wish to sing +with me this evening?’ + +And thus she kept Lilias from any further public mischief that evening. + +Claude, exceedingly vexed by what had passed, with great injustice, laid +the blame upon Miss Weston, and instead of rendering her the honour which +she really deserved for the tact with which she had put an end to the +embarrassment of all parties, he fancied she was anxious to display her +talents for music, and thus only felt fretted by the sounds. + +Mr. Weston and his daughter intended to walk home that evening, as it was +a beautiful moonlight night. + +‘Oh, let us convoy you!’ exclaimed Lilias; ‘I do long to show Alethea a +glow-worm. Will you come, Claude? May we, papa? Feel how still and +warm it is. A perfect summer night, not a breath stirring.’ + +Mr. Mohun consented, and Lily almost hurried Alethea upstairs, to put on +her bonnet and shawl. When she came down she found that the walking +party had increased. Jane and Reginald would both have been in despair +to have missed such a frolic; Maurice hoped to fall in with the droning +beetle, or to lay violent hands on a glow-worm; Emily did not like to be +left behind, and even Mr. Mohun was going, being in the midst of an +interesting conversation with Mr. Weston. Lily, with an absurd tragic +gesture, told Alethea that amongst so many, such a crowd, all the grace +and sweet influence of the walk was ruined. The ‘sweet influence’ was +ruined as far as Lily was concerned, but not by the number of her +companions. It was the uneasy feeling caused by her over-strained +spirits and foolish chattering that prevented her from really entering +into the charm of the soft air, the clear moon, the solemn deep blue sky, +the few stars, the white lilies on the dark pond, the long shadows of the +trees, the freshness of the dewy fields. Her simplicity, and her genuine +delight in the loveliness of the scene, was gone for the time, and though +she spoke much of her enjoyment, it was in a high-flown affected style. + +When the last good-night had been exchanged, and Lily had turned +homeward, she felt the stillness which succeeded their farewells almost +oppressive; she started at the dark shadow of a tree which lay across the +path, and to shake off a sensation of fear which was coming over her, she +put her arm within Claude’s, exclaiming, ‘You naughty boy, you will be +stupid and silent, say what I will.’ + +‘I heard enough to-night to strike me dumb,’ said Claude. + +For one moment Lily thought he was in jest, but the gravity of his manner +showed her that he was both grieved and displeased, and she changed her +tone as she said, ‘Oh! Claude, what do you mean?’ + +‘Do you not know?’ said Claude. + +‘What, you mean about Eleanor?’ said Lily; ‘you must fall upon Miss Jenny +there—it was her doing.’ + +‘Jane’s tongue is a pest,’ said Claude; ‘but she was not the first to +speak evil falsely of one to whom you owe everything. Oh! Lily, I +cannot tell you how that allusion of yours sounded.’ + +‘What allusion?’ asked Lily in alarm, for she had never seen her gentle +brother so angry. + +‘You know,’ said he. + +‘Indeed, I do not,’ exclaimed Lily, munch frightened. ‘Claude, Claude, +you must mistake, I never could have said anything so very shocking.’ + +‘I hope I do,’ said Claude; ‘I could hardly believe that one of the +little ones who cannot remember him, could have referred to him in that +way—but for you!’ + +‘Him?’ said Lilias. + +‘I do not like to mention his name to one who regards him so lightly,’ +said Claude. ‘Think over what passed, if you are sufficiently come to +yourself to remember it.’ + +After a little pause Lily said in a subdued voice, ‘Claude, I hope you do +not believe that I was thinking of what really happened when I said +that.’ + +‘Pray what were you thinking of?’ + +‘The abstract view of Eleanor’s character.’ + +‘Abstract nonsense!’ said Claude. ‘A fine demonstration of the rule of +love, to go about the world slandering your sister!’ + +‘To go about the world! Oh! Claude, it was only Robert, one of +ourselves, and Alethea, to whom I tell everything.’ + +‘So much the worse. I always rejoiced that you had no foolish young lady +friend to make missish confidences to.’ + +‘She is no foolish young lady friend,’ said Lilias, indignant in her +turn; ‘she is five years older than I am, and papa wishes us to be +intimate with her.’ + +‘Then the fault is in yourself,’ said Claude. ‘You ought not to have +told such things if they were true, and being utterly false—’ + +‘But, Claude, I cannot see that they are false.’ + +‘Not false, that Eleanor cared not a farthing for Harry!’ cried Claude, +shaking off Lily’s arm, and stopping short. + +‘Oh!—she cared, she really did care,’ said Lily, as fast as she could +speak. ‘Oh! Claude, how could you think that? I told you I did not +mean what really happened, only that—Eleanor is cold—not as warm as some +people—she did care for him, of course she did—I know that—I believe she +loved him with all her heart—but yet—I mean she did not—she went on as +usual—said nothing—scarcely cried—looked the same—taught us—never—Oh! it +did not make half the difference in her that it did in William.’ + +‘I cannot tell how she behaved at the time,’ said Claude, ‘I only know I +never had any idea what a loss Harry was till I came home and saw her +face. I used never to trouble myself to think whether people looked ill +or well, but the change in her did strike me. She was bearing up to +comfort papa, and to cheer William, and to do her duty by all of us, and +you could take such noble resignation for want of feeling!’ + +Lilias looked down and tried to speak, but she was choked by her tears; +she could not bear Claude’s displeasure, and she wept in silence. At +last she said in a voice broken by sobs, ‘I was unjust—I know Eleanor was +all kindness—all self-sacrifice—I have been very ungrateful—I wish I +could help it—and you know well, Claude, how far I am from regarding dear +Harry with indifference—how the thought of him is a star in my mind—how +happy it makes me to think of him at the end of the Church Militant +Prayer; do not believe I was dreaming of him.’ + +‘And pray,’ said Claude, laughing in his own good-humoured way, ‘which of +us is it that she is so willing to lose?’ + +‘Oh! Claude, no such thing,’ said Lily, ‘you know what I meant, or did +not mean. It was nonsense—I hope nothing worse.’ Lily felt that she +might take his arm again. There was a little silence, and then Lily +resumed in a timid voice, ‘I do not know whether you will be angry, +Claude, but honestly, I do not think that if—that Eleanor would be so +wretched about you as I should.’ + +‘Eleanor knew Harry better than you did; no, Lily, I never could have +been what Harry was, even if I had never wasted my time, and if my +headaches had not interfered with my best efforts.’ + +‘I do not believe that, say what you will,’ said Lily. + +‘Ask William, then,’ said Claude, sighing. + +‘I am sure papa does not think so,’ said Lily; ‘no, I cannot feel that +Harry is such a loss when we still have you.’ + +‘Oh! Lily, it is plain that you never knew Harry,’ said Claude. ‘I do +not believe you ever did—that is one ting to be said for you.’ + +‘Not as you did,’ said Lily; ‘remember, he was six years older. Then +think how little we saw of him whilst they were abroad; he was always at +school, or spending the holidays with Aunt Robert, and latterly even +farther off, and only coming sometimes for an hour or two to see us. +Then he used to kiss us all round, we went into the garden with him, +looked at him, and were rather afraid of him; then he walked off to Wat +Greenwood, came back, wished us good-bye, and away he went.’ + +‘Yes,’ said Claude, ‘but after they came home?’ + +‘Then he was a tall youth, and we were silly girls,’ said Lilias; ‘he +avoided Miss Middleton, and we were always with her. He was +good-natured, but he could not get on with us; he did very well with the +little ones, but we were of the wrong age. He and William and Eleanor +were one faction, we were another, and you were between both—he was too +old, too sublime, too good, too grave for us.’ + +‘Too grave!’ said Claude; ‘I never heard a laugh so full of glee, except, +perhaps, Phyllis’s.’ + +‘The last time he was at home,’ continued Lily, ‘we began to know him +better; there was no Miss Middleton in the way, and after you and William +were gone, he used to walk with us, and read to us. He read _Guy +Mannering_ to us, and told us the story of Sir Maurice de Mohun; but the +loss was not the same to us as to you elder ones; and then sorrow was +almost lost in admiration, and in pleasure at the terms in which every +one spoke of him. Claude, I have no difficulty in not wishing it +otherwise; he is still my brother, and I would not change the feeling +which the thought of his death gives me—no, not for himself in life and +health.’ + +‘Ah!’ sighed Claude, ‘you have no cause for self-reproach—no reason to +lament over “wasted hours and love misspent.”’ + +‘You will always talk of your old indolence, as if it was a great crime,’ +said Lily. + +‘It was my chief temptation,’ said Claude. ‘As long as we know we are +out of the path of duty it does not make much difference whether we have +turned to the right hand or to the left.’ + +‘Was it Harry’s death that made you look upon it in this light?’ said +Lily. + +‘I knew it well enough before,’ said Claude, ‘it was what he had often +set before me. Indeed, till I came home, and saw this place without him, +I never really knew what a loss he was. At Eton I did not miss him more +than when he went to Oxford, and I did not dwell on what he was to papa, +or what I ought to be; and even when I saw what home was without him, I +should have contented myself with miserable excuses about my health, if +it had not been for my confirmation; then I awoke, I saw my duty, and the +wretched way in which I had been spending my time. Thoughts of Harry and +of my father came afterwards; I had not vigour enough for them before.’ + +Here they reached the house, and parted—Claude, ashamed of having talked +of himself for the first time in his life, and Lily divided between shame +at her own folly and pleasure at Claude’s having thus opened his mind. + +Jane, who was most in fault, escaped censure. Her father was ignorant of +her improper speech. Emily forgot it, and it was not Claude’s place to +reprove his sisters, though to Lily he spoke as a friend. It passed away +from her mind like other idle words, which, however, could not but leave +an impression on those who heard her. + +An unlooked-for result of the folly of this evening was, that Claude was +prevented from appreciating Miss Weston He could not learn to like her, +nor shake off an idea, that she was prying into their family concerns; he +thought her over-praised, and would not even give just admiration to her +singing, because he had once fancied her eager to exhibit it. It was +unreasonable to dislike his sister’s friend for his sister’s folly, but +Claude’s wisdom was not yet arrived at its full growth, and he deserved +credit for keeping his opinion to himself. + + + + +CHAPTER IX +THE WASP + + + ‘Whom He hath blessed and called His own, + He tries them early, look and tone, + Bent brow and throbbing heart, + Tries them with pain.’ + +THE next week Lily had the pleasure of fitting out Faith Longley for her +place at Mrs. Weston’s. She rejoiced at this opportunity of patronising +her, because in her secret soul she felt that she might have done her a +little injustice in choosing her own favourite Esther in her stead. +Esther’s popularity at the New Court, however, made Lilias confident in +her own judgment; the servants liked her because she was quick and +obliging, Mr. Mohun said she looked very neat, Phyllis liked her because +a mischance to her frock was not so brave an offence with her as with +Rachel, and Ada was growing very fond of her, because she was in the +habit of bestowing great admiration on her golden curls as she arranged +them, and both little girls were glad not to be compelled to put away the +playthings they took out. + +Maurice and Reginald had agreed to defer their onslaught on the wasps +till Lord Rotherwood’s arrival, and the war was now limited to attacks on +foraging parties. Reginald most carefully marked every nest about the +garden and farm, and, on his cousin’s arrival on Saturday evening, began +eagerly to give him a list of their localities. Lord Rotherwood was as +ardent in the cause as even Reginald could desire, and would have +instantly set out with him to reconnoitre had not the evening been rainy. + +Then turning to Claude, he said, ‘But I have not told you what brought me +here; I came to persuade you to make an expedition with me up the Rhine; +I set off next week; I would not write about it, because I knew you would +only say you should like it very much, but—some but, that meant it was a +great deal too much trouble.’ + +‘How fast the plan has risen up,’ said Claude, ‘I heard nothing of it +when I was with you.’ + +‘Oh! it only came into my head last week, but I do not see what there is +to wait for, second thoughts are never best.’ + +‘Oh! Claude, how delightful,’ said Lily. + +Claude stirred his tea meditatively, and did not speak. + +‘It is too much trouble, I perceive,’ said Lord Rotherwood; ‘just as I +told you.’ + +‘Not exactly,’ said Claude. + +Lord Rotherwood now detailed his plan to his uncle, who said with a +propitious smile, ‘Well, Claude, what do you think of it? + +‘Mind you catch a firefly for me,’ said Maurice. + +‘Why don’t you answer, Claude?’ said Lilias; ‘only imagine seeing +Undine’s Castle!’ + +‘Eh, Claude?’ said his father. + +‘It would be very pleasant,’ said Claude, slowly, ‘but—’ + +‘What?’ said Mr. Mohun. + +‘Only a but,’ said the Marquis. ‘I hope he will have disposed of it by +the morning; I start next Tuesday week; I would not go later for the +universe; we shall be just in time for the summer in its beauty, and to +have a peep at Switzerland. We shall not have time for Mont Blanc, +without rattling faster than any man in his senses would do. I do not +mean to leave any place till I have thoroughly seen twice over everything +worth seeing that it contains.’ + +‘Then perhaps you will get as far as Antwerp, and spend the rest of the +holidays between the Cathedral and Paul Potter’s bull. No, I shall have +nothing to say to you at that rate,’ said Claude. + +‘Depend upon it, it will be you that will wish to stand still when I had +rather be on the move,’ said the Marquis. + +‘Then you had better leave me behind. I have no intention of being +hurried over the world, and never having my own way,’ said Claude, trying +to look surly. + +‘I am sure I should not mind travelling twice over the world to see +Cologne Cathedral, or the field of Waterloo,’ said Lily. + +‘Let me only show him my route,’ said Lord Rotherwood. ‘Redgie, look in +my greatcoat pocket in the hall for Murray’s Handbook, will you?’ + +‘Go and get it, Phyl,’ said Reginald, who was astride on the window-sill, +peeling a stick. + +Away darted Lord Rotherwood to fetch it himself, but Phyllis was before +him; her merry laugh was heard, as he chased her round the hall to get +possession of his book, throwing down two or three cloaks to intercept +her path. Mr. Mohun took the opportunity of his absence to tell Claude +that he need not refuse on the score of expense. + +‘Thank you,’ was all Claude’s answer. + +Lord Rotherwood returned, and after punishing the discourteous Reginald +by raising him up by his ears, he proceeded to give a full description of +the delights of his expedition, the girls joining heartily with him in +declaring it as well arranged as possible, and bringing all their +knowledge of German travels to bear upon it. Claude sometimes put in a +word, but never as if he cared much about the matter, and he was not to +be persuaded to give any decided answer as to whether he would accompany +the Marquis. + +The next morning at breakfast Lord Rotherwood returned to the charge, but +Claude seemed even more inclined to refuse than the day before. Lilias +could not divine what was the matter with him, and lingered long after +her sisters had gone to school, to hear what answer he would make; and +when Mr. Mohun looked at his watch, and asked her if she knew how late it +was, she rose from the breakfast-table with a sigh, and thought while she +was putting on her bonnet how much less agreeable the school had been +since the schism in the parish. And besides, now that Faith and Esther, +and one or two others of her best scholars, had gone away from school, +there seemed to be no one of any intelligence or knowledge left in the +class, except Marianne Weston, who knew too much for the others, and one +or two clever inattentive little girls: Lily almost disliked teaching +them. + +Phyllis and Adeline were in Miss Weston’s class, and much did they +delight in her teaching. There was a quiet earnestness in her manner +which attracted her pupils, and fixed their attention, so as scarcely to +allow the careless room for irreverence, while mere cleverness seemed +almost to lose its advantage in learning what can only truly be entered +into by those whose conduct agrees with their knowledge. + +Phyllis never dreamt that she could be happy while standing still and +learning, till Miss Weston began to teach at the Sunday school. +Obedience at school taught her to acquire habits of reverent attention, +which gradually conquered the idleness and weariness which had once +possessed her at church. First, she learnt to be interested in the +Historical Lessons, then never to lose her place in the Psalms, then to +think about and follow some of the Prayers; by this time she was far from +feeling any fatigue at all on week-days; she had succeeded in restraining +any contortions to relieve herself from the irksomeness of sitting still, +and had her thoughts in tolerable order through the greater part of the +Sunday service, and now it was her great wish, unknown to any one, to +abstain from a single yawn through the whole service, including the +sermon! + +Her place (chosen for her by Eleanor when first she had begun to go to +Church, as far as possible from Reginald) was at the end of the seat, +between her papa and the wall. This morning, as she put her arm on the +book-board, while rising from kneeling, she felt a sudden thrill of sharp +pain smear her left elbow, which made her start violently, and would have +caused a scream, had she not been in church. She saw a wasp fall on the +ground, and was just about to put her foot on it, when she recollected +where she was. She had never in her life intentionally killed anything, +and this was no time to begin in that place, and when she was angry. The +pain was severe—more so perhaps than any she had felt before—and very +much frightened, she pulled her papa’s coat to draw his attention. But +her first pull was so slight that he did not feel it, and before she gave +a second she remembered that she could not make him hear what was the +matter, without more noise than was proper. No, she must stay where she +was, and try to bear the pain, and she knew that if she did try, help +would be given her. She proceeded to find out the Psalm and join her +voice with the others, though her heart was beating very fast, her +forehead was contracted, and she could not help keeping her right hand +clasped round her arm, and sometimes shifting from one foot to the other. +The sharpness of the pain soon went off; she was able to attend to the +Lessons, and hoped it would soon be quite well; but as soon as she began +to think about it, it began to ache and throb, and seemed each moment to +be growing hotter. The sermon especially tried her patience, her cheeks +were burning, she felt sick and hardly able to hold up her head, yet she +would not lean it against the wall, because she had often been told not +to do so. She was exceedingly alarmed to find that her arm had swelled +so much that she could hardly bend it, and it had received the impression +of the gathers of her sleeve; she thought no sermon had ever been so +long, but she sat quite still and upright, as she could not have done, +had she not trained herself unconsciously by her efforts to leave off the +trick of kicking her heels together. She did not speak till she was in +the churchyard, and then she made Emily look at her arm. + +‘My poor child, it is frightful,’ said Emily, ‘what is the matter?’ + +‘A wasp stung me just before the Psalms,’ said Phyllis, ‘and it goes on +swelling and swelling, and it does pant!’ + +‘What is the matter?’ asked Mr. Mohun. + +‘Papa, just look,’ said Emily, ‘a wasp stung this dear child quite early +in the service, and she has been bearing it all this time in silence. +Why did you not show me, Phyl?’ + +‘Because it was in church,’ said the little girl. + +‘Why, Phyllis, you are a very Spartan,’ said Lord Rotherwood. + +‘Something better than a Spartan,’ said Mr. Mohun. ‘Does it give you +much pain now, my dear?’ + +‘Not so bad as in church,’ said Phyllis, ‘only I am very tired, and it is +so hot.’ + +‘We will help you home, then,’ said Mr. Mohun. As he took her up in his +arms, Phyllis laughed, thanked him, replied to various inquiries from her +sisters and the Westons—laughed again at sundry jokes from her brothers, +then became silent, and was almost asleep, with her head on her papa’s +shoulder, by the time they reached the hall-door. She thought it very +strange to be laid down on the sofa in the drawing-room, and to find +every one attending to her. Mrs. Weston bathed her forehead with +lavender-water, and Lily cut open the sleeve of her frock; Jane fetched +all manner of remedies, and Emily pitied her. She was rather frightened: +she thought such a fuss would not be made about her unless she was very +ill; she was faint and tired, and was glad when Mrs. Weston proposed that +they should all come away, and leave her to go to sleep quietly. + +Marianne was so absorbed in admiration of Phyllis that she did not speak +one word all the way from church to the New Court, and stood in silence +watching the operations upon her friend, till Mrs. Weston sent every one +away. + +Adeline rather envied Phyllis; she would willingly have endured the pain +to be made of so much importance, and said to be better than a Spartan, +which must doubtless be something very fine indeed! + +Phyllis was waked by the bells ringing for the afternoon service; Mrs. +Weston was sitting by her, reading, Claude came to inquire for her, and +to tell her that as she had lost her early dinner, she was to join the +rest of the party at six. To her great surprise she felt quite well and +fresh, and her arm was much better; Mrs. Weston pinned up her sleeve, and +she set off with her to church, wondering whether Ada would remember to +tell her what she had missed that afternoon at school. Those whose +approbation was valuable, honoured Phyllis for her conduct, but she did +not perceive it, or seek for it; she did not look like a heroine while +running about and playing with Reginald and the dogs in the evening, but +her papa had told her she was a good child, Claude had given her one of +his kindest smiles, and she was happy. Even when Esther was looking at +the mark left by the sting, and telling her that she was sure Miss +Marianne Weston would have not been half so good, her simple, humble +spirit came to her aid, and she answered, ‘I’ll tell you what, Esther, +Marianne would have behaved much better, for she is older, and never +fidgets, and she would not have been angry like me, and just going to +kill the wasp.’ + + + + +CHAPTER X +COUSIN ROTHERWOOD + + + ‘We care not who says + And intends it dispraise, + That an Angler to a fool is next neighbour.’ + +IN the evening Lord Rotherwood renewed his entreaties to Claude to join +him on his travels. He was very much bent on taking him, for his own +pleasure depended not a little on his cousin’s company. Claude lay on +the glassy slope of the terrace, while Lord Rotherwood paced rapidly up +and down before him, persuading him with all the allurements he could +think of, and looking the picture of impatience. Lily sat by, adding her +weight to all his arguments. But Claude was almost contemptuous to all +the beauties of Germany, and all the promised sights; he scarcely gave +himself the trouble to answer his tormentors, only vouchsafing sometimes +to open his lips to say that he never meant to go to a country where +people spoke a language that sounded like cracking walnuts; that he hated +steamers; had no fancy for tumble-down castles; that it was so common to +travel; there was more distinction in staying at home; that the field of +Waterloo had been spoilt, and was not worth seeing; his ideas of glaciers +would be ruined by the reality; and he did not care to see Cologne +Cathedral till it was finished. + +On this Lily set up an outcry of horror. + +‘One comfort is, Lily,’ said Lord Rotherwood, ‘he does not mean it; he +did not say it from the bottom of his heart. Now, confess you did not, +Claude.’ + +Claude pretended to be asleep. + +‘I see plainly enough,’ said the Marquis to Lily, ‘it is as Wat Greenwood +says, “Mr. Reynold and the grapes.”’ + +‘But it is not,’ said Lily, ‘and that is what provokes me; papa says he +is quite welcome to go if he likes, and that he thinks it will do him a +great deal of good, but that foolish boy will say nothing but “I will +think about it,” and “thank you”.’ + +‘Then I give him up as regularly dense.’ + +‘It is the most delightful plan ever thought of,’ said Lily, ‘so easily +done, and just bringing within his compass all he ever wished to see.’ + +‘Oh! his sole ambition is to stretch those long legs of his on the grass, +like a great vegetable marrow,’ said Lord Rotherwood. ‘It is vegetating +like a plant that makes him so much taller than any rational creature +with a little animal life.’ + +‘I think Jane has his share of curiosity,’ said Lily, ‘I am sure I had no +idea that anything belonging to us could be so stupid.’ + +‘Well,’ said the Marquis, ‘I shall not go.’ + +‘No?’ said Lily. + +‘No, I shall certainly not go.’ + +‘Nonsense,’ said Claude, waking from his pretended sleep, ‘why do you not +ask Travers to go with you? He would like nothing better.’ + +‘He is a botanist, and would bore me with looking for weeds. No, I will +have you, or stay at home.’ + +Claude proposed several others as companions, but Lord Rotherwood treated +them all with as much disdain as Claude had shown for Germany, and ended +with ‘Now, Claude, you know my determination, only tell me why you will +not go?’ + +‘Then I do tell you, Rotherwood, the truth is, that those boys, Maurice +and Reginald, are perfectly unmanageable when they are left alone with +the girls.’ + +‘Have a tutor for them,’ said the Marquis. + +‘Very much obliged to you they would be for the suggestion,’ said Claude. + +‘Oh! but Claude,’ said Lily. + +‘I really cannot go. They mind no one but the Baron and me, and besides +that, it would be no small annoyance to the house; ten tutors could not +keep them from indescribable bits of mischief. I undertook them these +holidays, and I mean to keep them.’ + +Lilias was just flying off to her father, when Claude caught hold of her, +saying, ‘I desire you will not,’ and she stood still, looking at her +cousin in dismay. + +‘It is all right,’ cried the Marquis, joyfully, ‘it is only to set off +three weeks later.’ + +‘Oh! I thought you would not go a week later for the universe,’ said +Claude, smiling. + +‘Not for the Universe, but for U—,’ said Lord Rotherwood. + +‘Worthy of a companion true, of the University of Gottingen,’ said +Claude; ‘but, Rotherwood, do you really mean that it will make no +difference to you?’ + +‘None whatever; I meant to spend three weeks with my mother at the end of +the tour, and I shall spend them now instead. I only talked of going +immediately, because nothing is done at all that is not done quickly, and +I hate delays, but it is all the same, and now it stands for Tuesday +three weeks. Now we shall see what he says to Cologne, Lily.’ + +Claude sprung up, and began talking over arrangements and possibilities +with zest, which showed what his wishes had been from the first. All was +quickly settled, and as soon as his father had given his cordial +approbation to the scheme, it was amusing to see how animated and active +Claude became, and in how different a style he talked of the once +slighted Rhine. + +Lord Rotherwood told the boys that their brother was a great deal too +good for them, but they never troubled themselves to ask in what respect; +Lilias took very great delight in telling Emily of the sacrifice which he +had been willing to make, and looked forward to talking it over with +Alethea, but she refrained, as long as he was at home, as she knew it +would greatly displease him, and she had heard enough about missish +confidences. + +The Marquis of Rotherwood was certainly the very reverse of his chosen +travelling companion, in the matter of activity. He made an appointment +with the two boys to get up at half-past four on Monday morning for some +fishing, before the sun was too high—Maurice not caring for the sport, +but intending to make prize of any of the ‘insect youth’ which might +prefer the sunrise for their gambols; and Reginald, in high delight at +the prospect of real fishing, something beyond his own performances with +a stick and a string, in pursuit of minnows in the ditches. Reginald was +making contrivances for tying a string round his wrist and hanging the +end of it from the window, that Andrew Grey might give it a pull as he +went by to his work, to wake him, when Lord Rotherwood exclaimed, ‘What! +cannot you wake yourself at any time you please?’ + +‘No,’ said Reginald, ‘I never heard of any one that could.’ + +‘Then I advise you to learn the art; in the meantime I will call you +to-morrow.’ + +Loud voices and laughter in the hall, and the front door creaking on its +hinges at sunrise, convinced the household that this was no vain boast; +before breakfast was quite over the fishermen were seen approaching the +house. Lord Rotherwood was an extraordinary figure, in an old shooting +jacket of his uncle’s, an enormous pair of fishing-boots of William’s, +and the broad-brimmed straw hat, which always hung up in the hall, and +was not claimed by any particular owner. + +Maurice displayed to Jane the contents of two phials, strange little +creatures, with stranger names, of which he was as proud as Reginald of +his three fine trout. Lord Rotherwood did not appear till he had made +himself look like other people, which he did in a surprisingly short +time. He began estimating the weight of the fish, and talking at his +most rapid rate, till at last Claude said, ‘Phyllis told us just now that +you were coming back, for that she heard Cousin Rotherwood talking, and +it proved to be Jane’s old turkey cock gobbling.’ + +‘No bad compliment,’ said Emily, ‘for Phyllis was once known to say, on +hearing a turkey cock, “How melodiously that nightingale sings.”’ + +‘No, no! that was Ada,’ said Lilias. + +‘I could answer for that,’ said Claude. ‘Phyllis is too familiar with +both parties to mistake their notes. Besides, she never was known to use +such a word as melodiously.’ + +‘Do you remember,’ said the Marquis, ‘that there was some great lawyer +who had three kinds of handwriting, one that the public could read, one +that only his clerk could read, and one that nobody could read?’ + +‘I suppose I am the clerk,’ said Claude, ‘unless I divide the honour with +Florence.’ + +‘I do not think I am unintelligible anywhere but here,’ said Lord +Rotherwood. ‘There is nothing sufficiently exciting at home, if +Grosvenor Square is to be called home.’ + +‘Sometimes you do it without knowing it,’ said Lily. + +‘Yes,’ said Claude, ‘when you do not exactly know what you are going to +say.’ + +‘Then it is no bad plan,’ said Lord Rotherwood. ‘People are satisfied, +and you don’t commit yourself.’ + +‘I’ll tell you what, Cousin Rotherwood,’ exclaimed Phyllis, ‘your hand is +bleeding.’ + +‘Is it? Thank you, Phyllis, I thought I had washed it off: now do find +me some sealing-wax—India-rub her—sticking-plaster, I mean.’ + +‘Oh! Rotherwood,’ said Emily, ‘what a bad cut, how did it happen?’ + +‘Only, I am the victim to Maurice’s first essay in fishing.’ + +‘Just fancy what an awkward fellow Maurice is,’ said Reginald, ‘he had +but one throw, and he managed to stick the hook into Rotherwood’s hand.’ + +‘One of those barbed hooks? Oh! Rotherwood, how horrid!’ said Emily. + +‘And he cut it out with his knife, and caught that great trout with it +directly,’ said Reginald. + +‘And neither half drowned Maurice, nor sent him home again?’ asked Lily. + +‘I contented myself with taking away his weapon,’ said the Marquis; ‘and +he wished for nothing better than to poke about in the gutters for +insects; it was only Redgie that teased him into the nobler sport.’ + +Emily was inclined to make a serious matter of the accident, but her +cousin said ten words while she said one, and by the time her first +sentence was uttered, she found him talking about his ride to Devereux +Castle. + +He and Claude set out as soon as breakfast was over, and came back about +three o’clock; Claude was tired with the heat, and betook himself to the +sofa, where he fell asleep, under pretence of reading, but the +indefatigable Marquis was ready and willing to set out with Reginald and +Wat Greenwood to shoot rabbits. + +Dinner-time came, and Emily sat at the drawing-room window with Claude +and Lilias, lamenting her cousin’s bad habits. ‘Nothing will ever make +him punctual,’ said she. + +‘I am in duty bound to let you say nothing against him,’ said Claude. + +‘It is very good-natured in him to wait for you,’ said Lily, ‘but it +would be horribly selfish to leave you behind.’ + +‘Delay is his great horror,’ said Claude, ‘and the wonder of his +character is, that he is not selfish. No one had ever better training +for it.’ + +‘He does like his own way very much,’ said Lilias. + +‘Who does not?’ said Claude. + +‘Nothing shows his sense so much,’ said Emily, ‘as his great attachment +to papa—the only person who ever controlled him.’ + +‘And to Claude—his opposite in everything,’ said Lilias. + +‘I think he will tire you to death in Germany,’ said Emily. + +‘Never fear,’ said Claude, ‘my _vis inertiæ_ is enough to counterbalance +any amount of restlessness.’ + +‘Here they come,’ said Lily; ‘how Wat Greenwood is grinning at +Rotherwood’s jokes!’ + +‘A happy day for Wat,’ said Emily. ‘He will be quite dejected if William +is not at home next shooting season. He thinks you a degenerate Mohun, +Claude.’ + +‘He must comfort himself with Redgie,’ said Claude. + +‘Rotherwood is only eager about shooting in common with everything else,’ +said Lily, ‘but Redgie, I fear, will care for nothing else.’ + +Lord Rotherwood came in, accounting for being late, as, in passing +through a harvest field, he could not help attempting to reap. The +Beechcroft farming operations had been his especial amusement from very +early days, and his plans were numerous for farming on a grand scale as +soon as he should be of age. His talk during dinner was of turnips and +wheat, till at length Mr. Mohun asked him what he thought of the +appearance of the castle. He said it was very forlorn; the rooms looked +so dreary and deserted that he could not bear to be in them, and had been +out of doors almost all the time. Indeed, he was afraid he had +disappointed the housekeeper by not complimenting her as she deserved, +for the freezing dismal order in which she kept everything. ‘And +really,’ said he, ‘I must go again to-morrow and make up for it, and +Emily, you must come with me and try to devise something to make the +unhappy place less like the abode of the Prince of the Black Islands.’ + +Emily willingly promised to go, and she went on talking to him, and +telling him whom he was to meet on the next day, when an unusual silence +making her look up, she beheld him more than half asleep. + +Reginald fidgeted and sighed, and Maurice grew graver and graver as they +thought of the wasps. Maurice wanted to take a nest entire, and began +explaining his plan to Claude. + +‘You see, Claude, burning some straw and then digging, spoils the combs, +as Wat does it; now I have got some puff-balls and sulphur to put into +the hole, and set fire to them with a lucifer match, so as to stifle the +wasps, and then dig them out quietly to-morrow morning.’ + +‘It is all of no use, if that Rotherwood will do nothing but sleep,’ said +Reginald, in a disconsolate tone. + +‘You should not have made him get up at four,’ said Emily. + +‘Who! I?’ exclaimed the Marquis. ‘I never was wider awake. What are +you waiting for, Reginald? I thought you were going to take wasps’ +nests.’ + +‘You are much too tired, I am sure,’ said Emily. + +‘Tired! not in the least, I have done nothing to-day to tire me,’ said +Lord Rotherwood, walking up and down the room to keep himself awake. + +The whole party went out, and found Wat Greenwood waiting for them with a +bundle of straw, a spade, and a little gunpowder. Maurice carried a +basket containing all his preparations, on which Wat looked with supreme +contempt, telling him that his puffs were too green to make a smeech. +Maurice, not condescending to argue the point, ran on to a nest which +Reginald had marked on one of the green banks of the ancient moat. + +‘Take care that the wasps are all come in; mind what you are about, +Maurice,’ called his father. + +‘Master Maurice,’ shouted Wat, ‘you had better take a green bough.’ + +‘Never mind, Wat,’ said Lord Rotherwood, ‘he would not stay long enough +to use it if he had it.’ + +Reginald ran after Maurice, who had just reached the nest. + +‘There is one coming in, the evening is so warm they are not quiet yet.’ + +‘I’ll quiet them,’ said Maurice, kneeling down, and putting his first +puff-ball into the hole. + +Reginald stood by with a sly smile, as he pulled a branch off a +neighbouring filbert-tree. The next moment Maurice gave a sudden yell, +‘The wasps! the wasps!’ and jumping up, and tripping at his first step, +rolled down the bank, and landed safely at Lord Rotherwood’s feet. The +shouts of laughter were loud, but he regarded them not, and as soon as he +recovered his feet, rushed past his sisters, and never stopped till he +reached the house. Redgie stood alone, in the midst of a cloud of wasps, +beating them off with a bough, roaring with laughter, and calling Wat to +bring the straw to burn them. + +‘No, no, Redgie, come away, leave them for Maurice to try again,’ said +his father. + +‘The brute, he stung me,’ cried Reginald, knocking down a wasp or two as +he came down. ‘What is this?’ added he, as he stumbled over something at +the bottom of the slope. ‘Oh! Maurice’s basket; look here—laudanum—did +he mean to poison the wasps?’ + +‘No,’ said Jane, ‘to cure their stings.’ + +‘The poor unhappy quiz!’ cried Reginald. + +While the others were busy over a nest, Mr. Mohun asked Emily how the boy +got at the medicine chest. Emily looked confused, and said she supposed +Jane had given him a bottle. + +‘Jane is too young to be trusted there,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘I thought you +knew better; do not let the key be out of your possession again.’ + +After a few more nests had been taken in the usual manner, they returned +to the house. Maurice was lying on the sofa reading the _Penny +Magazine_, from which he raised his eyes no more that evening, in spite +of all the jokes which flew about respecting wounded knights, courage, +and the balsam of Fierabras. He called Jane to teach her how flies were +made, and as soon as tea was over he went to bed. Reginald, after many +yawns, prepared to follow his example, and as he was wishing his sisters +good-night, Emily said, ‘Now, Redgie, do not go out at such a +preposterous hour to-morrow morning.’ + +‘What is that to you?’ was Reginald’s courteous inquiry. + +‘I do not wish to see every one fast asleep to-morrow evening,’ said +Emily, and she looked at her cousin, whose head was far back over his +chair. + +‘He is a Trojan,’ said Reginald. + +‘Is a Trojan better than a Spartan?’ asked Ada, meditatively. + +‘Helen thought so,’ said Claude. + +‘“When Greek meets Greek, then comes the tug of war,”’ muttered the +Marquis. + +‘You are all talking Greek,’ said Jane. + +‘Arabic,’ said Claude. + +As far as it could be comprehended, Lord Rotherwood’s answer related to +Maurice and the wasps. + +‘There,’ said Emily, ‘what is to be done if he is in that condition +to-morrow?’ + +‘I am not asleep; what makes you think I am?’ + +‘I wish you would sit in that great chair,’ said Emily, ‘I am afraid you +will break your neck; you look so uncomfortable, I cannot bear to see +you.’ + +‘I never was more comfortable in my life,’ said Lord Rotherwood, asleep +while finishing the sentence; but this time, happily with his elbows on +the table, and his head in a safer position. + +The next day was spent rather more rationally. Lord Rotherwood met with +a book of Irish Tales, with which he became so engrossed that he did not +like to leave it when Emily and Claude were ready to ride to Devereux +Castle with him. When there he was equally eager and vehement about each +matter that came under consideration, and so many presented themselves, +that Emily began to be in agonies lest she should not be at home in time +to dress and receive her guests. They did, however, reach the house +before Lilias, who had been walking with Miss Weston, came in, and when +she went upstairs, she found Emily full of complaints at the +inconvenience of having no Rachel to assist her in dressing, and to see +that everything was in order, and that Phyllis was fit to appear when she +came down in the evening; but, by the assistance of Lily and Jane, she +got over her troubles, and when she went into the drawing-room, she was +much relieved to find her two gentlemen quite safe and dressed. She had +been in great fear of Lord Rotherwood’s straying away to join in some of +Reginald’s sports, and was grateful to the Irish book for keeping him out +of mischief. + +Emily was in her glory; it was the first large dinner-party since Eleanor +had gone, and though she pitied herself for having the trouble of +entertaining the people, she really enjoyed the feeling that she now +appeared as the mistress of New Court, with her cousin, the Marquis, by +her side, to show how highly she was connected. And everything went off +just as could be wished. Lord Rotherwood talked intelligibly and +sensibly, and Mr. Mohun’s neighbour at dinner had a voice which he could +hear. Lily’s pleasure was not less than her sister’s, though of a +different kind. She delighted in thinking how well Emily did the +honours, in watching the varied expression of Lord Rotherwood’s animated +countenance, in imagining Claude’s forehead to be finer than that of any +one else, and in thinking how people must admire Reginald’s tall, active +figure, and very handsome face. She was asked to play, and did tolerably +well, but was too shy to sing, nor, indeed, was Reginald encouraging. +‘What is the use of your singing, Lily? If it was like Miss Weston’s, +now—’ + +Reginald had taken a great fancy to Miss Weston; he stood by her all the +evening, and afterwards let her talk to him, and then began to chatter +himself, at last becoming so confidential as to impart to her the grand +object of his ambition, which was to be taller than Claude! + +The next morning Lord Rotherwood left Beechcroft, somewhat to Emily’s +relief; for though she was very proud of him, and much enjoyed the +dignity of being seen to talk familiarly with him, yet, when no strangers +were present, and he became no more than an ordinary cousin, she was +worried by his incessant activity, and desire to see, know, and do +everything as fast and as thoroughly as possible. She could not see the +use of such vehemence; she liked to take things in a moderate way, and as +Claude said, much preferred the passive to the active voice. Claude, on +the contrary, was ashamed of his constitutional indolence, looked on it +as a temptation, and struggled against it, almost envying his cousin his +unabated eagerness and untiring energy, and liking to be with him, +because no one else so effectually roused him from his habitual languor. +His indolence was, however, so much the effect of ill health, that +exertion was sometimes scarcely in his power, especially in hot weather, +and by the time his brothers’ studies were finished each day, he was +unfit for anything but to lie on the grass under the plane-tree. + +The days glided on, and the holidays came to an end; Maurice spent them +in adding to his collection of insects, which, with Jane’s assistance, he +arranged very neatly; and Reginald and Phyllis performed several +exploits, more agreeable to themselves than satisfactory to the more +rational part of the New Court community. At the same time, Reginald’s +devotion to Miss Weston increased; he never moved from her side when she +sang, did not fail to be of the party when she walked with his sisters, +offered her one of his own puppies, named his little ship ‘Alethea,’ and +was even tolerably civil to Marianne. + +At length the day of departure came; the boys returned to school, Claude +joined Lord Rotherwood, and the New Court was again in a state of +tranquillity. + + + + +CHAPTER XI +DANCING + + + ‘Prescribe us not our duties.’ + +‘WELL, Phyllis,’ said her father, as he passed through the hall to mount +his horse, ‘how do you like the prospect of Monsieur le Roi’s +instructions?’ + +‘Not at all, papa,’ answered Phyllis, running out to the hall door to pat +the horse, and give it a piece of bread. + +‘Take care you turn out your toes,’ said Mr. Mohun. ‘You must learn to +dance like a dragon before Cousin Rotherwood’s birthday next year.’ + +‘Papa, how do dragons dance?’ + +‘That is a question I must decide at my leisure,’ said Mr. Mohun, +mounting. ‘Stand out of the way, Phyl, or you will feel how horses +dance.’ + +Away he rode, while Phyllis turned with unwilling steps to the nursery, +to be dressed for her first dancing lesson; Marianne Weston was to learn +with her, and this was some consolation, but Phyllis could not share in +the satisfaction Adeline felt in the arrival of Monsieur le Roi. Jane +was also a pupil, but Lily, whose recollections of her own dancing days +were not agreeable, absented herself entirely from the dancing-room, even +though Alethea Weston had come with her sister. + +Poor Phyllis danced as awkwardly as was expected, but Adeline seemed +likely to be a pupil in whom a master might rejoice; Marianne was very +attentive and not ungraceful, but Alethea soon saw reason to regret the +arrangement that had been made, for she perceived that Jane considered +the master a fair subject for derision, and her ‘nods and becks, and +wreathed smiles,’ called up corresponding looks in Marianne’s face. + +‘Oh Brownie, you are a naughty thing!’ said Emily, as soon as M. le Roi +had departed. + +‘He really was irresistible!’ said Jane. + +‘I suppose ridicule is one of the disagreeables to which a dancing-master +makes up his mind,’ said Alethea. + +‘Yes,’ said Jane, ‘one can have no compunction in quizzing that species.’ + +‘I do not think I can quite say that, Jane,’ said Miss Weston. + +‘This man especially lays himself open to ridicule,’ said Jane; ‘do you +know, Alethea, that he is an Englishman, and his name is King, only he +calls himself Le Roi, and speaks broken English!’ + +Though Alethea joined in the general laugh, she did not feel quite +satisfied; she feared that if not checked in time, Jane would proceed to +actual impertinence, and that Marianne would be tempted to follow her +example, but she did not like to interfere, and only advised Marianne to +be on her guard, hoping that Emily would also speak seriously to her +sister. + +On the next occasion, however, Jane ventured still farther; her grimaces +were almost irresistible, and she had a most comical manner of imitating +the master’s attitudes when his eye was not upon her, and putting on a +demure countenance when he turned towards her, which sorely tried +Marianne. + +‘What shall I do, Alethea?’ said the little girl, as the sisters walked +home together; ‘I do not know how to help laughing, if Jane will be so +very funny.’ + +‘I am afraid we must ask mamma to let us give up the dancing,’ replied +Alethea; ‘the temptation is almost too strong, and I do not think she +would wish to expose you to it.’ + +‘But, Alethea, why do not you speak to Jane?’ asked Marianne; ‘no one +seems to tell her it is wrong; Miss Mohun was almost laughing.’ + +‘I do not think Jane would consider that I ought to find fault with her,’ +said Alethea. + +‘But you would not scold her,’ urged Marianne; ‘only put her in mind that +it is not right, not kind; that Monsieur le Roi is in authority over her +for the time.’ + +‘I will speak to mamma,’ said Alethea, ‘perhaps it will be better next +time.’ + +And it was better, for Mr. Mohun happening to be at home, was dragged +into the dancing-room by Emily and Ada. Once, when she thought he was +looking another way, Jane tried to raise a smile, but a stern ‘Jane, what +are you thinking of?’ recalled her to order, and when the lesson was over +her father spoke gravely to her, telling her that he thought few things +more disgusting in a young lady than impertinence towards her teachers; +and then added, ‘Miss Weston, I hope you keep strict watch over these +giddy young things.’ + +Awed by her father, Jane behaved tolerably well at that time and the +next, and Miss Weston hoped her interference would not be needed, but as +if to make up for this restraint, her conduct a fortnight after was quite +beyond bearing. She used every means to make Marianne laugh, and at last +went so far as to pretend to think that M. le Roi had not understood what +she said in English, and to translate it into French. Poor Marianne +looked imploringly at her sister, and Alethea hoped that Emily would +interpose, but Emily was turning away her head to conceal a laugh, and +Miss Weston was obliged to give Jane a very grave look, which she +perfectly understood, though she pretended not to see it. When the +exercise was over Miss Weston made her a sign to approach, and said, +‘Jane, do you think your papa would have liked—’ + +‘What do you mean?’ said Jane, ‘I have not been laughing.’ + +‘You know what I mean,’ said Alethea, ‘and pray do not be displeased if I +ask you not to make it difficult for Marianne to behave properly.’ + +Jane drew up her head and went back to her place. She played no more +tricks that day, but as soon as the guests were gone, began telling +Lilias how Miss Weston had been meddling and scolding her. + +‘And well you must have deserved it,’ said Lily. + +‘I do not say that Jenny was right,’ said Emily, ‘but I think Miss Weston +might allow me to correct my own sister in my own house.’ + +‘You correct Jane!’ cried Lily, and Jane laughed. + +‘I only mean,’ said Emily, ‘that it was not very polite, and papa says +the closest friendship is no reason for dispensing with the rules of +politeness.’ + +‘Certainly not,’ said Lily, ‘the rules of politeness are rules of love, +and it was in love that Alethea spoke; she sees how sadly we are left to +ourselves, and is kind enough to speak a word in season.’ + +‘Perhaps,’ said Jane, ‘since it was in love that she spoke, you would +like to have her for our reprover for ever, and I can assure you more +unlikely things have happened. I have heard it from one who can judge.’ + +‘Let me hear no more of this,’ said Emily, ‘it is preposterous and +ridiculous, and very disrespectful to papa.’ + +Jane for once, rather shocked at her own words, went back to what had +been said just before. + +‘Then, perhaps, you would like to have Eleanor back again?’ + +‘I am sure you want some one to put you in mind of your duty,’ said Lily. + +‘Eleanor and duty!’ cried Emily; ‘you who thought so much of the power of +love!’ + +‘Of Emily and love, she would say, if it sounded well,’ said Jane. + +‘I cannot see what true love you or Jane are showing now,’ said Lily, ‘it +is no kindness to encourage her pertness, or to throw away a friendly +reproof because it offends your pride.’ + +‘Nobody reproved me,’ replied Emily; ‘besides, I know love will prevail; +for my sake Jane will not expose herself and me to a stranger’s +interference.’ + +‘If you depend upon that, I wish you joy,’ said Lilias, as she left the +room. + +‘What a weathercock Lily is!’ cried Jane, ‘she has fallen in love with +Alethea Weston, and echoes all she says.’ + +‘Not considering her own inconsistency,’ said Emily. + +‘That Alethea Weston,’ exclaimed Jane, in an angry tone;—but Emily, +beginning to recover some sense of propriety, said, ‘Jenny, you know you +were very ill-bred, and you made it difficult for the little ones to +behave well.’ + +‘Not our own little ones,’ said Jane; ‘honest Phyl did not understand the +joke, and Ada was thinking of her attitudes; one comfort is, that I shall +be confirmed in three weeks’ time, and then people cannot treat me as a +mere child—little as I am.’ + +‘Oh! Jane,’ said Emily, ‘I do not like to hear you talk of confirmation +in that light way.’ + +‘No, no,’ said Jane, ‘I do not mean it—of course I do not mean it—don’t +look shocked—it was only by the bye—and another by the bye, Emily, you +know I must have a cap and white ribbons, and I am afraid I must make it +myself.’ + +‘Ay, that is the worst of having Esther,’ said Emily, ‘she and Hannah +have no notion of anything but the plainest work; I am sure if I had +thought of all the trouble of that kind which having a young girl would +entail, I would never have consented to Esther’s coming.’ + +‘That was entirely Lily’s scheme,’ said Jane. + +‘Yes; it is impossible to resist Lily, she is so eager and anxious, and +it would have vexed her very much if I had opposed her, and that I cannot +bear; besides, Esther is a very nice girl, and will learn.’ + +‘There is Robert talking to papa on the green,’ said Jane; ‘what a deep +conference; what can it be about?’ + +If Jane had heard that conversation she might have perceived that she +could not wilfully offend, even in what she thought a trifling matter, +without making it evident, even to others, that there was something very +wrong about her. At that moment the Rector was saying to his uncle, ‘I +am in doubt about Jane, I cannot but fear she is not in a satisfactory +state for confirmation, and I wished to ask you what you think?’ + +‘Act just as you would with any of the village girls,’ said Mr. Mohun. + +‘I should be very sorry to do otherwise,’ said Mr. Devereux; ‘but I +thought you might like, since every one knows that she is a candidate, +that she should not be at home at the time of the confirmation, if it is +necessary to refuse her.’ + +‘No,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘I should not wish to shield her from the disgrace. +It may be useful to her, and besides, it will establish your character +for impartiality. I have not been satisfied with all I saw of little +Jane for some time past, and I am afraid that much passes amongst my poor +girls which never comes to my knowledge. Her pertness especially is +probably restrained in my presence.’ + +‘It is not so much the pertness that I complain of,’ said Mr. Devereux, +‘for that might be merely exuberance of spirits, but there is a sort of +habitual irreverence, which makes one dread to bring her nearer to sacred +tings.’ + +‘I know what you mean,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘and I think the pertness is a +branch of it, more noticed because more inconvenient to others.’ + +‘Yes,’ said Mr. Devereux, ‘I think the fault I speak of is most evident; +when there is occasion to reprove her, I am always baffled by a kind of +levity which makes every warning glance aside.’ + +‘Then I should decidedly say refuse her,’ said Mr. Mohun. ‘It would be a +warning that she could not disregard, and the best chance of improving +her.’ + +‘Yet,’ said Mr. Devereux, ‘if she is eager for confirmation, and regards +it in its proper light, it is hard to say whether it is right to deny it +to her; it may give her the depth and earnestness which she needs.’ + +‘Poor child,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘she has great disadvantages; I am quite +sure our present system is not fit for her. Things shall be placed on a +different footing, and in another year or two I hope she may be fitter +for confirmation. However, before you finally decide, I should wish to +have some conversation with her, and speak to you again. + +‘That is just what I wish,’ said Mr. Devereux. + + + + +CHAPTER XII +THE FEVER + + + ‘Jane borrowed maxims from a doubting school, + And took for truth the test of ridicule.’ + +THE question of Jane’s confirmation was decided in an unexpected manner; +for the day after Mr. Mohun’s conversation with his nephew she was +attacked by a headache and sore throat, spent a feverish night, and in +the morning was so unwell that a medical man was sent for from Raynham. +On his arrival he pronounced that she was suffering from scarlet fever, +and Emily began to feel the approach of the same complaint. + +Phyllis and Adeline were shut up in the drawing-room, and a system of +quarantine established, which was happily brought to a conclusion by a +note from Mrs. Weston, who kindly begged that they might be sent to her +at Broomhill, and Mr. Mohun gladly availing himself of the offer, the +little girls set off, so well pleased to make a visit alone, as almost to +forget the occasion of it. Mrs. Weston had extended her invitation to +Lilias, but she begged to be allowed to remain with her sisters, and Mr. +Mohun thought that she had been already so much exposed to the infection +that it was useless for her to take any precautions. + +She was therefore declared head nurse; and it was well that she had an +energetic spirit, and so sweet a temper, that she was ready to sympathise +with all Emily’s petulant complaints, and even to find fault with herself +for not being in two places at once. Two of the maids were ill, and the +whole care of Emily and Jane devolved upon her, with only the assistance +of Esther. + +Emily was not very seriously ill, but Jane’s fever was very high, and +Lily thought that her father was more anxious than he chose to appear. +Of Jane’s own thoughts little could be guessed; she was often delirious, +and at all times speaking was so painful that she said as little as +possible. + +Lily’s troubles seemed at their height one Sunday afternoon, while her +father was at church. She had been reading the Psalms and Lessons to +Emily, and she then rose to return to Jane. + +‘Do not go,’ entreated Emily. + +‘I will send Esther.’ + +‘Esther is of no use.’ + +‘And therefore I do not like to leave her so long alone with Jane. Pray +spare me a little smile.’ + +‘Then come back soon.’ + +Lily was glad to escape with no more objections. She found Jane +complaining of thirst, but to swallow gave her great pain, and she +required so much attendance for some little time, that Emily’s bell was +twice rung before Esther could be spared to go to her. + +She soon came back, saying, ‘Miss Mohun wants you directly, Miss Lilias.’ + +‘Tell her I will come presently,’ said Lily, who had one hand pressed on +Jane’s burning temples, while the other was sprinkling her with ether. + +‘Stay,’ said Jane, faintly, and Esther left the room. + +Jane drew her breath with so much difficulty that a dreadful terror +seized upon Lily, lest she should be suffocated. She raised her head, +and supported her till Esther could bring more pillows. Esther brought a +message from Emily to hasten her return; but Jane could not be left, and +the grateful look she gave her as she arranged the pillows repaid her for +all her toils. After a little time Jane became more comfortable, and +said in a whisper, ‘Dear Lily, I wish I was not so troublesome.’ + +Back came Esther at this moment, saying, ‘Miss Emily says she is worse, +and wants you directly, Miss Lilias.’ + +Lily hurried away to Emily’s room, and found what might well have tried +her temper. Emily was flushed indeed, and feverish, but her breathing +was smooth and even, and her hand and pulse cool and slow, compared with +the parched burning hands, and throbbings, too quick to count, which Lily +had just been watching. + +‘Well, my dear Emily, I am sorry you do not feel better; what can I do +for you?’ + +‘How can I be better while I am left so long, and Esther not coming when +I ring? What would happen if I were to faint away?’ + +‘Indeed, I am very sorry,’ said Lily; ‘but when you rang, poor Jenny +could spare neither of us.’ + +‘How is poor Jenny?’ said Emily. + +‘Her throat is very bad, but she is quite sensible now, and wishes to +have me there. What did you want, Emily?’ + +‘Oh! I wish you would draw the curtain, the light hurts me; that will +do—no—now it is worse, pray put it as it was before. Oh! Lily, if you +knew how ill I am you would not leave me.’ + +‘Can I do anything for you—will you have some coffee?’ + +‘Oh! no, it has a bad taste, I am sure it is carelessly made.’ + +‘Shall I make you some fresh, with the spirit lamp?’ + +‘No, I am tired of it. I wonder if I might have some tamarinds?’ + +‘I will ask as soon as papa comes from church.’ + +‘Is he gone to church? how could he go when we are all so ill?’ + +‘Perhaps he was doing us more good at church than he could at home. You +will be glad to hear, Emily, that he has sent for Rachel to come and help +us.’ + +‘Oh! has he? but she lives so far off, and gets her letters so seldom, I +don’t reckon at all upon her coming. If she could come directly it would +be a comfort.’ + +‘It would, indeed,’ said Lily; ‘she would know what to do for Jane.’ + +‘Lily, where is the ether? You are always taking it away.’ + +‘In Jane’s room; I will fetch it.’ + +‘No, no, if you once get into Jane’s room I shall never see you back +again.’ + +Now Emily knew that Jane was very ill, and Lily’s pale cheeks, heavy +eyes, and failing voice, might have reminded her that two sick persons +were a heavy charge upon a girl of seventeen, without the addition of her +caprices and fretfulness. And how was it that the kind-hearted, +affectionate Emily never thought of all this? It was because she had +been giving way to selfishness for nineteen years; and now the +contemplation of her own sufferings was quite enough to hide from her +that others had much to bear; and illness, instead of teaching her +patience and consideration, only made her more exacting and querulous. + +To Lily’s unspeakable relief, Miss Weston accompanied Mr. Mohun from +church, and offered to share her attendance. No one knew what it cost +Alethea to come into the midst of a scene which constantly reminded her +of the sisters she had lost, but she did not shrink from it, and was glad +that her parents saw no objection to her offering to share Lily’s toils. +Her experience was most valuable, and relieved Lilias of the fear that +was continually haunting her, lest her ignorance might lead to some fatal +mistake. The next day brought Rachel, and both patients began to mend. +Jane’s recovery was quicker than Emily’s, for her constitution was not so +languid, and having no pleasure in the importance of being an invalid, +she was willing to exert herself, and make the best of everything, while +Emily did not much like to be told that she was better, and thought it +cruel to hint that exertion would benefit her. Both were convalescent +before the fever attacked Lily, who was severely ill, but not alarmingly +so, and her gentleness and patience made Alethea delight in having the +care of her. Lily was full of gratitude to her kind friend, and felt +quite happy when Alethea chanced one day to call her by the name of Emma; +she almost hoped she was taking the place of that sister, and the thought +cheered her through many languid hours, and gave double value to all +Alethea’s kindness. She did not feel disposed to repine at an illness +which brought out such affection from her friend, and still more from her +father, who, when he came to see her, would say things which gave her a +thrill of pleasure whenever she thought of them. + +It happened one day that Jane, having finished her book, looked round for +some other occupation; she knew that Miss Weston had walked to Broomhill; +Rachael was with Lilias, and there was no amusement at hand. At last she +recollected that her papa had said in the morning, that he hoped to see +her and Emily in the schoolroom in the course of the day, and hoping to +meet her sister, she resolved to try and get there. The room had been +Mr. Mohun’s sitting-room since the beginning of their illness, and it +looked so very comfortable that she was glad she had come, though she was +so tired she wondered how she should get back again. Emily was not +there, so she lay down on the sofa and took up a little book from the +table. The title was _Susan Harvey_, _or Confirmation_, and she read it +with more interest as she remembered with a pang that this was the day of +the confirmation, to which she had been invited; she soon found herself +shedding tears over the book, she who had never yet been known to cry at +any story, however affecting. She had not finished when Mr. Devereux +came in to look for Mr. Mohun, and finding her there, was going away as +soon as he had congratulated her on having left her room, but she begged +him to stay, and began asking questions about the confirmation. + +‘Were there many people?’ + +‘Three hundred.’ + +‘Did the Stoney Bridge people make a disturbance?’ + +‘No.’ + +‘How many of our people?’ + +‘Twenty-seven.’ + +‘Did all the girls wear caps?’ + +‘Most of them.’ + +Jane was rather surprised at the shortness of her cousin’s answers, but +she went on, as he stood before the fire, apparently in deep thought. + +‘Was Miss Burnet confirmed? She is the dullest girl I ever knew, and she +is older than I am. Was she confused?’ + +‘She was.’ + +‘Did you give Mary Wright a ticket?’ + +‘No.’ + +‘Then, of course, you did not give one to Ned Long. I thought you would +never succeed in making him remember which is the ninth commandment.’ + +‘I did not refuse him.’ + +‘Indeed! did he improve in a portentous manner?’ + +‘Not particularly.’ + +‘Well, you must have been more merciful than I expected.’ + +‘Indeed!’ + +‘Robert, you must have lost the use of your tongue, for want of us to +talk to. I shall be affronted if you go into a brown study the first day +of seeing me.’ + +He smiled in a constrained manner, and after a few minutes said, ‘I have +been considering whether this is a fit time to tell you what will give +you pain. You must tell me if you can bear it.’ + +‘About Lily, or the little ones?’ + +‘No, no! only about yourself. Your father wished me to speak to you, but +I would not have done so on this first meeting, but what you have just +been saying makes me think this is the best occasion.’ + +‘Let me know; I do not like suspense,’ said Jane, sharply. + +‘I think it right to tell you, Jane, that neither your father nor I +thought it would be desirable for you to be confirmed at this time.’ + +‘Do you really mean it?’ said Jane. + +‘Look back on the past year, and say if you sincerely think you are fit +for confirmation.’ + +‘As to that,’ said Jane, ‘the best people are always saying that they are +not fit for these things.’ + +‘None can call themselves worthy of them; but I think the conscience of +some would bear them witness that they had profited so far by their +present means of grace as to give grounds for hoping that they would +derive benefit from further assistance.’ + +‘Well, I suppose I must be very bad, since you see it,’ said Jane, in a +manner rather more subdued; ‘but I did not think myself worse than other +people.’ + +‘Is a Christian called, only to be no worse than others?’ + +‘Oh no! I see, I mean—pray tell me my great fault. Pertness, I +suppose—love of gossip?’ + +‘There must be a deeper root of evil, of which these are but the visible +effects, Jane.’ + +‘What do you mean, Robert?’ said Jane, now seeming really impressed. + +‘I think, Jane, that the greatest and most dangerous fault of your +character is want of reverence. I think it is want of reverence which +makes you press forward to that for which you confess yourself unfit; it +is want of reverence for holiness which makes you not care to attain it; +want of reverence for the Holy Word that makes you treat it as a mere +lesson; and in smaller matters your pertness is want of reverence for +your superiors; you would not be ready to believe and to say the worst of +others, if you reverenced what good there may be in them. Take care that +your want of reverence is not in reality want of faith.’ + +Jane’s spirits were weak and subdued. It was a great shock to her to +hear that she was not thought worthy of confirmation; her faults had +never been called by so hard a name; she was in part humbled, and in part +grieved, and what she thought harshness in her cousin; she turned away +her face, and did not speak. He continued, ‘Jane, you must not think me +unkind, your father desired me to talk to you, and, indeed, the time of +recovery from sickness is too precious to be trifled away.’ + +Jane wept bitterly. Presently he said, ‘It grieves me to have been +obliged to speak harshly to you, you must forgive me if I have talked too +much to you, Jane.’ + +Jane tried to speak, but sobs prevented her, and she gave way to a +violent fit of crying. Her cousin feared he had been unwise in saying so +much, and had weakened the effect of his own words. He would have been +glad to see tears of repentance, but he was afraid that she was weeping +over fancied unkindness, and that he might have done what might be +hurtful to her in her weak state. He said a few kind words, and tried to +console her, but this change of tone rather added to her distress, and +she became hysterical. He was much vexed and alarmed, and, ringing the +bell, hastened to call assistance. He found Esther, and sent her to +Jane, and on returning to the schoolroom with some water, he found her +lying exhausted on the sofa; he therefore went in search of his uncle, +who was overlooking some farming work, and many were the apologies made, +and many the assurances he received, that it would be better for her in +the end, as the impression would be more lasting. + +Jane was scarcely conscious of her cousin’s departure, or of Esther’s +arrival, but after drinking some water, and lying still for a few +moments, she exclaimed, ‘Oh, Robert! oh, Esther! the confirmation!’ and +gasped and sobbed again. Esther thought she had guessed the cause of her +tears, and tried to comfort her. + +‘Ah! Miss Jane, there will be another confirmation some day; it was a sad +thing you were too ill, to be sure, but—’ + +‘Oh! if I had—if he would not say—if he had thought me fit.’ + +Esther was amazed, and asked if she should call Miss Weston, who was now +with Lilias. + +‘No, no!’ cried Jane, nearly relapsing into hysterics. ‘She shall not +see me in this state.’ + +Esther hardly knew what to do, but she tried to soothe and comfort her by +following what was evidently the feeling predominating in Jane’s mind, as +indicated by her broken sentences, and said, ‘It was a pity, to be sure, +that Mr. Devereux came and talked so long, he could not know of your +being so very weak, Miss Jane.’ + +‘Yes,’ said Jane, faintly, ‘I could have borne it better if he had waited +a few days.’ + +‘Yes, Miss, when you had not been so very ill. Mr. Devereux is a very +good gentleman, but they do say he is very sharp.’ + +‘He means to be kind,’ said Jane, ‘but I do not think he has much +consideration, always.’ + +‘Yes, Miss Jane, that is just what Mrs. White said, when—’ + +Esther’s speech was cut short by the entrance of Miss Weston. Jane +started up, dashed off her tears, and tried to look as usual, but the +paleness of her face, and the redness of her eyes, made this impossible, +and she was obliged to lie down again. Esther left the room, and Miss +Weston did not feel intimate enough with Jane to ask any questions; she +gave her some _sal volatile_, talked kindly to her of her weakness, and +offered to read to her; all the time leaving an opening for confidence, +if Jane wished to relieve her mind. The book which lay near her +accounted, as she thought, for her agitation, and she blamed herself for +having judged her harshly as deficient in feeling, now that she found her +so much distressed, because illness had prevented her confirmation. +Under this impression she honoured her reserve, while she thought with +more affection of Lily’s open heart. Jane, who never took, or expected +others to take, the most favourable view of people’s motives, thought +Alethea knew the cause of her distress, and disliked her the more, as +having witnessed her humiliation. + +Such was Jane’s love of gossip that the next time she was alone with +Esther she asked for the history of Mrs. White, thus teaching her maid +disrespect to her pastor, indirectly complaining of his unkindness, and +going far to annul the effect of what she had learnt at school. Perhaps +during her hysterics Jane’s conduct was not under control, but subsequent +silence was in her power, and could she be free from blame if Esther’s +faults gained greater ascendency? + +The next day Mr. Mohun attempted to speak to Jane, but being both +frightened and unhappy, she found it very easy and natural, as well as +very convenient, to fall into hysterics again, and her father was obliged +to desist, regretting that, at the only time she was subdued enough to +listen to reproof, she was too weak to bear it without injury. Rachel, +who was nearly as despotic among the young ladies as she had been in +former times in the nursery, now insisted on Emily’s going into the +schoolroom, and when there, she made rapid progress. Alethea was amused +to see how Jane’s decided will and lively spirit would induce Emily to +make exertions, which no persuasions of hers could make her think other +than impossible. + +A few days more, and they were nearly well again; and Lilias so far +recovered as to be able to spare her kind friend, who returned home with +a double portion of Lily’s love, and of deep gratitude from Mr. Mohun; +but these feelings were scarcely expressed in words. Emily gave her some +graceful thanks, and Jane disliked her more than ever. + +It was rather a dreary time that now commenced with the young ladies; +they were tired of seeing the same faces continually, and dispirited by +hearing that the fever was spreading in the village. The autumn was far +advanced, the weather was damp and gloomy, and the sisters sat round the +fire shivering with cold, feeling the large room dreary and deserted, +missing the merry voices of the children, and much tormented by want of +occupation. They could not go out, their hands were not steady enough to +draw, they felt every letter which they had to write a heavy burden; +neither Emily nor Lily could like needlework; they could have no music, +for the piano at the other end of the room seemed to be in an Arctic +Region, and they did little but read novels and childish stories, and +play at chess or backgammon. Jane was the best off. Mrs. Weston sent +her a little sock, with a request that she would make out the way in +which it was knit, in a complicated feathery pattern, and in puzzling +over her cotton, taking stitches up and letting them down, she made the +time pass a little less heavily with her than with her sisters. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII +A CURIOSITY MAP + + + ‘Keek into the draw-well, + Janet, Janet, + There ye’ll see your bonny sell, + My jo Janet.’ + +IT was at this time that Lady Rotherwood and her daughter arrived at +Devereux Castle, and Mr. Mohun was obliged to go to meet her there, +leaving his three daughters to spend a long winter evening by themselves, +in their doleful and dismal way, as Lily called it. + +The evening had closed in, but they did not ring for candles, lest they +should make it seem longer; and Jane was just beginning to laugh at Emily +for the deplorable state of her frock and collar, tumbled with lying on +the sofa, when the three girls all started at the unexpected sound of a +ring at the front door. + +With a rapid and joyful suspicion who it might be, Emily and Lilias +sprang to the door, Jane thrust the poker into the fire, in a desperate +attempt to produce a flame, drove an arm-chair off the hearth-rug, +whisked an old shawl out of sight, and flew after them into the hall, +just as the deep tones of a well-known voice were heard greeting old +Joseph. + +‘William!’ cried the girls. ‘Oh! is it you? Are you not afraid of the +scarlet fever?’ + +‘No, who has it?’ + +‘We have had it, but we are quite well now. How cold you are!’ + +‘But where is my father?’ + +‘Gone to Hetherington with Robert, to meet Aunt Rotherwood. Come into +the drawing-room.’ + +Here Emily glided off to perform a hurried toilette. + +‘And the little ones?’ + +‘At Broomhill. Mrs. Weston was so kind as to take them out of the way of +the infection,’ said Lily. + +‘Oh! William, those Westons!’ + +‘Westons, what Westons? Not those I knew at Brighton?’ + +‘The very same,’ said Lily. ‘They have taken the house at Broomhill. +Oh! they have been so very kind, I do not know what would have become of +us without Alethea.’ + +‘Why did you not tell me they were living here? And you like them?’ + +‘Like them! No one can tell the comfort Alethea has been. She came to +us and nursed us, and has been my great support.’ + +‘And Phyllis and Ada are with them?’ + +‘Yes, they have been at Broomhill these six weeks, and more.’ + +Here Emily came in and told William that his room was ready, and Rachel +on the stairs wishing to see the Captain. + +‘How well he looks!’ cried Lily, as he closed the door; ‘it is quite +refreshing to see any one looking so strong and bright.’ + +‘And more like Sir Maurice than ever,’ said Emily. + +‘Ah! but Claude is more like,’ said Lily, ‘because he is pale.’ + +‘Well,’ said Jane, ‘do let us in the meantime make the room look more fit +to be seen before he comes down.’ + +The alacrity which had long been wanting to Lilias and Jane had suddenly +returned, and they succeeded in making the room look surprisingly +comfortable, compared with its former desolate aspect, before William +came down, and renewed his inquiries after all the family. + +‘And how is my father’s deafness?’ was one of his questions. + +‘Worse,’ said Emily. ‘I am afraid all the younger ones will learn to +vociferate. He hears no one well but ourselves.’ + +‘Oh! and Alethea Weston,’ said Lily. ‘Her voice is so clear and +distinct, that she hardly ever raises it to make him hear. And have you +ever heard her sing?’ + +‘Yes, she sings very well. I cannot think why you never told me they +were living here.’ + +‘Because you never honour us with your correspondence,’ said Emily; ‘if +you had vouchsafed to write to your sisters you could not have escaped +hearing of the Westons.’ + +‘And has Mr. Weston given up the law?’ + +‘No, he only came home in the vacation,’ said Emily. ‘Did you know they +had lost two daughters?’ + +‘I saw it in the paper. Emma and Lucy were nice girls, but not equal to +Miss Weston. What a shock to Mrs. Weston!’ + +‘Yes, she quite lost her health, and the doctors said she must move into +the country directly. Mrs. Carrington, who is some distant connection, +told them of this place, and they took it rather hastily.’ + +‘Do they like it?’ + +‘Oh yes, very much!’ said Emily. ‘Mrs. Weston is very fond of the +garden, and drives about in the pony-carriage, and it is quite pleasant +to see how she admires the views.’ + +‘And,’ added Lily, ‘Alethea walks with us, and sings with me, and teaches +at school, and knows all the poor people.’ + +‘I must go and see those children to-morrow,’ said William. + +The evening passed very pleasantly; and perhaps, in truth, Captain Mohun +and his sisters were surprised to find each other so agreeable; for, in +the eyes of the young ladies, he was by far the most awful person in the +family. + +When he had been last at home Harry’s recent death had thrown a gloom +over the whole family, and he had especially missed him. Himself quick, +sensible, clever, and active, he was intolerant of opposite qualities, +and the principal effect of that visit to Beechcroft was to make all the +younger ones afraid of him, to discourage poor Claude, and to give to +himself a gloomy remembrance of that home which had lost its principal +charms in his mother and Harry. + +He had now come home rather from a sense of duty than an expectation of +pleasure, and he was quite surprised to find how much more attractive the +New Court had become. Emily and Lilias were now conversible and +intelligent companions, better suited to him than Eleanor had ever been, +and he had himself in these four years acquired a degree of gentleness +and consideration which prevented him from appearing so unapproachable as +in days of old. This was especially the case with regard to Claude, +whose sensitive and rather timid nature had in his childhood suffered +much from William’s boyish attempts to make him manly, and as he grew +older, had almost felt himself despised; but now William appreciated his +noble qualities, and was anxious to make amends for his former +unkindness. + +Claude came home from Oxford, not actually ill, but in the ailing +condition in which he often was, just weak enough to give his sisters a +fair excuse for waiting upon him, and petting him all day long. About +the same time Phyllis and Adeline came back from Broomhill, and there was +great joy at the New Court at the news that Mrs. Hawkesworth was the +happy mother of a little boy. + +Claude was much pleased by being asked by Eleanor to be godfather to his +little nephew, whose name was to be Henry. Perhaps he hoped, what Lilias +was quite sure of, that Eleanor did not think him unworthy to stand in +Harry’s place. + +The choice of the other sponsors did not meet with universal approbation. +Emily thought it rather hard that Mr. Hawkesworth’s sister, Mrs. Ridley, +should have been chosen before herself, and both she and Ada would have +greatly preferred either Lord Rotherwood, Mr. Devereux, or William, to +Mr. Ridley, while Phyllis had wanderings of her own how Claude could be +godfather without being present at the christening. + +One evening Claude was writing his answer to Eleanor, sitting at the sofa +table where a small lamp was burning. Jane, attracted by its bright and +soft radiance, came and sat down opposite to him with her work. + +‘What a silence!’ said Lily, after about a quarter of an hour. + +‘What made you start, Jane?’ said William. + +‘Did I?’ said Jane. + +‘My speaking, I suppose,’ said Lily, ‘breaking the awful spell of +silence.’ + +‘How red you look, Jane. What is the matter?’ said William. + +‘Do I?’ asked Jane, becoming still redder. + +‘It is holding your face down over that baby’s hood,’ said Emily, ‘you +will sacrifice the colour of your nose to your nephew.’ + +Claude now asked Jane for the sealing-wax, folded up his letter, sealed +it, put on a stamp, and as Jane was leaving the room at bedtime, said, +‘Jenny, my dear, as you go by, just put that letter in the post-bag.’ + +Jane obeyed, and left the room. Claude soon after took the letter out of +the bag, went to Emily’s door, listened to ascertain that Jane was not +there, and then knocked and was admitted. + +‘I could not help coming,’ said he, ‘to tell you of the trap in which +Brownie has been caught.’ + +‘Ah!’ said Lily, ‘I fancied I saw her peeping slyly at your letter.’ + +‘Just so,’ said Claude, ‘and I hope she has experienced the truth of an +old proverb.’ + +‘Oh! tell us what you have said,’ cried the sisters. + +Claude read, ‘Jane desires me to say that a hood for the baby shall be +sent in the course of a week, and she hopes that it may be worn at the +christening. I should rather say I hope it may be lost in the transit, +for assuredly the head that it covers must be infected with something far +worse than the scarlet fever—the fever of curiosity, the last quality +which I should like my godson to possess. My only consolation is, that +he will see the full deformity of the vice, as, poor little fellow, he +becomes acquainted with “that worst of plagues, a prying maiden aunt.” +If Jane was simply curious, I should not complain, but her love of +investigation is not directed to what ought to be known, but rather to +find out some wretched subject for petty scandal, to blacken every +action, and to add to the weight of every misdeed, and all for the sake +of detailing her discoveries in exchange for similar information with +Mrs. Appleton, or some equally suitable confidante.’ + +‘Is that all?’ said Lily. + +‘And enough, too, I hope,’ said Claude. + +‘It ought to cure her!’ cried Emily. + +‘Cure her!’ said Claude, ‘no such thing; cures are not wrought in this +way; this is only a joke, and to keep it up, I will tell you a piece of +news, which Jane must have spied out in my letter, as I had just written +it when I saw her eyes in a suspicious direction. It was settled that +Messieurs Maurice and Redgie are to go for two hours a day, three times a +week, to Mr. Stevens, during the holidays.’ + +‘The new Stoney Bridge curate?’ said Emily. + +‘I am very glad you are not to be bored by them,’ said Lily, ‘but how +they will dislike it!’ + +‘It is very hard upon them,’ said Claude, ‘and I tried to prevent it, but +the Baron was quite determined. Now I will begin to talk about this +plan, and see whether Jenny betrays any knowledge of it.’ + +‘Oh! it will be rare!’ cried Lily; ‘but do not speak of it before the +Baron or William.’ + +‘Let it be at luncheon,’ said Emily, ‘you know they never appear. Do you +mean to send the letter?’ + +‘Not that part of it,’ said Claude, ‘you see I can tear off the last +page, and it is only to add a new conclusion. Good-night.’ + +Jane had certainly not spent the evening in an agreeable manner; she had +not taken her seat at Claude’s table with any evil designs towards his +letter, but his writing was clear and legible, and her eye caught the +word ‘Maurice;’ she wished to know what Claude could be saying about him, +and having once begun, she could not leave off, especially when she saw +her own name. When aware of the compliments he was paying her, she +looked at him, but his eyes were fixed on his pen, and no smile, no +significant expression betrayed that he was aware of her observations; +and even when he gave her the letter to put into the post-bag he looked +quite innocent and unconcerned. On the other hand, she did not like to +think that he had been sending such a character of her to Eleanor in +sober sadness; it was impossible to find out whether he had sent the +letter; she could not venture to beg him to keep it back, she could only +trust to his good-nature. + +At luncheon, as they had agreed, Lily began by asking where her papa and +William were gone? Claude answered, ‘To Stoney Bridge, to call upon Mr. +Stevens; they mean to ask him to dine one day next week, to be introduced +to his pupils.’ + +‘Is he an Oxford or Cambridge man?’ asked Lily. + +‘Oxford,’ exclaimed Jane, quite forgetting whence she had derived her +information, ‘he is a fellow of—’ + +‘Indeed?’ said Lily; ‘how do you know that?’ + +‘Why, we have all been talking of him lately,’ said Jane. + +‘Not I,’ said Emily, ‘why should he interest us?’ + +‘Because he is to tutor the boys,’ said Jane. + +‘When did you hear that he is to tutor the boys?’ asked Lily. + +‘When you did, I suppose,’ said Jane, blushing. + +‘You did, did you?’ said Claude. ‘I feel convinced, if so, that you must +really be what you are so often called, a changeling. I heard it, or +rather read it first at Oxford, where the Baron desired me to make +inquiries about him. You were, doubtless, looking over my shoulder at +the moment. This is quite a discovery. We shall have to perform a +brewery of egg-shells this evening, and put the elf to flight with a +red-hot poker, and what a different sister Jane we shall recover, instead +of this little mischief-making sprite, so quiet, so reserved, never +intruding her opinion, showing constant deference to all her +superiors—yes, and to her inferiors, shutting her eyes to the faults of +others, and when they come before her, trying to shield the offender from +those who regard them as merely exciting news.’ + +Claude’s speech had become much more serious than he intended, and he +felt quite guilty when he had finished, so that it was not at all an +undesirable interruption when Phyllis and Adeline asked for the story of +the brewery of egg-shells. + +Emily and Lilias kindly avoided looking at Jane, who, after fidgeting on +her chair and turning very red, succeeded in regaining outward composure. +She resolved to let the matter die away, and think no more about it. + +When Mr. Mohun and William came home, they brought the news that Lady +Rotherwood had invited the whole party to dinner. + +‘I am very glad we are allowed to see them,’ said Emily, ‘I am quite +tired of being shut up.’ + +‘If it was not for the Westons we might as well live in Nova Zembla,’ +said Jane. + +‘I am glad you damsels should know a little more of Florence,’ said Mrs. +Mohun. + +‘Yes,’ said Claude, ‘cousins were made to be friends.’ + +‘In that case one ought to be able to choose them,’ said William. + +‘And know them,’ said Emily. ‘We have not seen Florence since she was +eleven years old.’ + +‘Cousin or not,’ said Lilias, ‘Florence can hardly be so much my friend +as Alethea.’ + +‘Right, Lily,’ said William, ‘stand up for old friends against all the +cousins in the universe.’ + +‘Has Alethea a right to be called an old friend?’ said Emily; ‘does three +quarters of a year make friendship venerable?’ + +‘No one can deny that she is a tried friend,’ said Lilias. + +‘But pray, good people,’ said Claude, ‘what called forth those vows of +eternal constancy? why was my innocent general observation construed into +an attack upon Miss Weston?’ + +‘Because there is something invidious in your tone,’ said Lily. + +‘What kind of girl is that Florence?’ asked William. + +‘Oh! a nice, lively, pleasant girl,’ said Claude. + +‘I cannot make out what her pursuits are,’ said Lily; ‘Rotherwood never +talks of her reading anything.’ + +‘She has been governessed and crammed till she is half sick of all +reading,’ said Claude, ‘of all study—ay, and all accomplishments.’ + +‘So that is the friend you recommend, Lily!’ said William. + +‘Well, Claude, that is what I call a great shame,’ said Emily. + +‘Stay,’ said Claude, ‘you have heard but half my story, I say that this +is the reaction. Florence has no lack of sense, and if you young ladies +are wise, you may help her to find the use of it.’ + +Claude’s further opinion did not transpire, as dinner was announced, and +nothing more was said about Lady Florence till the girls had an +opportunity of judging for themselves. She had a good deal of her +brother’s vivacity, with gentleness and grace, which made her very +engaging, and her perfect recollection of the New Court, and of childish +days, charmed her cousins. Lady Rotherwood was very kind and +affectionate, and held out hopes of many future meetings. The next day +Maurice and Reginald came home from school, bringing a better character +for diligence than usual, on which they founded hopes that the holidays +would be left to their own disposal. They were by no means pleased with +the arrangement made with Mr. Stevens and most unwillingly did they +undertake the expedition to Stony Bridge, performing the journey in a +very unsociable manner. Maurice was no horseman, and chose to jog on +foot through three miles of lane, while Reginald’s pony cantered merrily +along, its master’s head being intent upon the various winter sports in +which William and Lord Rotherwood allowed him to share. Little did +Maurice care for such diversions; he was, as Adeline said, studying +another ‘apology.’ This time it was phrenology, for which the cropped +heads of Lilias and Jane afforded unusual facility. There was, however, +but a limited supply of heads willing to be fingered, and Maurice +returned to the most abiding of his tastes, and in an empty room at the +Old Court laboured assiduously to find the secret of perpetual motion. + +A few days before Christmas Rachel Harvey again took leave of Beechcroft, +with a promise that she would make them another visit when Eleanor came +home. Before she went she gave Emily a useful caution, telling her it +was not right to trust her keys out of her own possession. It was what +Miss Mohun never would have done, she had never once committed them even +to Rachel. + +‘With due deference to Eleanor,’ said Emily, with her winning smile, ‘we +must allow that that was being over cautious.’ + +Rachel smiled, but her lecture was not averted by the compliment. + +‘It might have been very well since you have known me, Miss Emily, but I +do not know what would have come of it, if I had been too much trusted +when I was a giddy young thing like Esther; that girl comes of a bad lot, +and if anything is to be made of her, it is by keeping temptation out of +her way, and not letting her be with that mother of hers.’ + +Rachel had rather injured the effect of her advice by behaving too like a +mistress during her visit; Emily had more than once wished that all +servants were not privileged people, and she was more offended than +convinced by the remonstrance. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV +CHRISTMAS + + + ‘Slee, sla, slud, + Stuck in the mud, + O! it is pretty to wade through a flood, + Come, wheel round, + The dirt we have found, + Would he an estate at a farthing a pound.’ + +LILY’S illness interrupted her teaching at the village school for many +weeks, and she was in no great haste to resume it. Alethea Weston seemed +to enjoy doing all that was required, and Lily left it in her hands, glad +to shut her eyes as much as possible to the disheartening state the +parish had been in ever since her former indiscretion. + +The approach of Christmas, however, made it necessary for her to exert +herself a little more, and her interest in parish matters revived as she +distributed the clothing-club goods, and in private conference with each +good dame, learnt the wants of her family. But it was sad to miss +several names struck out of the list for non-attendance at church; and +when Mrs. Eden came for her child’s clothing, Lily remarked that the +articles she chose were unlike those of former years, the cheapest and +coarsest she could find. + +St. Thomas’s day was marked by the custom, called at Beechcroft +‘gooding.’ Each mother of a family came to all the principal houses in +the parish to receive sixpence, towards providing a Christmas dinner, and +it was Lily’s business to dispense this dole at the New Court. With a +long list of names and a heap of silver before her, she sat at the oaken +table by the open chimney in the hall, returning a nod or a smiling +greeting to the thanks of the women as they came, one by one, to receive +the little silver coins, and warm themselves by the glowing wood fire. + + [Picture: Dispensing the ‘Gooding.’—p. 156] + +Pleasant as the task was at first, it ended painfully. Agnes Eden +appeared, in order to claim the double portion allotted to her mother, as +a widow. This was the first time that Mrs. Eden had asked for the +gooding-money, and Lily knew that it was a sign that she must be in great +distress. Agnes made her a little courtesy, and crept away again as soon +as she had received her shilling; but Mrs. Grey, who was Mrs. Eden’s +neighbour, had not quite settled her penny-club affairs, and remained a +little longer. An unassuming and lightly-principled person was Mrs. +Grey, and Lily enjoyed a talk with her, while she was waiting for the +purple stuff frock which Jane was measuring off for Kezia. They spoke of +the children, and of a few other little matters, and presently something +was said about Mrs. Eden; Lily asked if the blacksmith helped her. + +‘Oh! no, Miss Lilias, he will do nothing for her while she sends her +child to school and to church. He will not speak to her even. Not a bit +of butter, nor a morsel of bacon, has been in her house since Michaelmas, +and what she would have done if it was not for Mr. Devereux and Mrs. +Weston, I cannot think.’ + +Lilias, much shocked by this account of the distress into which she and +Jane had been the means of bringing the widow, reported it to her father +and to the Rector; entreating the former to excuse her rent, which he +willingly promised to do, and also desired his daughters to give her a +blanket, and tell her to come to dine house whenever any broth was to be +given away. Mr. Devereux, who already knew of her troubles, and allowed +her a small sum weekly, now told his cousins how much the Greys had +assisted her. Andrew Grey had dug up and housed her winter’s store of +potatoes, he had sought work for her, and little Agnes often shared the +meals of his children. The Greys had a large family, very young, so that +all that they did for her was the fruit of self-denial. Innumerable were +the kindnesses which they performed unknown to any but the widow and her +child. More, by a hundred times, did they assist her, than the +thoughtless girls who had occasioned her sufferings, though Lily was not +the only one who felt that nothing was too much for them to do. Nothing, +perhaps, would have been too much, except to bear her in mind and +steadily aid her in little things; but Lily took no account of little +things, talked away her feelings, and thus all her grand resolutions +produced almost nothing. Lord Rotherwood sent Mrs. Eden a sovereign, the +girls newly clothed little Agnes, Phyllis sometimes carried her the +scraps of her dinner, Mrs. Eden once came to work at the New Court, and a +few messes of broth were given to her, but in general she was forgotten, +and when remembered, indolence or carelessness too often prevented the +Miss Mohuns from helping her. In Emily’s favourite phrase, each +individual thing was ‘not worth while.’ + +When Lilias did think it ‘worth while,’ she would do a great deal upon +impulse, sometimes with more zeal than discretion, as she proved by an +expedition which she took on Christmas Eve. Mr. Mohun did not allow the +poor of the village to depend entirely on the gooding for their Christmas +dinner, but on the 24th of December a large mess of excellent beef broth +was prepared at the New Court, and distributed to all his own labourers, +and the most respectable of the other cottagers. + +In the course of the afternoon Lily found that one portion had not been +given out. It was that which was intended for the Martins, a poor old +rheumatic couple, who lived at South End, the most distant part of the +parish. Neither of them could walk as far as the New Court, and most of +their neighbours had followed Farmer Gage, and had therefore been +excluded from the distribution, so that there was no one to send. Lily, +therefore, resolved herself to carry the broth to them, if she could find +an escort, which was not an easy matter, as the frost had that morning +broken up, and a good deal of snow and rain had been falling in the +course of the day. In the hall she met Reginald, just turned out of +Maurice’s workshop, and much at a loss for employment. + +‘Redgie,’ said she, ‘you can do me a great kindness.’ + +‘If it is not a bore,’ returned Reginald. + +‘I only want you to walk with me to South End.’ + +‘Eh?’ said Reginald; ‘I thought the little Misses were too delicate to +put their dear little proboscises outside the door.’ + +‘That is the reason I ask you; I do not think Emily or Jane would like +it, and it is too far for Claude. Those poor old Martins have not got +their broth, and there is no one to fetch it for them.’ + +‘Then do not be half an hour putting on your things.’ + +‘Thank you; and do not run off, and make me spend an hour in hunting for +you, and then say that I made you wait.’ + +‘I will wait fast enough. You are not so bad as Emily,’ said Reginald, +while Lily ran upstairs to equip herself. When she came down, she was +glad to find her escort employed in singeing the end of the tail of the +old rocking-horse at the fire in the hall, so that she was not obliged to +seek him in the drawing-room, where her plans would probably have met +with opposition. She had, however, objections to answer from an +unexpected quarter. Reginald was much displeased when she took +possession of the pitcher of broth. + +‘I will not walk with such a thing as that,’ said he, ‘it makes you look +like one of the dirty girls in the village.’ + +‘Then you ought, like the courteous Rinaldo, to carry it for me,’ said +Lily. + +‘I touch the nasty thing! Faugh! Throw it into the gutter, Lily.’ + +He made an attempt to dispose of it in that manner, which it required all +Lily’s strength to withstand, as well as an imploring ‘Now, Redgie, think +of the poor old people. Remember, you have promised.’ + +‘Promised! I never promised to walk with a greasy old pitcher. What am +I to do if we meet Miss Weston?’ + +Lily contrived to overcome Reginald’s refined notions sufficiently to +make him allow her to carry the pitcher; and when he had whistled up two +of the dogs, they proceeded merrily along the road, dirty and wet though +it was. Their walk was not entirely without adventures; first, they had +to turn back in the path by the river side, which would have saved them +half a mile, but was now flooded. Then, as they were passing through a +long lane, which led them by Edward Gage’s farm, a great dog rushed out +of the yard, and fell upon the little terrier, Viper. Old Neptune flew +to the rescue, and to the great alarm of Lily, Reginald ran up with a +stick; happily, however, a labourer at the same time came out with a +pitchfork, and beat off the enemy. These two delays, together with +Reginald’s propensity for cutting sticks, and for breaking ice, made it +quite late when they arrived at South End. When there, they found that a +kind neighbour had brought the old people their broth in the morning, and +intended to go for her own when she came home from her work in the +evening. It was not often that Lily went to South End; the old people +were delighted to see her, and detained her for some time by a long story +about their daughter at service, while Reginald looked the picture of +impatience, drumming on his knee, switching the leg of the table, and +tickling Neptune’s ears. When they left the cottage it was much later +and darker than they had expected; but Lily was unwilling again to +encounter the perils of the lane, and consulted her brother whether there +was not some other way. He gave notice of a cut across some fields, +which would take them into the turnpike road, and Lily agreeing, they +climbed over a gate into a pathless turnip field. Reginald strode along +first, calling to the dogs, while Lily followed, abstaining from dwelling +on the awkward circumstance that every step she took led her farther from +home, and rejoicing that it was so dark that she could not see the mud +which plastered the edge of her petticoats. After plodding through three +very long fields, they found themselves shut in by a high hedge and tall +ditch. + +‘That fool of a farmer!’ cried Reginald. + +‘What is to be done?’ said Lily, disconsolately. + +‘There is the road,’ said Reginald. ‘How do you propose to get into it?’ + +‘There was a gap here last summer,’ said the boy. + +‘Very likely! Come back; try the next field; it must have a gate +somewhere.’ + +Back they went, after seeing the carrier’s cart from Raynham pass by. + +‘Redgie, it must be half-past five! We shall never be in time. Aunt +Rotherwood coming too!’ + +After a desperate plunge through a swamp of ice, water, and mud, they +found themselves at a gate, and safely entered the turnpike road. + +‘How it rains!’ said Lily. ‘One comfort is that it is too dark for any +one to see us.’ + +‘Not very dark, either,’ said Reginald; ‘I believe there is a moon if one +could see it. Ha! here comes some one on horseback. It is a gray horse; +it is William.’ + +‘Come to look for us,’ said Lily. ‘Oh, Redgie!’ + +‘Coming home from Raynham,’ said Reginald. ‘Do not fancy yourself so +important, Lily. William, is that you?’ + +‘Reginald!’ exclaimed William, suddenly checking his horse. ‘Lily, what +is all this?’ + +‘We set out to South End, to take the broth to the old Martins, and we +found the meadows flooded, which made us late; but we shall soon be at +home,’ said Lily, in a make-the-best-of-it tone. + +‘Soon? You are a mile and a half from home now, and do you know how late +it is?’ + +‘Half-past five,’ said Lily. + +‘Six, at least; how could you be so absurd?’ William rode quickly on; +Reginald laughed, and they plodded on; at length a tall dark figure was +seen coming towards them, and Lily started, as it addressed her, ‘Now +what is the meaning of all this?’ + +‘Oh, William, have you come to meet us? Thank you; I am sorry—’ + +‘How were you to come through the village in the dark, without some one +to take care of you?’ + +‘I am taking care of her,’ said Reginald, affronted. + +‘Make haste; my aunt is come. How could you make the people at home so +anxious?’ + +William gave Lily his arm, and on finding she was both tired and wet, +again scolded her, walked so fast that she was out of breath, then +complained of her folly, and blamed Reginald. It was very unpleasant, +and yet she was very much obliged to him, and exceedingly sorry he had +taken so much trouble. + +They came home at about seven o’clock. Jane met them in the hall, full +of her own and Lady Rotherwood’s wonderings; she hurried Lily upstairs, +and—skilful, quick, and ready—she helped her to dress in a very short +time. As they ran down Reginald overtook them, and they entered the +drawing-room as the dinner-bell was ringing. William did not appear for +some time, and his apologies were not such as to smooth matters for his +sister. + +Perhaps it was for this very reason that Mr. Mohun allowed Lily to escape +with no more than a jesting reproof. Lord Rotherwood wished to make his +cousin’s hardihood and enterprise an example to his sister, and, in his +droll exaggerating way, represented such walks as every-day occurrences. +This was just the contrary to what Emily wished her aunt to believe, and +Claude was much diverted with the struggle between her politeness to Lord +Rotherwood and her desire to maintain the credit of the family. + +Lady Florence, though liking Lilias, thought this walk extravagant. +Emily feared Lilias had lost her aunt’s good opinion, and prepared +herself for some hints about a governess. It was untoward; but in the +course of the evening she was a little comforted by a proposal from Lady +Rotherwood to take her and Lilias to a ball at Raynham, which was to take +place in January; and as soon as the gentlemen appeared, they submitted +the invitation to their father, while Lady Rotherwood pressed William to +accompany them, and he was refusing. + +‘What are soldiers intended for but to dance!’ said Lord Rotherwood. + +‘I never dance,’ said William, with a grave emphasis. + +‘I am out of the scrape,’ said the Marquis. ‘I shall be gone before it +takes place; I reserve all my dancing for July 30th. Well, young ladies, +is the Baron propitious?’ + +‘He says he will consider of it,’ said Emily. + +‘Oh then, he will let you go,’ said Florence, ‘people never consider when +they mean no.’ + +‘No, Florence,’ said her brother, ‘Uncle Mohun’s “consider of it” is +equivalent to Le Roi’s “avisera.”’ + +‘What is he saying?’ asked Lily, turning to listen. ‘Oh, that my wig is +in no ball-going condition.’ + +‘A wreath would hide all deficiencies,’ said Florence; ‘I am determined +to have you both.’ + +‘I give small hopes of both,’ said Claude; ‘you will only have Emily.’ + +‘Why do you think so, Claude?’ cried both Florence and Lilias. + +‘From my own observation,’ Claude answered, gravely. + +‘I am very angry with the Baron,’ said Lord Rotherwood; ‘he is grown +inhospitable: he will not let me come here to-morrow—the first Christmas +these five years that I have missed paying my respects to the New Court +sirloin and turkey. It is too bad—and the Westons dining here too.’ + +‘Cousin Turkey-cock, well may you be in a passion,’ muttered Claude, as +if in soliloquy. + +Lord Rotherwood and Lilias both caught the sound, and laughed, but Emily, +unwilling that Florence should see what liberties they took with her +brother, asked quickly why he was not to come. + +‘I think we are much obliged to him,’ said Florence, ‘it would be too bad +to leave mamma and me to spend our Christmas alone, when we came to the +castle on purpose to oblige him.’ + +‘Ay, and he says he will not let me come here, because I ought to give +the Hetherington people ocular demonstration that I go to church,’ said +Lord Rotherwood. + +‘Very right, as Eleanor would say,’ observed Claude. + +‘Very likely; but I don’t care for the Hetherington folks; they do not +know how to make the holly in the church fit to be seen, and they will +not sing the good old Christmas carols. Andrew Grey is worth all the +Hetherington choir put together.’ + +‘Possibly; but how are they to mend, if their Marquis contents himself +with despising them?’ said Claude. + +‘That is too bad, Claude. When you heard how submissively I listened to +the Baron, and know I mean to abide by what he said, you ought to condole +with me a little, if you have not the grace to lament my absence on your +own account. Why, I thought myself as regular a part of the feast as the +mince-pies, and almost as necessary.’ + +Here a request for some music put an end to his lamentations. Lilias was +vexed by the uncertainty about the ball, and was, besides, too tired to +play with spirit. She saw that Emily was annoyed, and she felt ready to +cry before the evening was over; but still she was proud of her exploit, +and when, after the party was gone, Emily began to represent to her the +estimate that her aunt was likely to form of her character, she replied, +‘If she thinks the worse of me for carrying the broth to those poor old +people, I am sure I do not wish for her good opinion.’ + +Mr. Mohun was not propitious when the question of Lily’s going to the +ball was pressed upon him. He said that he thought her too young for +gaieties, and, besides, that late hours never agreed with her, and he +advised her to wait for the 30th of July. + +Lilias knew that it was useless to say any more. She was much +disappointed, and at the same time provoked with herself for caring about +such a matter. Her temper was out of order on Christmas Day; and while +she wondered why she could not enjoy the festival as formerly, with +thoughts fitted to the day, she did not examine herself sufficiently to +find out the real cause of her uncomfortable feelings. + +The clear frost was only cold; the bright sunshine did not rejoice her; +the holly and the mistletoe seemed ill arranged; and none of the pleasant +sights of the day could give her such blitheness as once she had known. + +She was almost angry when she saw that the Westons had left off their +mourning, declaring that they did not look like themselves; and her +vexation came to a height when she found that Alethea actually intended +to go to the ball with Mrs. Carrington. The excited manner in which she +spoke of it convinced Mr. Mohun that he had acted wisely in not allowing +her to go, since the very idea seemed to turn her head. + + + + +CHAPTER XV +MINOR MISFORTUNES + + + ‘Loving she is, and tractable though wild.’ + +IN a day or two Lady Rotherwood and her daughter called at the New Court. +On this occasion Lilias was employed in as rational and lady-like a +manner as could be desired—in practising her music in the drawing-room; +Emily was reading, and Ada threading beads. + +Lady Rotherwood greeted her nieces very affectionately, gave a double +caress to Adeline, stroked her pretty curls, admired her beadwork, talked +to her about her doll, and then proceeded to invite the whole family to a +Twelfth-Day party, given for their especial benefit. The little +Carringtons and the Weston girls were also to be asked. Emily and Lilias +were eagerly expressing their delight when suddenly a trampling, like a +charge of horse, was heard in the hall; the door was thrown back, and in +rushed Reginald and Phyllis, shouting, ‘Such fun!—the pigs are in the +garden!’ + +At the sight of their aunt they stopped short, looking aghast, and +certainly those who beheld them partook of their consternation. Reginald +was hot and gloveless; his shoes far from clean; his brown curls hanging +in great disorder from his Scotch cap; his handkerchief loose; his jacket +dusty—but this was no great matter, since, as Emily said, he was ‘only a +boy.’ His bright open smile, the rough, yet gentleman-like courtesy of +his advance to the Marchioness, his comical roguish glance at Emily, to +see if she was very angry, and to defy her if she were, and his speedy +exit, all greatly amused Lady Florence, and made up for what there might +have been of the wild schoolboy in his entrance. + +Poor Phyllis had neither the excuse of being a schoolboy nor the +good-humoured fearlessness that freed her brother from embarrassment, and +she stood stock-still, awkward and dismayed, not daring to advance; +longing to join in the pig-chase, yet afraid to run away, her eyes +stretched wide open, her hair streaming into them, her bonnet awry, her +tippet powdered with seeds of hay, her gloves torn and soiled, the colour +of her brown holland apron scarcely discernible through its various +stains, her frock tucked up, her stockings covered with mud, and without +shoes, which she had taken off at the door. + +‘Phyllis,’ said Emily, ‘what are you thinking of? What makes you such a +figure? Come and speak to Aunt Rotherwood.’ + +Phyllis drew off her left-hand glove, and held out her hand, making a few +sidelong steps towards her aunt, who gave her a rather reluctant kiss. +Lily bent her bonnet into shape, and pulled down her frock, while +Florence laughed, patted her cheek, and asked what she had been doing. + +‘Helping Redgie to chop turnips,’ was the answer. + +Afraid of some further exposure, Emily hastily sent her away to be made +fit to be seen, and Lady Rotherwood went on caressing Ada and talking of +something else. Emily had no opportunity of explaining that this was not +Phyllis’s usual condition, and she was afraid that Lady Rotherwood would +never believe that it was accidental. She was much annoyed, especially +as the catastrophe only served to divert Mr. Mohun and Claude. Of all +the family William and Adeline alone took her view of the case. Ada +lectured Phyllis on her ‘naughtiness,’ and plumed herself on her aunt’s +evident preference, but William was not equally sympathetic. He was +indeed as fastidious as Emily herself, and as much annoyed by such +misadventures; but he maintained that she was to blame for them, saying +that the state of things was not such as it should be, and that the +exposure might be advantageous if it put her on her guard in future. + +It appeared as if poor Phyllis was to be punished for the vexation which +she had caused, for in the course of her adventures with Reginald she +caught a cold, which threatened to prevent her from being of the party on +Twelfth-Day. She had a cough, which did not give her by any means as +much inconvenience as the noise it occasioned did to other people. Every +morning and every evening she anxiously asked her sisters whether they +thought she would be allowed to go. Another of the party seemed likely +to fail. On the 5th of January Claude came down to breakfast later even +than usual; but he had no occasion to make excuses, for his heavy eyes, +the dark lines under them, his pale cheeks, and the very sit of his hair, +were sure signs that he had a violent headache. He soon betook himself +to the sofa in the drawing-room, attended by Lily, with pillows, +cushions, ether, and lavender. Late in the afternoon the pain diminished +a little, and he fell asleep, to the great joy of his sister, who sat +watching him, scarcely daring to move. + +Suddenly a frightful scream and loud crash was heard in the room above +them. Claude started up, and Lily, exclaiming, ‘Those tiresome +children!’ hurried to the room whence the noise had come. + +Reginald, Phyllis, and Ada, all stood there laughing. Reginald and +Phyllis had been climbing to the top of a great wardrobe, by means of a +ladder of chairs and tables. While Phyllis was descending her brother +had made some demonstration that startled her, and she fell with all the +chairs over her, but without hurting herself. + +‘You naughty troublesome child,’ cried Lily, in no gentle tone. ‘How +often have you been told to leave off such boyish tricks! And you choose +the very place for disturbing poor Claude, with his bad headache, making +it worse than ever.’ + +Phyllis tried to speak, but only succeeded in giving a dismal howl. She +went on screaming, sobbing, and roaring so loud that she could not hear +Lily’s attempts to quiet her. The next minute Claude appeared, looking +half distracted. Reginald ran off, and as he dashed out of the room, +came full against William, who caught hold of him, calling out to know +what was the matter. + +‘Only Phyllis screaming,’ said Lily. ‘Oh, Claude, I am very sorry!’ + +‘Is that all?’ said Claude. ‘I thought some one was half killed!’ + +He sank into a chair, pressing his hand on his temples, and looking very +faint. William supported him, and Lily stood by, repeating, ‘I am very +sorry—it was all my fault—my scolding—’ + +‘Hush,’ said William, ‘you have done mischief enough. Go away, +children.’ + +Phyllis had already gone, and the next moment thrust into Lily’s hand the +first of the medicaments which she had found in the drawing-room. The +faintness soon went off, but Claude thought he had better not struggle +against the headache any longer, but go to bed, in hopes of being better +the next day. William went with him to his room, and Lilias lingered on +the stairs, very humble, and very wretched. William soon came forth +again, and asked the meaning of the uproar. + +‘It was all my fault,’ said she; ‘I was vexed at Claude’s being waked, +and that made me speak sharply to Phyllis, and set her roaring.’ + +‘I do not know which is the most inconsiderate of you,’ said William. + +‘You cannot blame me more than I deserve,’ said Lily. ‘May I go to poor +Claude?’ + +‘I suppose so; but I do not see what good you are to do. Quiet is the +only thing for him.’ + +Lily, however, went, and Claude gave her to understand that he liked her +to stay with him. She arranged his blinds and curtains comfortably, and +then sat down to watch him. William went to the drawing-room to write a +letter. Just as he had sat down he heard a strange noise, a sound of +sobbing, which seemed to come from the corner where the library steps +stood. Looking behind them, he beheld Phyllis curled up, her head on her +knees, crying bitterly. + +‘You there! Come out. What is the matter now?’ + +‘I am so very sorry,’ sighed she. + +‘Well, leave off crying.’ She would willingly have obeyed, but her sobs +were beyond her own control; and he went on, ‘If you are sorry, there is +no more to be said. I hope it will be a lesson to you another time. You +are quite old enough to have more consideration for other people.’ + +‘I am very sorry,’ again said Phyllis, in a mournful note. + +‘Be sorry, only do not roar. You make that noise from habit, I am +convinced, and you may break yourself off it if you choose.’ + +Phyllis crept out of the room, and in a few minutes more the door was +softly opened by Emily, returning from her walk. + +‘I thought Claude was here. Is he gone to bed? Is his head worse?’ + +‘Yes, the children have been doing their best to distract him. Emily, I +want to know why it is that those children are for ever in mischief and +yelling in all parts of the house.’ + +‘I wish I could help it,’ said Emily, with a sigh; ‘they are very +troublesome.’ + +‘There must be great mismanagement,’ said her brother. + +‘Oh, William! Why do you think so?’ + +‘Other children do not go on in this way, and it was not so in Eleanor’s +time.’ + +‘It is only Phyllis,’ said Emily. + +‘Phyllis or not, it ought not to be. What will that child grow up, if +you let her be always running wild with the boys?’ + +‘Consider, William, that you see us at a disadvantage; we are all +unsettled by this illness, and the children have been from home.’ + +‘As if they learnt all these wild tricks at Broomhill! That excuse will +not do, Emily.’ + +‘And then they are always worse in the holidays,’ pleaded Emily. + +‘Yes, there are reasons to be found for everything that goes wrong; but +if you were wise you would look deeper. Now, Emily, I do not wish to be +hard upon you, for I know you are in a very difficult position, and very +young for such a charge, but I am sure you might manage better. I do not +think you use your energies. There is no activity, nor regularity, nor +method, about this household. I believe that my father sees that this is +the case, but it is not his habit to find fault with little things. You +may think that, therefore, I need not interfere, but—’ + +‘Oh, William! I am glad—’ + +‘But remember that comfort is made up of little things. And, Emily, when +you consider how much my father has suffered, and how desolate his home +must be at the best, I think you will be inclined to exert yourself to +prevent him from being anxious about the children or harassed by your +negligence.’ + +‘Indeed, William,’ returned Emily, with many tears, ‘it is my most +earnest wish to make him comfortable. Thank you for what you have said. +Now that I am stronger, I hope to do more, and I will really do my best.’ + +At this moment Emily was sincere; but the good impulse of one instant was +not likely to endure against long cherished habits of selfish apathy. + +Claude did not appear again till the middle of the next day. His +headache was nearly gone, but he was so languid that he gave up all +thoughts of Devereux Castle that evening. Lord Rotherwood, who always +seemed to know what was going on at Beechcroft, came to inquire for him, +and very unwillingly allowed that it would be better for him to stay at +home. Lilias wished to remain with him; but this her cousin would not +permit, saying that he could not consent to lose three of the party, and +Florence would be disappointed in all her plans. Neither would Claude +hear of keeping her at home, and she was obliged to satisfy herself with +putting his arm-chair in his favourite corner by the fire, with the +little table before it, supplied with books, newspaper, inkstand, +paper-knife, and all the new periodicals, and he declared that he should +enjoy the height of luxury. + +Phyllis considered it to be entirely her fault that he could not go, and +was too much grieved on that account to have many regrets to spare for +herself. She enjoyed seeing Adeline dressed, and hearing Esther’s +admiration of her. And having seen the party set off, she made her way +into the drawing-room, opening the door as gently as possible, just wide +enough to admit her little person, then shutting it as if she was afraid +of hurting it, she crept across the room on tiptoe. She started when +Claude looked up and said, ‘Why, Phyl, I have not seen you to-day.’ + +‘Good morning,’ she mumbled, advancing in her sidelong way. + +Claude suspected that she had been more blamed the day before than the +occasion called for, and wishing to make amends he kissed her, and said +something good-natured about spending the evening together. + +Phyllis, a little reassured, went to her own occupations. She took out a +large heavy volume, laid it on the window-seat, and began to read. +Claude was interested in his own book, and did not look up till the light +failed him. He then, closing his book, gave a long yawn, and looked +round for his little companion, almost thinking, from the stillness of +the room, that she must have gone to seek for amusement in the nursery. + +She was, however, still kneeling against the window-seat, her elbows +planted on the great folio, and her head between her hands, reading +intently. + +‘Little Madam,’ said he, ‘what great book have you got there?’ + +‘_As You Like It_,’ said Phyllis. + +‘What! are you promoted to reading Shakspeare?’ + +‘I have not read any but this,’ said Phyllis. ‘Ada and I have often +looked at the pictures, and I liked the poor wounded stag coming down to +the water so much, that I read about it, and then I went on. Was it +wrong, Claude? no one ever told me not.’ + +‘You are welcome to read it,’ said Claude, ‘but not now—it is too dark. +Come and sit in the great chair on the other side of the fire, and be +sociable. And what do you think of ‘_As You Like It_?’’ + +‘I like it very much,’ answered Phyllis, ‘only I cannot think why _Jacks_ +did not go to the poor stag, and try to cure it, when he saw its tears +running into the water.’ + +To save the character of _Jacks_, Claude gravely suggested the difficulty +of catching the stag, and then asked Phyllis her opinion of the heroines. + +‘Oh! it was very funny about Rosalind dressing like a man, and then being +ready to cry like a girl when she was tired, and then pretending to +pretend to be herself; and Celia, it was very kind of her to go away with +Rosalind; but I should have liked her better if she had stayed at home, +and persuaded her father to let Rosalind stay too. I am sure she would +if she had been like Ada. Then it is so nice about Old Adam and Orlando. +Do not you think so, Claude? It is just what I am sure Wat Greenwood +would do for Redgie, if he was to be turned out like Orlando.’ + +‘It is just what Wat Greenwood’s ancestor did for Sir Maurice Mohun,’ +said Claude. + +‘Yes, Dame Greenwood tells us that story.’ + +‘Well, Phyl, I think you show very good taste in liking the scene between +Orlando and Adam.’ + +‘I am glad you like it, too, Claude. But I will tell you what I like +best,’ exclaimed the little girl, springing up, ‘I do like it, when +Orlando killed the lioness and the snake,—and saved Oliver; how glad he +must have been.’ + +‘Glad to have done good to his enemy,’ said Claude; ‘yes, indeed.’ + +‘His enemy! he was his brother, you know. I meant it must be so very +nice to save anybody—don’t you think so, Claude?’ + +‘Certainly.’ + +‘Claude, do you know there is nothing I wish so much as to save +somebody’s life. It was very nice to save the dragon-fly; and it is very +nice to let flies out of spiders’ webs, only they always have their legs +and wings torn, and look miserable; and it was very nice to put the poor +little thrushes back into their nest when they tumbled out, and then to +see their mother come to feed them; and it was very pleasant to help the +poor goose that had put its head through the pales, and could not get it +back. Mrs. Harrington said it would have been strangled if I had not +helped it. That was very nice, but how delightful it would be to save +some real human person’s life.’ + +Claude did not laugh at the odd medley in her speech, but answered, +‘Well, those little things train you in readiness and kindness.’ + +‘Will they?’ said Phyllis, pressing on to express what had long been her +earnest wish. ‘If I could but save some one, I should not mind being +killed myself—I think not—I hope it is not naughty to say so. I believe +there is something in the Bible about it, about laying down one’s life +for one’s friend.’ + +‘There is, Phyl, and I quite agree with you; it must be a great blessing +to have saved some one.’ + +‘And little girls have sometimes done it, Claude. I know a story of one +who saved her little brother from drowning, and another waked the people +when the house was on fire. And when I was at Broomhill, Marianne showed +me a story of a young lady who helped to save the Prince, that Prince +Charlie that Miss Weston sings about. I wish the Prince of Wales would +get into some misfortune—I should like to save him.’ + +‘I do not quite echo that loyal wish,’ said Claude. + +‘Well, but, Claude, Redgie wishes for a rebellion, like Sir Maurice’s, +for he says all the boys at his school would be one regiment, in green +velvet coats, and white feathers in their hats.’ + +‘Indeed! and Redgie to be Field Marshal?’ + +‘No, he is to be Sir Reginald Mohun, a Knight of the Garter, and to ask +the Queen to give William back the title of Baron of Beechcroft, and make +papa a Duke.’ + +‘Well done! he is to take good care of the interests of the family.’ + +‘But it is not that that I should care about,’ said Phyllis. ‘I should +like it better for the feeling in one’s own self; I think all that fuss +would rather spoil it—don’t you, Claude?’ + +‘Indeed, I do; but Phyllis, if you only wish for that feeling, you need +not look for dangers or rebellions to gain it.’ + +‘Oh! you mean the feeling that very good people indeed have—people like +Harry—but that I shall never be.’ + +‘I hope you mean to try, though.’ + +‘I do try; I wish I was as good as Ada, but I am so naughty and so noisy +that I do not know what to do. Every day when I say my prayers I think +about being quiet, and not idling at my lessons, and sometimes I do stop +in time, and behave better, but sometimes I forget, and I do not mind +what I am about, and my voice gets loud, and I let the things tumble down +and make a noise, and so it was yesterday.’ Here she looked much +disposed to cry. + +‘No, no, we will not have any crying this evening,’ said Claude. ‘I do +not think you did me much mischief, my head ached just as much before.’ + +‘That was a thing I wanted to ask you about: William says my crying loud +is all habit, and that I must cure myself of it. How does he mean? +Ought I to cry every day to practise doing it without roaring?’ + +‘Do you like to begin,’ said Claude, laughing; ‘shall I beat you or pinch +you?’ + +‘Oh! it would make your head bad again,’ said Phyllis; ‘but I wish you +would tell me what he means. When I cry I only think about what makes me +unhappy.’ + +‘Try never to cry,’ said Claude; ‘I assure you it is not pleasant to hear +you, even when I have no headache. If you wish to do anything right, you +must learn self-control, and it will be a good beginning to check +yourself when you are going to cry. Do not look melancholy now. Here +comes the tea. Let me see how you will perform as tea-maker.’ + +‘I wish the evening would not go away so fast!’ + +‘And what are we to do after tea? You are queen of the evening.’ + +‘If you would but tell me a story, Claude.’ + +They lingered long over the tea-table, talking and laughing, and when +they had finished, Phyllis discovered with surprise that it was nearly +bedtime. The promised story was not omitted, however, and Phyllis, +sitting on a little footstool at her brother’s feet, looked up eagerly +for it. + +‘Well, Phyl, I will tell you a true history that I heard from an officer +who had served in the Peninsular War—the war in Spain, you know.’ + +‘Yes, with the French, who killed their king. Lily told me.’ + +‘And the Portuguese were helping us. Just after we had taken the town of +Ciudad Rodrigo, some of the Portuguese soldiers went to find lodgings for +themselves, and, entering a magazine of gunpowder, made a fire on the +floor to dress their food. A most dangerous thing—do you know why?’ + +‘The book would be burnt,’ said Phyllis. + +‘What book, you wise child?’ + +‘The Magazine; I thought a magazine was one of the paper books that +Maurice is always reading.’ + +‘Oh!’ said Claude, laughing, ‘a magazine is a store, and as many +different things are stored in those books, they are called magazines. A +powder magazine is a store of barrels of gunpowder. Now do you see why +it was dangerous to light a fire?’ + +‘It blows up,’ said Phyllis; ‘that was the reason why Robinson Crusoe was +afraid of the lightning.’ + +‘Right, Phyl, and therefore a candle is never allowed to be carried into +a powder magazine, and even nailed shoes are never worn there, lest they +should strike fire. One spark, lighting on a grain of gunpowder, +scattered on the floor, might communicate with the rest, make it all +explode, and spread destruction everywhere. Think in what fearful peril +these reckless men had placed, not only themselves, but the whole town, +and the army. An English officer chanced to discover them, and what do +you think he did?’ + +‘Told all the people to run away.’ + +‘How could he have told every one, soldiers, inhabitants, and all? where +could they have gone? No, he raised no alarm, but he ordered the +Portuguese out of the building, and with the help of an English sergeant, +he carried out, piece by piece, all the wood which they had set on fire. +Now, imagine what that must have been. An explosion might happen at any +moment, yet they had to walk steadily, slowly, and with the utmost +caution, in and out of this place several times, lest one spark might fly +back.’ + +‘Then they were saved?’ cried Phyllis, breathlessly; ‘and what became of +them afterwards?’ + +‘They were both killed in battle, the officer, I believe, in Badajoz, and +the sergeant sometime afterwards.’ + +Phyllis gave a deep sigh, and sat silent for some minutes. Next, Claude +began a droll Irish fairy-tale, which he told with spirit and humour, +such as some people would have scorned to exert for the amusement of a +mere child. Phyllis laughed, and was so happy, that when suddenly they +heard the sound of wheels, she started up, wondering what brought the +others home so soon, and was still more surprised when Claude told her it +was past ten. + +‘Oh dear! what will papa and Emily say to me for being up still? But I +will stay now, it would not be fair to pretend to be gone to bed.’ + +‘Well said, honest Phyl; now for the news from the castle.’ + +‘Why, Claude,’ said his eldest brother, entering, ‘you are alive again.’ + +‘I doubt whether your evening could have been pleasanter than ours,’ said +Claude. + +‘Phyl,’ cried Ada, ‘do you know, Mary Carrington’s governess thought I +was Florence’s sister.’ + +‘You look so bright, Claude,’ said Jane, ‘I think you must have taken +Cinderella’s friend with the pumpkin to enliven you.’ + +‘My fairy was certainly sister to a Brownie,’ said Claude, stroking +Phyllis’s hair. + +‘Claude,’ again began Ada, ‘Miss Car—’ + +‘I wish Cinderella’s fairy may be forthcoming the day of the ball,’ said +Lily, disconsolately. + +‘And William is going after all,’ said Emily. + +‘Indeed! has the great Captain relented?’ + +‘Yes. Is it not good of him? Aunt Rotherwood is so much pleased that he +consents to go entirely to oblige her.’ + +‘Sensible of his condescension,’ said Claude. ‘By the bye, what makes +the Baron look so mischievous?’ + +‘Mischievous!’ said Emily, looking round with a start, ‘he is looking +very comical, and so he has been all the evening.’ + +‘What? You thought mischievous was meant in Hannah’s sense, when she +complains of Master Reginald being very mischie-vi-ous.’ + +Ada now succeeded in saying, ‘The Carringtons’ governess called me Lady +Ada.’ + +‘How could she bring herself to utter so horrid a sound?’ said Claude. + +‘Ada is more cock-a-hoop than ever now,’ said Reginald; ‘she does not +think Miss Weston good enough to speak to.’ + +‘But, Claude, she really did, she thought I was Florence’s sister, and +she said I was just like her.’ + +‘I wish you would hold your tongue, or go to bed,’ said William, ‘I have +heard nothing but this nonsense all the way home.’ + +While William was sending off Ada to bed, and Phyllis was departing with +her, Lily told Claude that the Captain had been most agreeable. ‘I +feared,’ said she, ‘that he would be too grand for this party, but he was +particularly entertaining; Rotherwood was quite eclipsed.’ + +‘Rotherwood wants Claude to set him off,’ said Mr. Mohun. ‘Now, young +ladies, reserve the rest of your adventures for the morning.’ + +Adeline had full satisfaction in recounting the governess’s mistake to +the maids, and in hearing from Esther that it was no wonder, ‘for that +she looked more like a born lady than Lady Florence herself!’ + +Lilias’s fit of petulance about the ball had returned more strongly than +ever; she partly excused herself to her own mind, by fancying she +disliked the thought of the lonely evening she was to spend more than +that of losing the pleasure of the ball. Mr. Mohun would be absent, +conducting Maurice to a new school, and Claude and Reginald would also be +gone. + +Her temper was affected in various ways; she wondered that William and +Emily could like to go—she had thought that Miss Weston was wiser. Her +daily occupations were irksome—she was cross to Phyllis. + +It made her very angry to be accused by the young brothers of making a +fuss, and Claude’s silence was equally offensive. It was upon principle +that he said nothing. He knew it was nothing but a transient attack of +silliness, of which she was herself ashamed; but he was sorry to leave +her in that condition, and feared Lady Rotherwood’s coming into the +neighbourhood was doing her harm, as certainly as it was spoiling Ada. +The ball day arrived, and it was marked by a great burst of fretfulness +on the part of poor Lilias, occasioned by so small a matter as the being +asked by Emily to write a letter to Eleanor. Emily was dressing to go to +dine at Devereux Castle when she made the request. + +‘What have I to say? I never could write a letter in my life, at least +not to the Duenna—there is no news.’ + +‘About the boys going to school,’ Emily suggested. + +‘As if she did not know all about them as well as I can tell her. She +does not care for my news, I see no one to hear gossip from. I thought +you undertook all the formal correspondence, Emily?’ + +‘Do you call a letter to your sister formal correspondence!’ + +‘Everything is formal with her. All I can say is, that you and William +are going to the ball, and she will say that is very silly.’ + +‘Eleanor once went to this Raynham ball; it was her first and last,’ said +Emily. + +‘Yes, not long before they went to Italy; it will only make her +melancholy to speak of it—I declare I cannot write.’ + +‘And I have no time,’ said Emily, ‘and you know how vexed she is if she +does not get her letter every Saturday.’ + +‘All for the sake of punctuality, nothing else,’ said Lily. ‘I rather +like to disappoint fidgety people—don’t you, Emily?’ + +‘Well,’ said Emily, ‘only papa does not like that she should be +disappointed.’ + +‘You might have written, if you had not dawdled away all the morning.’ + +This was true, and it therefore stung Emily, who complained that Lily was +very unkind. Lily defended herself sharply, and the dispute was growing +vehement, when William happily cut it short by a summons to Emily to make +haste. + +When they were gone Lily had time for reflection. Good-temper was so +common a virtue, and generally cost her so little effort, that she took +no pains to cultivate it, but she now felt she had lost all claim to be +considered amiable under disappointment. It was too late to bear the +privation with a good grace. She was heartily ashamed of having been so +cross about a trifle, and ashamed of being discontented at Emily’s having +a pleasure in which she could not share. Would this have been the case a +year ago? She was afraid to ask herself the question, and without going +deep enough into the history of her own mind to make her sorrow and shame +profitable, she tried to satisfy herself with a superficial compensation, +by making herself particularly agreeable to her three younger sisters, +and by writing a very long and entertaining letter to Eleanor. + +She met Emily with a cheerful face the next day, and listened with +pleasure to her history of the ball; and when Mr. Mohun returned home he +saw that the cloud had passed away. But, alas! Lilias neglected to take +the only means of preventing its recurrence. + +The next week William departed. Before he went he gave his sisters great +pleasure by desiring them to write to him, and not to let him fall into +his ancient state of ignorance respecting the affairs of Beechcroft. + +‘Mind,’ was his farewell speech, ‘I expect you to keep me _au courant du +jour_. I will not be in the dark about your best friends and neighbours +when I come home next July.’ + + + + +CHAPTER XVI +VANITY AND VEXATION + + + ‘And still I have to tell the same sad tale + Of wasted energies, and idle dreams.’ + +DEVEREUX CASTLE now became the great resort of the Miss Mohuns. They +were always sure of a welcome there. Lady Rotherwood liked to patronise +them, and Florence was glad of their society. + +This was quite according to the wishes of Emily, who now had nothing left +to desire, but that the style of dress suitable, in her opinion, to the +granddaughter of the Marquis of Rotherwood, was more in accordance with +the purse of the daughter of the Esquire of Beechcroft. It was no part +of Emily’s character to care for dress. She was at once too indolent and +too sensible; she saw the vulgarity of finery, and only aimed at +simplicity and elegance. During their girlhood Emily and Lilias had had +no more concern with their clothes than with their food; Eleanor had +carefully taught them plain needlework, and they had assisted in making +more than one set of shirts; but they had nothing to do with the choice +or fashion of their own apparel. They were always dressed alike, and in +as plain and childish a manner as they could be, consistently with their +station. On Eleanor’s marriage a suitable allowance was given to each of +them, in order that they might provide their own clothes, and until +Rachel left them they easily kept themselves in very good trim. When +Esther came Lily cheerfully took the trouble of her own small +decorations, considering it as her payment for the pleasure of having +Esther in the house. Emily, however, neglected the useful ‘stitch in +time,’ till even ‘nine’ were unavailing. She soon found herself +compelled to buy new ready-made articles, and expected Lilias to do the +same. But Lilias demurred, for she was too wise to think it necessary to +ruin herself in company with Emily, and thus the two sisters were no +longer dressed alike. A constant fear tormented Emily lest she should +disgrace Lady Rotherwood, or be considered by some stranger as merely a +poor relation of the great people, and not as the daughter of the +gentleman of the oldest family in the county. She was, therefore, +anxious to be perfectly fashionable, and not to wear the same things too +often, and in her disinterested desire to maintain the dignity of the +family the allowance which she received at Christmas melted away in her +hands. + +Lily, though exempt from this folly, was not in a satisfactory state of +mind. She was drawn off from her duties by a kind of spell. It was not +that she liked Florence’s society better than her home pursuits. + +Florence was indeed a very sweet-tempered and engaging creature; but her +mind was not equal to that of Lilias, and there was none of the pleasure +of relying upon her, and looking up to her, which Lilias had learnt to +enjoy in the company of her brother Claude, and of Alethea Weston. It +was only that Lily’s own mind had been turned away from her former +occupations, and that she did not like to resume them. She had often +promised herself to return to her really useful studies, and her positive +duties, as soon as her brothers were gone; but day after day passed and +nothing was done, though her visits to the cottages and her lessons to +Phyllis were often neglected. Her calls at Devereux Castle took up many +afternoons. Florence continually lent her amusing books, her aunt took +great interest in her music, and she spent much time in practising. The +mornings were cold and dark, and she could not rise early, and thus her +time slipped away, she knew not how, uselessly and unsatisfactorily. The +three younger ones were left more to themselves, and to the maids. Jane +sought for amusement in village gossip, and the little ones, finding the +nursery more agreeable than the deserted drawing-room, made Esther their +companion. + +Mr. Mohun had, at this time, an unusual quantity of business on his +hands; he saw that the girls were not going on well, but he had reasons +for not interfering at present, and he looked forward to Eleanor’s visit +as the conclusion of their trial. + +‘I cannot think,’ said Marianne Weston one day to her sister, ‘why Mr. +Mohun comes here so often.’ + +Alethea told her he had some business with their mamma, and she thought +no more of the matter, till she was one day questioned by Jane. She was +rather afraid of Jane, who, as she thought, disliked her, and wished to +turn her into ridicule; so it was with no satisfaction that she found +herself separated from the others in the course of a walk, and submitted +to a cross-examination. + +Jane asked, in a mysterious manner, who had been at Broomhill that +morning. + +‘Mr. Mohun,’ said Marianne. + +‘What did he go there for?’ said Jane. + +‘Alethea says he has some business with mamma.’ + +‘Then you did not hear what it was?’ + +‘I was not in the room.’ + +‘Are you never there when he comes?’ + +‘Sometimes.’ + +‘And is Alethea there?’ + +‘Oh yes!’ + +‘His business must be with her too. Cannot you guess it?’ + +‘No,’ said Marianne, looking amazed. + +‘How can you be so slow?’ + +‘I am not sure that I would guess if I could,’ said Marianne, ‘for I do +not think they wish me to know.’ + +‘Oh! nonsense, it is fine fun to find out secrets,’ said Jane. ‘You will +know it at last, you may be sure, so there can be no harm in making it +out beforehand, so as to have the pleasure of triumph when the wise +people vouchsafe to admit you into their confidence; I am sure I know it +all.’ + +‘Then please do not tell me, Jane, I ought not to hear it.’ + +‘Little Mrs. Propriety,’ said Jane, ‘you are already assuming all the +dignity of my Aunt Marianne, and William’s Aunt Marianne—oh! and of +little Henry’s Great-aunt Marianne. Now,’ she added, laughing, ‘can you +guess the secret?’ + +Marianne stood still in amazement for a moment, and then exclaimed, +‘Jane, Jane! you do not mean it, you are only trying to tease me.’ + +‘I am quite serious,’ said Jane. ‘You will see that I am right.’ + +Here they were interrupted, and as soon as she returned from her walk +Marianne, perplexed and amazed, went to her mother, and told her all that +Jane had said. + +‘How can she be so silly?’ said Mrs. Weston. + +‘Then it is all nonsense, as I thought,’ said Marianne, joyfully. ‘I +should not like Alethea to marry an old man.’ + +‘Mr. Mohun is very unlikely to make himself ridiculous,’ said Mrs. +Weston. ‘Do not say anything of it to Alethea; it would only make her +uncomfortable.’ + +‘If it had been Captain Mohun, now—’ Marianne stopped, and blushed, +finding her speech unanswered. + +A few days after, Mr. Mohun overtook Marianne and her mother, as he was +riding home from Raynham, and dismounting, led his horse, and walked on +with them. Either not perceiving Marianne, or not caring whether she +heard him, he said, + +‘Has Miss Weston received the letter she expected?’ + +‘No,’ said Mrs. Weston, ‘she thinks, as there is no answer, the family +must be gone abroad, and very probably they have taken Miss Aylmer with +them; but she has written to another friend to ask about them.’ + +‘From all I hear,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘I should prefer waiting to hear from +her, before we make further inquiries; we shall not be ready before +midsummer, as I should wish my eldest daughter to assist me in making +this important decision.’ + +‘In that case,’ said Mrs. Weston, ‘there will be plenty of time to +communicate with her. I can see some of the friends of the family when I +go to London, for we must not leave Mr. Weston in solitude another +spring.’ + +‘Perhaps I shall see you there,’ said Mr. Mohun. ‘I have some business +in London, and I think I shall meet the Hawkesworths there in May or +June.’ + +After a little more conversation Mr. Mohun took his leave, and as soon as +he had ridden on, Marianne said, ‘Oh! mamma, I could not help hearing.’ + +‘My dear,’ said Mrs. Weston, ‘I know you may be trusted; but I should not +have told you, as you may find such a secret embarrassing when you are +with your young friends.’ + +‘And so they are to have a governess?’ + +‘Yes; and we are trying to find Miss Aylmer for them.’ + +‘Miss Aylmer! I am glad of it; how much Phyllis and Ada will like her!’ + +‘Yes, it will be very good for them; I wish I knew the Grants’ +direction.’ + +‘Well, I hope Jane will not question me any more; it will be very +difficult to manage, now I know the truth.’ + +But poor Marianne was not to escape. Jane was on the watch to find her +alone, and as soon as an opportunity offered, she began:— + +‘Well, auntie, any discoveries?’ + +‘Indeed, Jane, it is not right to fancy Mr. Mohun can do anything so +absurd.’ + +‘That is as people may think,’ said Jane. + +‘I wish you would not talk in that way,’ said Marianne. + +‘Now, Marianne,’ pursued the tormentor, ‘if you can explain the mystery I +will believe you, otherwise I know what to think.’ + +‘I am certain you are wrong, Jane; but I can tell you no more.’ + +‘Very well, my good aunt, I am satisfied.’ + +Jane really almost persuaded herself that she was right, as she perceived +that her father was always promoting intercourse with the Westons, and +took pleasure in conversing with Alethea. She twisted everything into a +confirmation of her idea; while the prospect of having Miss Weston for a +stepmother increased her former dislike; but she kept her suspicions to +herself for the present, triumphing in the idea that, when the time came, +she could bring Marianne as a witness of her penetration. + +The intercourse between the elder Miss Mohuns and Miss Weston was, +however, not so frequent as formerly; and Alethea herself could not but +remark that, while Mr. Mohun seemed to desire to become more intimate, +his daughters were more backward in making appointments with her. This +was chiefly remarkable in Emily and Jane. Lilias was the same in +openness, earnestness, and affection; but there was either a languor +about her spirits or they were too much excited, and her talk was more of +novels, and less of poor children than formerly. The constant visits to +Devereux Castle prevented Emily and Lilias from being as often as before +at church, and thus they lost many walks and talks that they used to +enjoy in the way home. Marianne began to grow indignant, especially on +one occasion, when Emily and Lily went out for a drive with Lady +Rotherwood, forgetting that they had engaged to take a walk with the +Westons that afternoon. + +‘It is really a great deal too bad,’ said she to Alethea; ‘it is exactly +what we have read of in books about grandeur making people cast off their +old friends.’ + +‘Do not be unfair, Marianne,’ said Alethea. ‘Lady Florence has a better +right to—’ + +‘Better right!’ exclaimed Marianne. ‘What, because she is a marquis’s +daughter?’ + +‘Because she is their cousin.’ + +‘I do not believe Lilias really cares for her half as much as for you,’ +said Marianne. ‘It is all because they are fine people.’ + +‘Nay, Marianne, if our cousins were to come into this neighbourhood, we +should not be as dependent on the Mohuns as we now feel.’ + +‘I hope we should not break our engagements with them.’ + +‘Perhaps they could not help it. When their aunt came to fetch them, +knowing how seldom they can have the carriage, it would have been +scarcely civil to say that they had rather take a walk with people they +can see any day.’ + +‘Last year Lilias would have let Emily go by herself,’ said Marianne. +‘Alethea, they are all different since that Lady Rotherwood came—all +except Phyl. Ada is a great deal more conceited than she was when she +was staying here; she pulls out her curls, and looks in the glass much +more, and she is always talking about some one having taken her for Lady +Florence’s sister. And, Alethea, just fancy, she does not like me to go +through a gate before her, because she says she has precedence!’ + +Alethea was much amused, but she would not let Marianne condemn the whole +family for Ada’s folly. ‘It will all come right,’ said she, ‘let us be +patient and good-humoured, and nothing can be really wrong.’ + +Though Alethea made the best of it to her sister, she could not but feel +hurt, and would have been much more so if her temper had been jealous or +sentimental. Almost in spite of herself she had bestowed upon Lilias no +small share of her affection, and she would have been more pained by her +neglect if she had not partaken of that spirit which ‘thinketh no evil, +but beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, and +endureth all things.’ + +Lilias was not satisfied with either herself, her home, her sisters, or +her school; she was far from being the fresh, happy creature that she had +been the year before. She had seen the fallacy of her principle of love, +but in her self-willed adherence to it she had lost the strong sense and +habit of duty which had once ruled her; and in a vague and restless frame +of mind, she merely sought from day to day for pleasure and idle +occupation. Lent came, but she was not roused, she was only more +uncomfortable when she saw the Rector, or Alethea, or went to church. +Alethea’s unfailing gentleness she felt almost as a rebuke; and Mr. +Devereux, though always kind and good-natured, had ceased to speak to her +of those small village matters in which she used to be prime counsellor. + +The school became a burthen instead of a delight, and her attendance +there a fatigue. On going in one Sunday morning, very late, she found +Alethea teaching her class as well as her own. With a look of vexation +she inquired, as she took her place, if it was so very late, and on the +way to church she said again, ‘I thought I was quite in time; I do not +like to hurry the children—the distant ones have not time to come. It +was only half-past nine.’ + +‘Oh, Lilias,’ said Marianne, ‘it was twenty minutes to ten, I know, for I +had just looked at the clock.’ + +‘That clock is always too fast,’ said Lily. + +The next Sunday was very cold, and Lilias did not feel at all disposed to +leave the fire when the others prepared to go to the afternoon school. + +‘Is it time?’ said she. ‘I was chilled at church, and my feet are still +like ice; I will follow you in five minutes.’ + +Alethea went, and Lilias lingered by the fire. Mrs. Weston once asked +her if she knew how late it was; but still she waited, until she was +startled by the sound of the bell for evening service. As she went to +church with Mrs. Weston and Emily she met Jane, who told her that her +class had been unemployed all the afternoon. + +‘I would have taken them,’ said she, ‘but that Robert does not like me to +teach the great girls, and I do think Alethea might have heard them.’ + +‘It is very provoking,’ said Lily, pettishly; ‘I thought I might depend—’ +She turned and saw Miss Weston close to her. ‘Oh, Alethea!’ said she, ‘I +thought you would have heard those girls.’ + +‘I thought you were coming,’ said Alethea. + +‘So I was, but I am sure the bell rang too early. I do wish you had +taken them, Alethea.’ + +‘I am sorry you are vexed,’ said Alethea, simply. + +‘What makes you think I am vexed? I only thought you liked hearing my +class.’ + +They were by this time at the church door, and as they entered Alethea +blamed herself for feeling grieved, and Lily awoke to a sense of her +unreasonableness. She longed to tell Alethea how sorry she felt, but she +had no opportunity, and she resolved to go to Broomhill the next day to +make her confession. In the night, however, snow began to fall, and the +morning showed the February scene of thawing snow and pouring rain. +Going out was impossible, both on that day and the next. Wednesday +dawned fair and bright; but just after breakfast Lily received a little +note, with the intelligence that Mr. Weston had arrived at Broomhill on +Monday evening, and with his wife and daughters was to set off that very +day to make a visit to some friends on the way to London. Had not the +weather been so bad, Alethea said she should have come to take leave of +her New Court friends on Tuesday, but she could now only send this note +to tell them how sorry she was to go without seeing them, and to beg +Emily to send back a piece of music which she had lent to her. The +messenger was Faith Longley, who was to accompany them, and who now was +going home to take leave of her mother, and would call again for the +music in a quarter of an hour. Lily ran to ask her when they were to go. +‘At eleven,’ was the answer; and Lily telling her she need not call +again, as she herself would bring the music, went to look for it. High +and low did she seek, and so did Jane, but it was not to be found in any +nook, likely or unlikely; and when at last Lily, in despair, gave up the +attempt to find it, it was already a quarter to eleven. Emily sent many +apologies and civil messages, and Lily set out at a rapid pace to walk to +Broomhill by the road, for the thaw had rendered the fields impassable. +Fast as she walked, she was too late. She had the mortification of +seeing the carriage turn out at the gates, and take the Raynham road; she +was not even seen, nor had she a wave of the hand, or a smile to comfort +her. + +Almost crying with vexation, she walked home, and sat down to write to +Alethea, but, alas! she did not know where to direct a letter. Bitterly +did she repent of the burst of ill-temper which had stained her last +meeting with her friend, and she was scarcely comforted even by the long +and affectionate letter which she received a week after their departure. +Kindness from her was now forgiveness; never did she so strongly feel +Florence’s inferiority; and she wondered at herself for having sought her +society so much as to neglect her patient and superior friend. She +became careless and indifferent to Florence, and yet she went on in her +former course, following Emily, and fancying that nothing at Beechcroft +could interest her in the absence of her dear Alethea Weston. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII +LITTLE AGNES + + + ‘O guide us when our faithless hearts + From Thee would start aloof, + Where patience her sweet skill imparts, + Beneath some cottage roof.’ + +PALM SUNDAY brought Lily many regrets. It was the day of the school +prize giving, and she reflected with shame, how much less she knew about +the children than last year, and how little they owed to her; she feared +to think of the approach of Easter Day, a dread which she had never felt +before, and which she knew to be a very bad sign; but her regret was not +repentance—she talked, and laughed, and tried to feel at ease. Agnes +Eden’s happy face was the most pleasant sight on that day. The little +girl received a Bible, and as it was given to her her pale face was +coloured with bright pink, her blue eyes lighted up, her smile was +radiant with the beauty of innocence, but Lily could not look at her +without self-reproach. She resolved to make up for her former neglect by +double kindness, and determined that, at any rate, Passion Week should be +properly spent—she would not once miss going to church. + +But on Monday, when Emily proposed to ride to Devereux Castle, she +assented, only saying that they would return for evening service. She +took care to remind her sister when it was time to set out homewards; but +Emily was, as usual, so long in taking her leave that it was too late to +think of going to church when they set off. + +About two miles from Beechcroft Lily saw a little figure in a gray cloak +trudging steadily along the road, and as she came nearer she recognised +Kezia Grey. She stopped and asked the child what brought her so far from +home. + +‘I am going for the doctor, Miss,’ said the child. + +‘Is your mother worse?’ asked Lily. + +‘Mother is pretty well,’ said Kezia; ‘but it is for Agnes Eden, Miss—she +is terrible bad.’ + +‘Poor little Agnes!’ exclaimed Lily. ‘Why, she was at school yesterday.’ + +‘Yes, Miss, but she was taken bad last night.’ + +After a moment’s consultation between the sisters, Kezia was told that +she might return home, and the servant who accompanied the Miss Mohuns +was sent to Raynham for the doctor. The next afternoon Lily was just +setting out to inquire for Agnes when Lord Rotherwood arrived at the New +Court with his sister. He wanted to show Florence some of his favourite +haunts at Beechcroft, and had brought her to join his cousins in their +walk. A very pleasant expedition they made, but it led them so far from +home that the church bell was heard pealing over the woods far in the +distance. Lily could not go to Mrs. Eden’s cottage, because she did not +know the nature of Agnes’s complaint, and her aunt could not bear that +Florence should go into any house where there was illness. In the course +of the walk, however, she met Kezia, on her way to the New Court, to ask +for a blister for Agnes, the doctor having advised Mrs. Eden to apply to +the Miss Mohuns for one, as it was wanted quickly, and it was too far to +send to Raynham. Lily promised to send the blister as soon as possible, +and desired the little messenger to return home, where she was much +wanted, to help her mother, who had a baby of less than a week old. + +Alas! in the mirth and amusement of the evening Lily entirely forgot the +blister, until just as she went to bed, when she made one of her feeble +resolutions to take it, or send it early in the morning. She only awoke +just in time to be ready for breakfast, went downstairs without one +thought of the sick child, and never recollected her, until at church, +just before the Litany, she heard these words: ‘The prayers of the +congregation are desired for Agnes Eden.’ + +She felt as if she had been shot, and scarcely knew where she was for +several moments. On coming out of church, she stood almost in a dream, +while Emily and Jane were talking to the Rector, who told them how very +ill the child was, and how little hope there was of her recovery. He +took leave of them, and Lily walked home, scarcely hearing the soothing +words with which Emily strove to comfort her. The meaning passed away +mournfully; Lily sat over the fire without speaking, and without +attempting to do anything. In the afternoon rain came on; but Lily, too +unhappy not to be restless, put on her bonnet and cloak, and went out. + +She walked quickly up the hill, and entered the field where the cottage +stood. There she paused. She did not dare to knock at the cottage door; +she could not bear to speak to Mrs. Eden; she dreaded the sight of Mrs. +Grey or Kezia, and she gazed wistfully at the house, longing, yet +fearing, to know what was passing within it. She wandered up and down +the field, and at last was trying to make up her mind to return home, +when she heard footsteps behind her, and turning, saw Mr. Devereux +advancing along the path at the other end of the field. + +‘Have you been to inquire for Agnes?’ said he. + +‘I could not. I long to know, but I cannot bear to ask, I cannot venture +in.’ + +‘Do you like to go in with me?’ said her cousin. ‘I do not think you +will see anything dreadful.’ + +‘Thank you,’ said Lily, ‘I would give anything to know about her.’ + +‘How you tremble! but you need not be afraid.’ + +He knocked at the door, but there was no answer; he opened it, and going +to the foot of the stairs, gently called Mrs. Eden, who came down calm +and quiet as ever, though very pale. + +‘How is she?’ + +‘No better, sir, thank you, light-headed still.’ + +‘Oh! Mrs. Eden, I am so sorry,’ sobbed Lily. ‘Oh! can you forgive me?’ + +‘Pray do not take on so, Miss,’ said Mrs. Eden. ‘You have always been a +very kind friend to her, Miss Lilias. Do not take on so, Miss. If it is +His will, nothing could have made any difference.’ + +Lily was going to speak again, but Mr. Devereux stopped her, saying, ‘We +must not keep Mrs. Eden from her, Lily.’ + +‘Thank you, sir, her aunt is with her,’ said Mrs. Eden, ‘and no one is +any good there now, she does not know any one. Will you walk up and see +her, sir? will you walk up, Miss Lilias?’ + +Lily silently followed her cousin up the narrow stairs to the upper room, +where, in the white-curtained bed, lay the little child, tossing about +and moaning, her cheeks flushed with fever, and her blue eyes wide open, +but unconscious. A woman, whom Lily did not at first perceive to be Mrs. +Naylor, rose and courtsied on their entrance. Agnes’s new Bible was +beside her, and her mother told them that she was not easy if it was out +of sight for an instant. + +At this moment Agnes called out, ‘Mother,’ and Mrs. Eden bent down to +her, but she only repeated, ‘Mother’ two or three times, and then began +talking: + +‘Kissy, I want my bag—where is my thimble—no, not that I can’t +remember—my catechism-book—my godfathers and godmothers in my baptism, +wherein I was made a member—my Christian name—my name, it is my Christian +name; no, that is not it— + + “It is a name by which I am + Writ in the hook of life, + And here below a charm to keep, + Unharmed by sin and strife; + As often as my name I hear, + I hear my Saviour’s voice.”’ + +Then she began the Creed, but, breaking off, exclaimed, ‘Where is my +Bible, mother, I shall read it to-morrow—read that pretty verse about “I +am the good Shepherd—the Lord is my Shepherd, therefore can I lack +nothing—yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I +will fear no evil, for Thou art within me.” + + “I now am of that little flock + Which Christ doth call His own, + For all His sheep He knows by name, + And He of them is known.”’ + +‘Let us call upon your good Shepherd, Agnes,’ said the pastor, and the +child turned her face towards him as if she understood him. Kneeling +down, he repeated the Lord’s Prayer, and the feeble voice followed his. +He then read the prayer for a sick child, and left the room, for he saw +that Lily would be quite overcome if she remained there any longer. Mrs. +Eden followed them downstairs, and again stung poor Lily to the heart by +thanks for all her kindness. + +They then left the house of mourning; Lily trembled violently, and clung +to her cousin’s arm for support. Her tears streamed fast, but her sobs +were checked by awe at Mrs. Eden’s calmness. She felt as if she had been +among the angels. + +‘How pale you are!’ said her cousin, ‘I would not have taken you there if +I thought it would overset you so much. Come into Mrs. Grey’s, and sit +down and recover a little.’ + +‘No, no, do not let me see any one,’ said Lily. ‘Oh! that dear child! +Robert, let me tell you the worst, for your kindness is more than I can +bear. I promised Agnes a blister and forgot it!’ + +She could say no more for some minutes, but her cousin did not speak. +Recovering her voice, she added, ‘Only speak to me, Robert.’ + +‘I am very sorry for you,’ answered he, in a kind tone. + +‘But tell me, what shall I do?’ + +‘What to do, you ask,’ said the Rector; ‘I am not sure that I know what +you mean. If your neglect has added to her sufferings, you cannot remove +them; and I would not add to your sorrow unless you wished me to do so +for your good.’ + +‘I do not see how I could be more unhappy than I am now,’ said Lily. + +‘I think if you wish to turn your grief to good account you must go a +little deeper than this omission.’ + +‘You mean that it is a result of general carelessness,’ said Lily; ‘I +know I have been in an odd idle way for some time; I have often resolved, +but I seem to have no power over myself.’ + +‘May I ask you one question, Lily? How have you been spending this +Lent?’ + +‘Robert, you are right,’ cried Lily; ‘you may well ask. I know I have +not gone to church properly, but how could you guess the terrible way in +which I have been indulging myself, and excusing myself every unpleasant +duty that came in my way? That was the very reason of this dreadful +neglect; well do I deserve to be miserable at Easter, the proper time for +joy. Oh! how different it will be.’ + +‘It will be, I hope, an Easter marked by repentance and amendment,’ said +the Rector. + +‘No, Robert, do not begin to be kind to me yet, you do not know how very +bad I have been,’ said Lily; ‘it all began from just after Eleanor’s +wedding. A mad notion came into my head and laid hold of me. I fancied +Eleanor stern, and cold, and unlovable; I was ingratitude itself. I made +a foolish theory, that regard for duty makes people cold and stern, and +that feeling, which I confused with Christian love, was all that was +worth having, and the more Claude tried to cure me, the more obstinate I +grew; I drew Emily over to my side, and we set our follies above +everything. Justified ourselves for idling, neglecting the children, +indulging ourselves, calling it love, and so it was, self-love. So my +temper has been spoiling, and my mind getting worse and worse, ever since +we lost Eleanor. At last different things showed me the fallacy of my +principle, but then I do believe I was beyond my own management. I felt +wrong, and could not mend, and went on recklessly. You know but too well +what mischief I have done in the village, but you can never know what +harm I have done at home. I have seen more and more that I was going on +badly, but a sleep, a spell was upon me.’ + +‘Perhaps the pain you now feel may be the means of breaking the spell.’ + +‘But is it not enough to drive me mad to think that improvement in me +should be bought at such a price—the widow’s only child?’ + +‘You forget that the loss is a blessing to her.’ + +‘Still I may pray that my punishment may not be through them,’ said Lily. + +‘Surely,’ was the answer, ‘it is grievous to see that dear child cut off; +and her patient mother left desolate—yet how much more grievous it would +be to see that spotless innocence defiled.’ + +‘If it was to fall on any one,’ said Lilias, ‘I should be thankful that +it is on one so fit to die.’ + +The church bell began to ring, and they quickened their steps in silence. +Presently Lily said, ‘Tell me of something to do, Robert, something that +may be a pledge that my sorrow is not a passing shower, something +unnecessary, but disagreeable, which may keep me in remembrance that my +Lent was not one of self-denial.’ + +‘You must be able to find more opportunities of self-denial than I can +devise,’ said her cousin. + +‘Of course,’ said Lily; ‘but some one thing, some punishment.’ + +‘I will answer you to-morrow,’ said Mr. Devereux. + +‘One thing more,’ said Lily, looking down; ‘after this great fall, ought +I to come to next Sunday’s feast? I would turn away if you thought fit.’ + +‘Lily, you can best judge,’ said the Rector, kindly. ‘I should think +that you were now in a humble, contrite frame, and therefore better +prepared than when self-confident.’ + +‘How many times! how shall I think of them! but I will,’ said Lily; ‘and +Robert, will you think of me when you say the Absolution now and next +Sunday at the altar?’ + +They were by this time at the church-porch. As Mr. Devereux uncovered +his head, he turned to Lilias, and said in a low tone, ‘God bless you, +Lilias, and grant you true repentance and pardon.’ + +Early the next morning the toll of the passing-bell informed Lily that +the little lamb had been gathered into the heavenly fold. + +When she took her place in church she found in her Prayer-book a slip of +paper in the handwriting of her cousin. It was thus: ‘You had better +find out in which duty you have most failed, and let the fulfilment of +that be your proof of self-denial. R. D.’ + +Afterwards Lily learnt that Agnes had been sensible for a short time +before her peaceful death. She had spoken much of her baptism, had +begged to be buried next to a little sister of Kezia’s, and asked her +mother to give her new Bible to Kezia. + +It was not till Sunday that Lilias felt as if she could ever be +comforted. Her heart was indeed ready to break as she walked at the head +of the school children behind the white-covered coffin, and she felt as +if she did not deserve to dwell upon the child’s present happiness; but +afterwards she was relieved by joining in prayer for the pardon of our +sins and negligences, and she felt as if she was forgiven, at least by +man, when she joined with Mrs. Eden in the appointed feast of Easter Day. + +Mrs. Naylor was at church on that and several following Sundays; but +though her husband now showed every kindness to his sister, he still +obstinately refused to be reconciled to Mr. Devereux. + +For many weeks poor little Kezia looked very unhappy. Her blithe smiles +were gone, her eyes filled with tears whenever she was reminded of her +friend, she walked to school alone, she did not join the sports of the +other children, but she kept close to the side of Mrs. Eden, and seemed +to have no pleasure but with her, or in nursing her little sister, who, +two Sundays after the funeral, was christened by the name of Agnes. + +It was agreed by Mr. Mohun and Lilias that the grave of the little girl +should be marked by a stone cross, thus inscribed:— + + ‘AGNES EDEN, + + April 8th, 1846, + + Aged 7 years. + + “He shall gather the lambs in His arms.”’ + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII +DOUBLE, DOUBLE TOIL AND TROUBLE + + + ‘Truly the tender mercies of the weak, + As of the wicked, are but cruel.’ + +AND how did Lilias show that she had been truly benefited by her sorrows? +Did she fall back into her habits of self-indulgence, or did she run into +ill-directed activity, selfish as her indolence, because only gratifying +the passion of the moment? + +Those who lived with her saw but little change; kind-hearted and generous +she had ever been, and many had been her good impulses, so that while she +daily became more steady in well-doing, and exerting herself on +principle, no one remarked it, and no one entered into the struggles +which it cost her to tame her impetuosity, or force herself to do what +was disagreeable to herself, and might offend Emily. + +However, Emily could forgive a great deal when she found that Lily was +ready to take any part of the business of the household and schoolroom, +which she chose to impose upon her, without the least objection, yet to +leave her to assume as much of the credit of managing as she chose—to +have no will or way of her own, and to help her to keep her wardrobe in +order. + +The schoolroom was just now more of a labour than had ever been the case, +at least to one who, like Lilias, if she did a thing at all, would not be +satisfied with half doing it. Phyllis was not altered, except that she +cried less, and had in a great measure cured herself of dawdling habits +and tricks, by her honest efforts to obey well-remembered orders of +Eleanor’s; but still her slowness and dulness were trying to her +teachers, and Lily had often to reproach herself for being angry with her +‘when she was doing her best.’ + +But Adeline was Lily’s principal trouble; there was a change in her, for +which her sister could not account. Last year, when Eleanor left them, +Ada was a sweet-tempered, affectionate child, docile, gentle, and, +excepting a little occasional affectation and carelessness, very free +from faults; but now her attention could hardly be commanded for five +minutes together; she had lost the habit of ready and implicit obedience, +was petulant when reproved, and was far more eager to attract notice from +strangers—more conceited, and, therefore, more affected, and, worse than +all, Lily sometimes thought she perceived a little slyness, though she +was never able to prove any one instance completely to herself, much less +to bring one before her father. Thus, if Ada had done any mischief, she +would indeed confess it on being examined; but when asked why she had not +told of it directly, would say she had forgotten; she would avail herself +of Phyllis’s assistance in her lessons without acknowledging it, and +Lilias found it was by no means safe to leave the Key to the French +Exercises alone in the room with her. + +Emily’s mismanagement had fostered Ada’s carelessness and inattention. +Lady Rotherwood’s injudicious caresses helped to make her more affected; +other faults had grown up for want of sufficient control, but this last +was principally Esther’s work. Esther had done well at school; she liked +learning, was stimulated by notice, was really attached to Lilias, and +tried to deserve her goodwill; but her training at school and at home +were so different, that her conduct was, even at the best, far too much +of eye-service, and she had very little idea of real truth and sincerity. + +On first coming to the New Court she flattered the children, because she +did not know how to talk to them otherwise, and afterwards, because she +found that Miss Ada’s affections were to be gained by praise. Then, in +her ignorant good-nature, she had no scruples about concealing mischief +which the children had done, or procuring for Ada little forbidden +indulgences on her promise of secrecy, a promise which Phyllis would not +give, thus putting a stop to all those in which she would have +participated. It was no wonder that Ada, sometimes helping Esther to +deceive, sometimes deceived by her, should have learnt the same kind of +cunning, and ceased to think it a matter of course to be true and just in +all her dealings. + +But how was it that Phyllis remained the same ‘honest Phyl’ that she had +ever been, not one word savouring of aught but strict truth having ever +crossed her lips, her thoughts and deeds full of guileless simplicity? +She met with the same temptations, the same neglect, the same bad +example, as her sister; why had they no effect upon her? In the first +place, flattery could not touch her, it was like water on a duck’s back, +she did not know that it was flattery, but so thoroughly humble was her +mind that no words of Esther’s would make her believe herself beautiful, +agreeable, or clever. Yet she never found out that Esther over-praised +her sister; she admired Ada so much that she never suspected that any +commendation of her was more than she deserved. Again, Phyllis never +thought of making herself appear to advantage, and her humility saved her +from the habit of concealing small faults, for which she expected no +punishment; and, when seriously to blame, punishment seemed so natural a +consequence, that she never thought of avoiding it, otherwise than by +expressing sorrow for her fault. She was uninfected by Esther’s deceit, +though she never suspected any want of truth; her singleness of mind was +a shield from all evil; she knew she was no favourite in the nursery, but +she never expected to be liked as much as Ada, her pride and glory. In +the meantime Emily went on contriving opportunities and excuses for +spending her time at Devereux Castle, letting everything fall into Lily’s +hands, everything that she had so eagerly undertaken little more than a +year ago. And now all was confusion; the excellent order in which +Eleanor had left the household affairs was quite destroyed. Attention to +the storeroom was one of the ways in which Lilias thought that she could +best follow the advice of Mr. Devereux, since Eleanor had always taught +that great exactness in this point was most necessary. Great disorder +now, however, prevailed there, and she found that her only chance of +rectifying it was to measure everything she found there, and to beg Emily +to allow her to keep the key; for, when several persons went to the +storeroom, no one ever knew what was given out, and she was sure that the +sweet things diminished much faster than they ought to do; but her sister +treated the proposal as an attempt to deprive her of her dignity, and she +was silenced. + +She was up almost with the light, to despatch whatever household affairs +could be settled without Emily, before the time came for the children’s +lessons; many hours were spent on these, while she was continually +harassed by Phyllis’s dulness, Ada’s inattention, and the interruption of +work to do for Emily, and often was she baffled by interference from Jane +or Emily. She was conscious of her unfitness to teach the children, and +often saw that her impatience, ignorance, and inefficiency, were doing +mischief; but much as this pained her, she could not speak to her father +without compromising her sister, and to argue with Emily herself was +quite in vain. Emily had taken up the principle of love, and defended +herself with it on every occasion, so that poor Lily was continually +punished by having her past follies quoted against herself. + +Each day Emily grew more selfish and indolent; now that Lily was willing +to supply all that she neglected, and to do all that she asked, she +proved how tyrannical the weak can be. + +The whole of her quarter’s allowance was spent in dress, and Lily soon +found that the only chance of keeping her out of debt was to spend her +own time and labour in her behalf; and what an exertion of patience and +kindness this required can hardly be imagined. Emily did indeed reward +her skill with affectionate thanks and kind praises, but she interfered +with her sleep and exercise, by her want of consideration, and hardened +herself more and more in her apathetic selfishness. + +Some weeks after Easter Lilias was arranging some books on a shelf in the +schoolroom, when she met with a crumpled piece of music-paper, squeezed +in behind the books. It proved to be Miss Weston’s lost song, creased, +torn, dust-stained, and spoiled; she carried it to Emily, who decided +that nothing could be done but to copy it for Alethea, and apologise for +the disaster. Framing apologies was more in Emily’s way than copying +music; and the former task, therefore, devolved upon Lily, and occupied +her all one afternoon, when she ought to have been seeking a cure for the +headache in the fresh air. It was no cure to find the name of Emma +Weston in the corner, and to perceive how great and irreparable the loss +of the paper was to her friend. The thought of all her wrongs towards +Alethea, caused more than one large tear to fall, to blot the heads of +her crotchets and quavers, and thus give her all her work to do over +again. + +The letter that she wrote was so melancholy and repentant, that it gave +great pain to her kind friend, who thought illness alone could account +for the dejection apparent in the general tone of all her expressions. +In answer, she sent a very affectionate consoling letter, begging Lily to +think no more of the matter; and though she had too much regard for truth +to say that she had not been grieved by the loss of Emma’s writing, she +added that Lily’s distress gave her far more pain, and that her copy +would have great value in her eyes. + +The beginning of June now arrived, and brought with it the time for the +return of Claude and Lord Rotherwood. + +The Marquis’s carriage met him at Raynham, and he set down Claude at New +Court, on his way to Hetherington, just coming in to exchange a hurried +greeting with the young ladies. + +Their attention was principally taken up by their brother. + +‘Claude, how well you look! How fat you are!’ was their exclamation. + +‘Is not he?’ said Lord Rotherwood. ‘I am quite proud of him. Not one +headache since he went. He will have no excuse for not dancing the +polka.’ + +‘I do not return the compliment to you, Lily,’ said Claude, looking +anxiously at his sister. ‘What is the matter with you? Have you been +ill?’ + +‘Oh, no! not at all!’ said Lily, smiling. + +‘I am sure there is enough to make any one ill,’ said Emily, in her +deplorable tone; ‘I thought this poor parish had had its share of +illness, with the scarlet fever, and now it has turned to a horrible +typhus fever.’ + +‘Indeed!’ said Claude. ‘Where? Who?’ + +‘Oh! the Naylors, and the Rays, and the Walls. John Ray died this +morning, and they do not think that Tom Naylor will live.’ + +‘Well,’ interrupted Lord Rotherwood, ‘I shall not stop to hear any more +of this chapter of accidents. I am off, but mind, remember the 30th, and +do not any of you frighten yourselves into the fever.’ + +He went, and Lily now spoke. ‘There is one thing in all this, Claude, +that is matter of joy, Tom Naylor has sent for Robert.’ + +‘Then, Lily, I do most heartily congratulate you.’ + +‘I hope things may go better,’ said Lily, with tears in her eyes. ‘The +poor baby is with its grandmother. Mrs. Naylor is ill too, and every one +is so afraid of the fever that nobody goes near them but Robert, and Mrs. +Eden, and old Dame Martin. Robert says Naylor is in a satisfactory +frame—determined on having the baby christened—but, oh! I am afraid the +christening is to be bought by something terrible.’ + +‘I do not think those fevers are often very infectious,’ said Claude. + +‘So papa says,’ replied Emily; ‘but Robert looks very ill. He is wearing +himself out with sitting up. Making himself nurse as well as everything +else.’ + +This was very distressing, but still Claude scarcely thought it accounted +for the change that had taken place in Lilias. Her cheek was pale, her +eye heavy, her voice had lost its merry tone; Claude knew that she had +had much to grieve her, but he was as yet far from suspecting how she was +overworked and harassed. He spoke of Eleanor’s return, and she did not +brighten; she smiled sadly at his attempts to cheer her, and he became +more and more anxious about her. He was not long in discovering what was +the matter. + +The second day after his return Robert told them at the churchyard gate +that Tom Naylor was beginning to mend, and this seemed to be a great +comfort to Lily, who walked home with a blither step than usual. Claude +betook himself to the study, and saw no more of his sisters till two +o’clock, when Lily appeared, with the languid, dejected look which she +had lately worn, and seemed to find it quite an effort to keep the tears +out of her eyes. Ada and Phyllis were in very high spirits, because they +were going to Raynham with Emily and Jane, and at every speech of Ada’s +Lily looked more grieved. After the Raynham party were gone Claude began +to look for Lily. He found her in her room, an evening dress spread on +the bed, a roll of ribbon in one hand, and with the other supporting her +forehead, while tears were slowly rolling down her cheeks. + +‘Lily, my dear, what is the matter?’ + +‘Oh! nothing, nothing, Claude,’ said she, quickly. + +‘Nothing! no, that is not true. Tell me, Lily. You have been +disconsolate ever since I came home, and I will not let it go on so. No +answer? Then am I to suppose that these new pearlins are the cause of +her sorrow? Come, Lily, be like yourself, and speak. More tears! Here, +drink this water, be yourself again, or I shall be angry and vexed. Now +then, that is right: make an effort, and tell me.’ + +‘There is nothing to tell,’ said Lily; ‘only you are very kind—I do not +know what is the matter with me—only I have been very foolish of late—and +everything makes me cry.’ + +‘My poor child, I knew you had not been well. They do not know how to +take care of you, Lily, and I shall take you in hand. I am going to +order the horses, and we will have a gallop over the Downs, and put a +little colour into your cheeks.’ + +‘No, no, thank you, Claude, I cannot come, indeed I cannot, I have this +work, which must be done to-day.’ + +‘At work at your finery instead of coming out! You must be altered, +indeed, Lily.’ + +‘It is not for myself,’ said Lily, ‘but I promised Emily she should have +it ready to wear to-morrow.’ + +‘Emily, oh? So she is making a slave of you?’ + +‘No, no, it was a voluntary promise. She does not care about it, only +she would be disappointed, and I have promised.’ + +‘I hate promises!’ said Claude. ‘Well, what must be, must be, so I will +resign myself to this promise of yours, only do not make such another. +Well, but that was not all; you were not crying about that fine green +thing, were you?’ + +‘Oh, no!’ said Lily, smiling, as now she could smile again. + +‘What then? I will know, Lily.’ + +‘I was only vexed at something about the children.’ + +‘Then what was it?’ + +‘It was only that Ada was idle at her lessons; I told her to learn a verb +as a punishment, she went to Emily, and, somehow or other, Emily did not +find out the exact facts, excused her, and took her to Raynham. I was +vexed, because I am sure it does Ada harm, and Emily did not understand +what I said afterwards; I am sure she thought me unjust.’ + +‘How came she not to be present?’ + +‘Emily does not often sit in the schoolroom in the morning, since she has +been about that large drawing.’ + +‘So you are governess as well as ladies’-maid, are you, Lily? What else? +Housekeeper, I suppose, as I see you have all the weekly bills on your +desk. Why, Lily, this is perfectly philanthropic of you. You are +exemplifying the rule of love in a majestic manner. Crying again! Water +lily once more?’ + +Lily looked up, and smiled; ‘Claude, how can you talk of that old, silly, +nay, wicked nonsense of my principle. I was wise above what was written, +and I have my punishment in the wreck which my “frenzy of spirit and +folly of tongue” have wrought. The unchristened child, Agnes’s death, +the confusion of this house, all are owing to my hateful principle. I +see the folly of it now, but Emily has taken it up, and acts upon it in +everything. I do struggle against it a little; but I cannot blame any +one, I can do no good, it is all owing to me. We have betrayed papa’s +confidence; if he does not see it now it will all come upon him when +Eleanor comes home, and what is to become of us? How it will grieve him +to see that we cannot be trusted!’ + +‘Poor Lily!’ said Claude. ‘It is a bad prospect, but I think you see the +worst side of it. You are not well, and, therefore, doleful. This, +Lily, I can tell you, that the Baron always considered Emily’s government +as a kind of experiment, and so perhaps he will not be so grievously +disappointed as you expect. Besides, I have a strong suspicion that +Emily’s own nature has quite as much to do with her present conduct as +your principle, which, after all, did not live very long.’ + +‘Just long enough to unsettle me, and make it more difficult for me to +get any way right,’ said Lily. ‘Oh! dear, what would I give to force +backward the wheels of time!’ + +‘But as you cannot, you had better try to brighten up your energies. +Come, you know I cannot tell you not to look back, but I can tell you not +to look forward. Nay, I do tell you literally, to look forward, out of +the window, instead of back into this hot room. Do not you think the +plane-tree there looks very inviting? Suppose we transport Emily’s +drapery there, and I want to refresh my memory with Spenser; I do not +think I have touched him since plane-tree time last year.’ + +‘I believe Spenser and the plane-tree are inseparably woven together in +your mind,’ said Lily. + +‘Yes, ever since the time when I first met with the book. I remember +well roving over the bookcase, and meeting with it, and taking it out +there, for fear Eleanor should see me and tell mama. Phyl, with _As You +Like It_, put me much in mind of myself with that.’ + +Claude talked in this manner, while Lily, listening with a smile, +prepared her work. He read, and she listened. It was such a treat as +she had not enjoyed for a long time, for she had begun to think that all +her pleasant reading days were past. Her work prospered, and her face +was bright when her sisters came home. + +But, alas! Emily was not pleased with her performance; she said that she +intended something quite different, and by manner, rather than by words, +indicated that she should not be satisfied unless Lily completely altered +it. It was to be worn at the castle the next evening, and Lily knew she +should have no time for it in the course of the day. Accordingly, at +half-past twelve, as Claude was going up to bed, he saw a light under his +sister’s door, and knocked to ask the cause. Lily was still at work upon +the trimming, and very angry he was, particularly when she begged him to +take care not to disturb Emily. At last, by threatening to awake her, +for the express purpose of giving her a scolding, he made Lily promise to +go to bed immediately, a promise which she, poor weary creature, was very +glad to make. + +Claude now resolved to tell his father the state of things, for he well +knew that though it was easy to obtain a general promise from Emily, it +was likely to be of little effect in preventing her from spurring her +willing horse to death. + +The next morning he rose in time to join his father in the survey which +he usually took of his fields before breakfast, and immediately beginning +on the subject on which he was anxious, he gave a full account of his +sister’s proceedings. ‘In short,’ said he, ‘Emily and Ada torment poor +Lily every hour of her life; she bears it all as a sort of penance, and +how it is to end I cannot tell.’ + +‘Unless,’ said Mr. Mohun, smiling, ‘as Rotherwood would say, Jupiter will +interfere. Well, Jupiter has begun to take measures, and has asked Mrs. +Weston to look out for a governess. Eh! Claude?’ he continued, after a +pause, ‘you set up your eyebrows, do you? You think it will be a bore. +Very likely, but there is nothing else to be done. Jane is under no +control, Phyllis running wild, Ada worse managed than any child of my +acquaintance—’ + +‘And poor Lily wearing herself to a shadow, in vain attempts to mend +matters,’ said Claude. + +‘If Lily was the eldest, things would be very different,’ said Mr. Mohun. + +‘Or even if she had been as wise last year as she is now,’ said Claude, +‘she would have kept Emily in order then, but now it is too late.’ + +‘This year is, on many accounts, much to be regretted,’ said Mr. Mohun, +‘but I think it has brought out Lily’s character.’ + +‘And a very fine character it is,’ said Claude. + +‘Very. She has been, and is, more childish than Eleanor ever was, but +she is her superior in most points. She has been your pupil, Claude, and +she does you credit.’ + +‘Thereby hangs a tale which does me no credit,’ muttered Claude, as he +remembered how foolishly he had roused her spirit of contradiction, +besides the original mischief of naming Eleanor the duenna; ‘but we will +not enter into that now. I see this governess is their best chance. +Have you heard of one?’ + +‘Of several; but the only one who seems likely to suit us is out of reach +for the present, and I do not regret it, for I shall not decide till +Eleanor comes.’ + +‘Emily will not be much pleased,’ said Claude. ‘It has long been her +great dread that Aunt Rotherwood should recommend one.’ + +‘Ay, Emily’s objections and your aunt’s recommendations are what I would +gladly avoid,’ said Mr. Mohun. + +‘But Lily!’ said Claude, returning to the subject on which he was most +anxious. ‘She is already what Ada calls a monotony, and there will be +nothing left of her by the time Eleanor comes, if matters go on in their +present fashion.’ + +‘I have a plan for her. A little change will set her to rights, and we +will take her to London when we go next week to meet Eleanor. She +deserves a little extra pleasure; you must take her under your +protection, and lionise her well.’ + +‘Trust me for that,’ said Claude. ‘It is the best news I have heard for +a long time.’ + +‘Well, I am glad that one of my remedies meets with your approbation,’ +said his father, smiling. ‘For the other, you are much inclined to +pronounce the cure as bad as the disease.’ + +‘Not for Lily,’ said Claude, laughing. + +‘And,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘I think I can promise you that a remedy will be +found for all the other grievances by Michaelmas.’ + +Claude looked surprised, but as Mr. Mohun explained no further, only +observing upon the potatoes, through which they were walking, he only +said, ‘Then it is next week that you go to London.’ + +‘There is much to do, both for Rotherwood and for Eleanor; I shall go as +soon as I can, but I do not think it will be while this fever is so +prevalent. I had rather not be from home—I do not like Robert’s looks.’ + + + + +CHAPTER XIX +THE RECTOR’S ILLNESS + + + ‘Thou drooping sick man, bless the guide + That checked, or turned thy headstrong youth.’ + +THE thought of her brother’s kindness, and the effect of his consolation, +made Lilias awake that morning in more cheerful spirits; but it was not +long before grief and anxiety again took possession of her. + +The first sound that she heard on opening the schoolroom window was the +tolling of the church bell, giving notice of the death of another of +those to whom she felt bound by the ties of neighbourhood. + +At church she saw that Mr. Devereux was looking more ill than he yet had +done, and it was plainly with very great exertion that he succeeded in +finishing the service. The Mohun party waited, as usual, to speak to him +afterwards, for since his attendance upon Naylor had begun he had not +thought it safe to come to the New Court as usual, lest he should bring +the infection to them. He was very pale, and walked wearily, but he +spoke cheerfully, as he told them that Naylor was now quite out of +danger. + +‘Then I hope you did not stay there all last night,’ said Mr. Mohun. + +‘No, I did not, I was so tired when I came back from poor John Ray’s +funeral, that I thought I would take a holiday, and sleep at home.’ + +‘I am afraid you have not profited by your night’s rest,’ said Emily, +‘you look as if you had a horrible headache.’ + +‘Now,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘I prescribe for you that you go home and lie +down. I am going to Raynham, and I will tell your friend there that you +want help for the evening service. Do not think of moving again to-day. +I shall send Claude home with you to see that you obey my prescription.’ + +Claude went home with his cousin, and his sisters saw him no more till +late in the day, when he came to tell them that Mr. Mohun had brought +back Dr. Leslie from Raynham with him, that Dr. Leslie had seen Mr. +Devereux, and had pronounced that he had certainly caught the fever. + +Lily had made up her mind to this for some time, but still it seemed +almost as great a blow as if it had come without any preparation. The +next day was the first Sunday that Mr. Devereux had not read the service +since he had been Rector of Beechcroft. The villagers looked sadly at +the stranger who appeared in his place, and many tears were shed when the +prayers of the congregation were desired for Robert Devereux, and Thomas +and Martha Naylor. It was announced that the daily service would be +discontinued for the present, and Lily felt as if all the blessings which +she had misused were to be taken from her. + +For some time Mr. Devereux continued very ill, and Dr. Leslie gave little +hope of his improvement. Mr. Mohun and Claude were his constant +attendants—an additional cause of anxiety to the Miss Mohuns. Emily was +listless and melancholy, talking in a maundering, dismal way, not +calculated to brace her spirits or those of her sisters. Jane was not +without serious thoughts, but whether they would benefit her depended on +herself; for, as we have seen by the events of the autumn, sorrow and +suffering do not necessarily produce good effects, though some effects +they always produce. + +Thus it was with Lilias. Grief and anxiety aided her in subduing her +will and learning resignation. She did not neglect her daily duties, but +was more exact in their fulfilment; and low as her spirits had been +before, she now had an inward spring which enabled her to be the support +of the rest. She was useful to her father, always ready to talk to +Claude, or walk with him in the intervals when he was sent out of the +sickroom to rest and breathe the fresh air. She was cheerful and patient +with Emily, and devoid of petulance when annoyed by the spirits of the +younger ones rising higher than accorded with the sad and anxious hearts +of their elders. Her most painful feeling was, that it was possible that +she might be punished through her cousin, as she had already been through +Agnes; that her follies might have brought this distress upon every one, +and that this was the price at which the child’s baptism was to be +bought. Yet Lily would not have changed her present thoughts for any of +her varying frames of mind since that fatal Whitsuntide. Better feelings +were springing up within her than she had then known; the church service +and Sunday were infinitely more to her, and she was beginning to obtain +peace of mind independent of external things. + +She could not help rejoicing to see how many evidences of affection to +the Rector were called forth by this illness; presents of fruit poured in +from all quarters, from Lord Rotherwood’s choice hothouse grapes, to poor +little Kezia Grey’s wood-strawberries; inquiries were continual, and the +stillness of the village was wonderful. There was no cricket on the +hill, no talking in the street, no hallooing in the hay-field, and no +burst of noise when the children were let out of school. Many of the +people were themselves in grief for the loss of their own relations; and +when on Sunday the Miss Mohuns saw how many were dressed in black, they +thought with a pang how soon they themselves might be mourning for one +whose influence they had crippled, and whose plans they had thwarted +during the three short years of his ministry. + +During this time it was hard to say whether Lord Rotherwood was more of a +comfort or a torment. He was attached to his cousin with all the ardour +of his affectionate disposition, and not one day passed without his +appearing at Beechcroft. At first it was always in the parlour at the +parsonage that he took up his station, and waited till he could find some +means of getting at Claude or his uncle, to hear the last report from +them, and if possible to make Claude come out for a walk or ride with +him. And once Mr. Mohun caught him standing just outside Mr. Devereux’s +door, waiting for an opportunity to make an entrance. He could not, or +would not see why Mr. Mohun should allow Claude to run the risk of +infection rather than himself, and thus he kept his mother in continual +anxiety, and even his uncle could not feel by any means certain that he +would not do something imprudent. At last a promise was extracted from +him that he would not again enter the parsonage, but he would not gratify +Lady Rotherwood so far as to abstain from going to Beechcroft, a place +which she began to regard with horror. He now was almost constantly at +the New Court, talking over the reports, and quite provoking Emily by +never desponding, and never choosing to perceive how bad things really +were. Every day which was worse than the last was supposed to be the +crisis, and every restless sleep that they heard of he interpreted into +the beginning of recovery. At last, however, after ten days of suspense, +the report began to improve, and Claude came to the New Court with a more +cheerful face, to say that his cousin was munch better. The world seemed +immediately to grow brighter, people went about with joyful looks, Lord +Rotherwood declared that from the first he had known all would be well, +and Lily began to hope that now she had been spared so heavy a +punishment, it was a kind of earnest that other things would mend, that +she had suffered enough. The future no longer hung before her in such +dark colours as before Mr. Devereux’s illness, though still the New Court +was in no satisfactory state, and still she had reason to expect that her +father and Eleanor would be disappointed and grieved. Thankfulness that +Mr. Devereux was recovering, and that Claude had escaped the infection, +made her once more hopeful and cheerful; she let the morrow take thought +for the things of itself, rejoicing that it was not her business to make +arrangements. + + + + +CHAPTER XX +THE LITTLE NEPHEW + + + ‘You must be father, mother, both, + And uncle, all in one.’ + +MR. MOHUN had much business to transact in London which he could not +leave undone, and as soon as his nephew began to recover he thought of +setting off to meet Mr. and Mrs. Hawkesworth, who had already been a week +at Lady Rotherwood’s house in Grosvenor Square, which she had lent to +them for the occasion. Claude had intended to stay at home, as his +cousin was not yet well enough to leave the room; but just at this time a +college friend of the Rector’s, hearing of his illness, wrote to propose +to come and stay with him for a month or six weeks, and help him in +serving his church. Mr. Devereux was particularly glad to accept this +kind offer, as it left him no longer dependent on Mr. Stephens and the +Raynham curates, and set Claude at liberty for the London expedition. +All was settled in the short space of one day. The very next they were +to set off, and in great haste; Lily did all she could for the regulation +of the house, packed up her goods, and received the commissions of her +sisters. + +Ada gave her six shillings, with orders to buy either a doll or a +book—the former if Eleanor did not say it was silly; and Phyllis put into +her hands a weighty crown piece, begging for as many things as it could +buy. Jane’s wants and wishes were moderate and sensible, and she gave +Lily the money for them. With Emily there was more difficulty. All +Lily’s efforts had not availed to prevent her from contracting two debts +at Raynham. More than four pounds she owed to Lily, and this she offered +to pay her, giving her at the same time a list of commissions sufficient +to swallow up double her quarter’s allowance. Lily, though really in +want of the money for her own use, thought the debts at Raynham so +serious, that she begged Emily to let her wait for payment till it was +convenient, and to pay the shoemaker and dressmaker immediately. + +Emily thanked her, and promised to do so as soon as she could go to +Raynham, and Lily next attempted to reduce her list of London commissions +to something more reasonable. In part she succeeded, but it remained a +matter of speculation how all the necessary articles which she had to buy +for herself, and all Emily’s various orders, were to come out of her own +means, reduced as they were by former loans. + +The next day Lilias was on her way to London; feeling, as she left +Beechcroft, that it was a great relief that the schoolroom and storeroom +could not follow her. She was sorry that she should miss seeing Alethea +Weston, who was to come home the next day, but she left various messages +for her, and an affectionate note, and had received a promise from her +sisters that the copy of the music should be given to her the first day +that they saw her. Her journey afforded her much amusement, and it was +not till towards the end of the day that she had much time for thinking, +when, her companions being sleepily inclined, she was left to her own +meditations and to a dull country. She began to revolve her own feelings +towards Eleanor, and as she remembered the contempt and ingratitude she +had once expressed, she shrank from the meeting with shame and dread, and +knew that she should feel reproached by Eleanor’s wonted calmness of +manner. And as she mused upon all that Eleanor had endured, and all that +she had done, such a reverence for suffering and sacrifice took +possession of her mind that she was ready to look up to her sister with +awe. She began to recollect old reproofs, and found herself sitting more +upright, and examining the sit of the folds of her dress with some +uneasiness at the thought of Eleanor’s preciseness. In the midst of her +meditations her two companions were roused by the slackening speed of the +train, and starting up, informed her that they were arriving at their +journey’s end. The next minute she heard her father consigning her and +the umbrellas to Mr. Hawkesworth’s care, and all was bewilderment till +she found herself in the hall of her aunt’s house, receiving as warm and +affectionate a greeting from Eleanor as Emily herself could have +bestowed. + +‘And the baby, Eleanor?’ + +‘Asleep, but you shall see him; and how is Ada? and all of them? why, +Claude, how well you look! Papa, let me help you to take off your +greatcoat—you are cold—will you have a fire?’ + +Never had Lily heard Eleanor say so much in a breath, or seen her eye so +bright, or her smile so ready, yet, when she entered the drawing-room, +she saw that Mrs. Hawkesworth was still the Eleanor of old. In contrast +with the splendid furniture of the apartments, a pile of shirts was on +the table, Eleanor’s well-known work-basket on the floor, and the +ceaseless knitting close at hand. + +Much news was exchanged in the few minutes that elapsed before Eleanor +carried off her sister to her room, indulging her by the way with a peep +at little Harry, and one kiss to his round red cheek as he lay asleep in +his little bed. It was not Eleanor’s fault that she did not entirely +dress Lily, and unpack her wardrobe; but Lilias liked to show that she +could manage for herself; and Eleanor’s praise of her neat arrangements +gave her as much pleasure as in days of yore. + +The evening passed very happily. Eleanor’s heart was open, she was full +of enjoyment at meeting those she loved, and the two sisters sat long +together in the twilight, talking over numerous subjects, all ending in +Beechcroft or the baby. + +Yet when Lily awoke the next morning her awe of Eleanor began to return, +and she felt like a child just returned to school. She was, however, +mistaken; Eleanor assumed no authority, she treated Lily as her equal, +and thus made her feel more like a woman than she had ever done before. +Lily thought either that Eleanor was much altered, or that in her folly +she must have fancied her far more cold and grave than she really was. +She had, however, no time for studying her character; shopping and +sight-seeing filled up most of her time, and the remainder was spent in +resting, and in playing with little Henry. + +One evening, when Mr. Mohun and Claude were dining out, Lilias was left +alone with Mr. and Mrs. Hawkesworth. Lily was very tired, but she worked +steadily at marking Eleanor’s pocket-handkerchiefs, until her sister, +seeing how weary she was, made her lie down on the sofa. + +‘Here is a gentleman who is tired too,’ said Eleanor, dancing the baby; +‘we will carry you off, sir, and leave Aunt Lily to go to sleep.’ + +‘Aunt Lily is not so tired as that,’ said Lily; ‘pray keep him.’ + +‘It is quite bedtime,’ said Eleanor, in her decided tone, and she carried +him off. + +Lilias took up the knitting which she had laid down, and began to study +the stitches. ‘I should like this feathery pattern,’ said she, ‘(if it +did not remind me so much of the fever); but, by the bye, Frank, have you +completed Master Henry’s outfit? I looked forward to helping to choose +his pretty little things, but I see no preparation but of stockings.’ + +‘Why, Lily, did not you know that he was to stay in England?’ + +‘To stay in England? No, I never thought of that—how sorry you must be.’ + +At this moment Eleanor returned, and Mr. Hawkesworth told her he had been +surprised to find Lily did not know their intentions with regard to the +baby. + +‘If we had any certain intentions we should have told her,’ said Eleanor; +‘I did not wish to speak to her about it till we had made up our minds.’ + +‘Well, I know no use in mysteries,’ said Mr. Hawkesworth, ‘especially +when Lily may help us to decide.’ + +‘On his going or staying?’ exclaimed Lily, eagerly looking to Mr. +Hawkesworth, who was evidently more disposed to speak than his wife. + +‘Not on his going or staying—I am sorry to say that point was settled +long ago—but where we shall leave him.’ + +Lily’s heart beat high, but she did not speak. + +‘The truth is,’ proceeded Mr. Hawkesworth, ‘that this young gentleman +has, as perhaps you know, a grandpapa, a grandmamma, and also six or +seven aunts. With his grandmamma he cannot be left, for sundry reasons, +unnecessary to mention. Now, one of his aunts is a staid matronly lady, +and his godmother besides, and in all respects the person to take charge +of him,—only she lives in a small house in a town, and has plenty of +babies of her own, without being troubled with other people’s. Master +Henry’s other five aunts live in one great house, in a delightful +country, with nothing to do but make much of him all day long, yet it is +averred that these said aunts are a parcel of giddy young colts, amongst +whom, if Henry escapes being demolished as a baby he will infallibly be +spoilt as he grows up. Now, how are we to decide?’ + +‘You have heard the true state of the case, Lily,’ said Mrs. Hawkesworth. +‘I did not wish to harass papa by speaking to him till something was +settled; you are certainly old enough to have an opinion.’ + +‘Yes, Lily,’ said Frank; ‘do you think that the hospitable New Court will +open to receive our poor deserted child, and that these said aunts are +not wild colts but discreet damsels?’ + +Playful as Mr. Hawkesworth’s manner was, Lily saw the earnestness that +was veiled under it: she felt the solemnity of Eleanor’s appeal, and knew +that this was no time to let herself be swayed by her wishes. There was +a silence. At last, after a great struggle, Lily’s better judgment +gained the mastery, and raising her head, she said, ‘Oh! Frank, do not +ask me—I wish—but, Eleanor, when you see how much harm we have done, how +utterly we have failed—’ + +Lily’s newly-acquired habits of self-command enabled her to subdue a +violent fit of sobbing, which she felt impending, but her tears flowed +quietly down her cheeks. + +‘Remember,’ said Frank, ‘those who mistrust themselves are the most +trustworthy.’ + +‘No, Frank, it is not only the feeling of the greatness of the charge, it +is the knowledge that we are not fit for it—that our own faults have +forfeited such happiness.’ + +Again Lily was choked with tears. + +‘Well,’ said Frank, ‘we shall judge at Beechcroft. At all events, one of +those aunts is to be respected.’ + +Eleanor added her ‘Very right.’ + +This kindness on the part of her brother-in-law, which Lily felt to be +undeserved, caused her tears to flow faster, and Eleanor, seeing her +quite overcome, led her out of the room, helped her to undress, and put +her to bed, with tenderness such as Lily had never experienced from her, +excepting in illness. + +In spite of bitter regrets, when she thought of the happiness it would +have been to keep her little nephew, and of importunate and disappointing +hopes that Mrs. Ridley would find it impossible to receive him, Lily felt +that she had done right, and had made a real sacrifice for duty’s sake. +No more was said on the subject, and Lily was very grateful to Eleanor +for making no inquiries, which she could not have answered without +blaming Emily. + +Sight-seeing prospered very well under Claude’s guidance, and Lily’s +wonder and delight was a constant source of amusement to her friends. +Her shopping was more of a care than a pleasure, for, in spite of the +handsome equipments which Mr. Mohun presented to all his daughters, it +was impossible to contract Emily’s requirements within the limits of what +ought to be her expenditure, and the different views of her brother and +sister were rather troublesome in this matter. Claude hated the search +for ladies’ finery, and if drawn into it, insisted on always taking her +to the grandest and most expensive shops; while, on the other hand, +though Eleanor liked to hunt up cheap things and good bargains, she had +such rigid ideas about plainness of dress, that there was little chance +that what she approved would satisfy Emily. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI +CHARITY BEGINS AT HOME + + + ‘Suddenly, a mighty jerk + A mighty mischief did.’ + +IN the meantime Emily and Jane went on very prosperously at home, looking +forward to the return of the rest of the party on Saturday, the 17th of +July. In this, however, they were doomed to disappointment, for neither +Mr. Mohun nor Mr. Hawkesworth could wind up their affairs so as to return +before the 24th. Maurice’s holidays commenced on Monday the 19th, and +Claude offered to go home on the same day, and meet him, but in a general +council it was determined to the contrary. Claude was wanted to stay for +a concert on Thursday, and both Mr. Mohun and Eleanor thought Maurice, +without Reginald, would not be formidable for a few days. + +At first he seemed to justify this opinion. He did not appear to have +any peculiar pursuit, unless such might be called a very earnest attempt +to make Phyllis desist from her favourite preface of ‘I’ll tell you +what,’ and to reform her habit of saying, ‘Please for,’ instead of ‘If +you please.’ He walked with the sisters, carried messages for Mr. +Devereux, performed some neat little bits of carpentry, and was very +useful and agreeable. + +On Wednesday afternoon Lord Rotherwood and Florence called, their heads +the more full of the 30th because the Marquis had not once thought of it +while Mr. Devereux was ill. Among the intended diversions fireworks were +mentioned, and from that moment rockets, wheels, and serpents, commenced +a wild career through Maurice’s brain. Through the whole evening he +searched for books on what he was pleased to call the art of +pyrotechnics, studied them all Wednesday, and the next morning announced +his intention of making some fireworks on a new plan. + +‘No, you must not,’ said Emily, ‘you will be sure to do mischief.’ + +‘I am going to ask Wat for some powder,’ was Maurice’s reply, and he +walked off. + +‘Stop him, Jane, stop him,’ cried Emily. ‘Nothing can be so dangerous. +Tell him how angry papa would be.’ + +Though Jane highly esteemed her brother’s discretion, she did not much +like the idea of his touching powder, and she ran after him to suggest +that he had better wait till papa’s return. + +‘Then Redgie will be at home,’ said Maurice, ‘and I could not be +answerable for the consequence of such a careless fellow touching +powder.’ + +This great proof of caution quite satisfied Jane, but not so Wat +Greenwood, who proved himself a faithful servant by refusing to let +Master Maurice have one grain of gunpowder without express leave from the +squire. Maurice then had recourse to Jane, and his power over her was +such as to triumph over strong sense and weak notions of obedience, so +that she was prevailed upon to supply him with the means of making the +dangerous and forbidden purchase. + +Emily was both annoyed and alarmed when she found that the gunpowder was +actually in the house, and she even thought of sending a note to the +parsonage to beg Mr. Devereux to speak to Maurice; but Jane had gone over +to the enemy, and Emily never could do anything unsupported. Besides, +she neither liked to affront Maurice nor to confess herself unable to +keep him in order; and she, therefore, tried to put the whole matter out +of her head, in the thoughts of an expedition to Raynham, which she was +about to make in the manner she best liked, with Jane in the close +carriage, and the horses reluctantly spared from their farm work. + +As they were turning the corner of the lane they overtook Phyllis and +Adeline on their way to the school with some work, and Emily stopped the +carriage, to desire them to send off a letter which she had left on the +chimney-piece in the schoolroom. Then proceeding to Raynham, they made +their visits, paid Emily’s debts, performed their commissions, and met +the carriage again at the bookseller’s shop, at the end of about two +hours. + +‘Look here, Emily!’ exclaimed Jane. ‘Read this! can it be Mrs. Aylmer?’ + +‘The truly charitable,’ said Emily, contemptuously. ‘Mrs. Aylmer is +above—’ + +‘But read. It says “unbeneficed clergyman and deceased nobleman,” and +who can that be but Uncle Rotherwood and Mr. Aylmer.’ + +‘Well, let us see,’ said Emily, ‘those things are always amusing.’ + +It was an appeal to the ‘truly charitable,’ from the friends of the widow +of an unbeneficed clergyman of the diocese, one of whose sons had, it was +said, by the kindness of a deceased nobleman, received the promise of an +appointment in India, of which he was unable to avail himself for want of +the funds needful for his outfit. This appeal was, it added, made +without the knowledge of the afflicted lady, but further particulars +might be learnt by application to E. F., No. 5 West Street, Raynham. + +‘E. F. is plainly that bustling, little, old Miss Fitchett, who wrote to +papa for some subscription,’ said Emily. ‘You know she is a regular +beggar, always doing these kind of things, but I can never believe that +Mrs. Aylmer would consent to appear in this manner.’ + +‘Ah! but it says without her knowledge,’ said Jane. ‘Don’t you remember +Rotherwood’s lamenting that they were forgotten?’ + +‘Yes, it is shocking,’ said Emily; ‘the clergyman that married papa and +mamma!’ + +‘Ask Mr. Adam what he knows,’ said Jane. + +Emily accordingly applied to the bookseller, and learnt that Mrs. Aylmer +was indeed the person intended. ‘Something must be done,’ said she, +returning to Jane. ‘Our name will be a help.’ + +‘Speak to Aunt Rotherwood,’ said Jane. ‘Or suppose we apply to Miss +Fitchett, we should have time to drive that way.’ + +‘I am sure I shall not go to Miss Fitchett,’ said Emily, ‘she only longs +for an excuse to visit us. What can you be thinking of? Lend me your +pencil, Jenny, if you please.’ + +And Emily wrote down, ‘Miss Mohun, £5,’ and handed to the bookseller all +that she possessed towards paying her just debts to Lilias. While she +was writing, Jane had turned towards the window, and suddenly exclaiming, +‘There is Ben! Oh! that gunpowder!’ darted out of the shop. She had +seen the groom on horseback, and the next moment she was asking +breathlessly, ‘Is it Maurice?’ + +‘No, Miss Jane; but Miss Ada is badly burnt, and Master Maurice sent me +to fetch Mr. Saunders.’ + +‘How did it happen?’ + +‘I can’t say, Miss; the schoolroom has been on fire, and Master Maurice +said the young ladies had got at the gunpowder.’ + +Emily had just arrived at the door, looking dreadfully pale, and followed +by numerous kind offers of salts and glasses of water; but Jane, +perceiving that at least she had strength to get into the carriage, +refused them all, helped her in, and with instant decision, desired to be +driven to the surgeon’s. Emily obeyed like a child, and threw herself +back in the carriage without a word; Jane trembled like an aspen leaf; +but her higher spirit took the lead, and very sensibly she managed, +stopping at Mr. Saunders’s door to offer to take him to Beechcroft, and +getting a glass of sal-volatile for Emily while they were waiting for +him. His presence was a great relief, for Emily’s natural courtesy made +her exert herself, and thus warded off much that would have been very +distressing. + +In the meantime we will return to Beechcroft, where Emily’s request +respecting her letter had occasioned some discussion between the little +girls, as they returned from a walk with Marianne. Phyllis thought that +Emily meant them to wafer the letter, since they were under strict orders +never to touch fire or candle; but Ada argued that they were to seal it, +and that permission to light a candle was implied in the order. At last, +Phyllis hoped the matter might be settled by asking Maurice to seal the +letter, and meeting him at the front door, she began, in fortunately, +with ‘Please, Maurice—’ + +‘I never listen to anything beginning with please,’ said Maurice, who was +in a great hurry, ‘only don’t touch my powder.’ + +Away he went, deaf to all his sister’s shouts of ‘Maurice, Maurice,’ and +they went in, Ada not sorry to be unheard, as she was bent on the grand +exploit of lighting a lucifer match, but Phyllis still pleading for the +wafer. They found the schoolroom strewed with Maurice’s preparations for +fireworks, and Emily’s letter on the chimney-piece. + +‘Let us take the letter downstairs, and put on a wafer,’ said Phyllis. +‘Won’t you come, Ada?’ + +‘No, the stamps are here, and so are the matches, I can do it easily.’ + +‘But Ada, Ada, it would be naughty. Only wait, and I will show you such +a pretty wafer that I know of in the drawing-room. I will run and fetch +it.’ + +Phyllis went, and Ada stood a few moments in doubt, looking at the +letter. The recollection of duty was not strong enough to balance the +temptation, and she took up a match and drew it along the sandpaper. It +did not light—a second pull, and the flame appeared more suddenly than +she had expected, while at the same moment the lock of the door turned, +and fancying it was Maurice, she started, and dropped the match. Phyllis +opened the door, heard a loud explosion and a scream, saw a bright flash +and a cloud of smoke. She started back, but the next moment again opened +the door, and ran forward. Hannah rushed in at the same time, and caught +up Ada, who had fallen to the ground. A light in the midst of the smoke +made Phyllis turn, and she beheld the papers on the table on fire. +Maurice’s powder-horn was in the midst, but the flames had not yet +reached it, and, mindful of Claude’s story, she sprung forward, caught it +up, and dashed it through the window; she felt the glow of the fire upon +her cheek, and stood still as if stunned, till Hannah carried Ada out of +the room, and screamed to her to come away, and call Joseph. The table +was now one sheet of flame, and Phyllis flew to the pantry, where she +gave the summons in almost inaudible tones. The servants hurried to the +spot, and she was left alone and bewildered; she ran hither and thither +in confusion, till she met Hannah, eagerly asking for Master Maurice, and +saying that the surgeon must be instantly sent for, as Ada’s face and +neck were badly burnt. Phyllis ran down, calling Maurice, and at length +met him at the front door, looking much frightened, and asking for Ada. + +‘Oh! Maurice, her face and neck are burnt, and badly. She does scream?’ + +‘Did I not tell you not to meddle with the powder?’ said Maurice. + +‘Indeed, I could not help it,’ said Phyllis. + +‘Stuff and nonsense! It is very well that you have not killed Ada, and I +think that would have made you sorry.’ + +Phyllis with difficulty mentioned Hannah’s desire that a surgeon should +be sent for: Maurice went to look for Ben, and she followed him. Then he +began asking how she had done the mischief. + +‘I do not know,’ said she, ‘I do not much think I did it.’ + +‘Mind, you can’t humbug me. Did you not say that you touched the +powder?’ + +‘Yes, but—’ + +‘No buts,’ said Maurice, making the most of his brief authority. ‘I hate +false excuses. What were you doing when it exploded?’ + +‘Coming into the room.’ + +‘Oh! that accounts for it,’ said Maurice, ‘the slightest vibration causes +an explosion of that sort of rocket, and of course it was your bouncing +into the room! You have had a lesson against rushing about the house. +Come, though, cheer up, Phyl, it is a bad business, but it might have +been worse; you will know better next time. Don’t cry, Phyl, I will +explain to you all about the patent rocket.’ + +‘But do you really think that I blew up Ada?’ + +‘Blew up Ada! caused the powder to ignite. The inflammable matter—’ + +As he spoke he followed Phyllis to the nursery, and there was so much +shocked, that he could no longer lord it over her, but shrinking back, +shut himself up in his room, and bolted the door. + +Nearly an hour passed away before the arrival of Emily, Jane, and Mr. +Saunders. Phyllis ran down, and meeting them at the door, exclaimed, +‘Oh! Emily, poor Ada! I am so sorry.’ + +The sisters hurried past her to the nursery, where Ada was lying on the +bed, half undressed, and her face, neck, and arm such a spectacle that +Emily turned away, ready to faint. Mr. Saunders was summoned, and +Phyllis thrust out of the room. She sat down on the step of the stairs, +resting her forehead on her knees, and trembling, listened to the sounds +of voices, and the screams which now and then reached her ears. After a +time she was startled by hearing herself called from the stairs _by +below_ a voice which she had not heard for many weeks, and springing up, +saw Mr. Devereux leaning on the banisters. The great change in his +appearance frightened her almost as much as the accident itself, and she +stood looking at him without speaking. ‘Phyllis,’ said he, in a voice +hoarse with agitation, ‘what is it? tell me at once.’ + +She could not speak, and her wild and frightened air might well give him +great alarm. She pointed to the nursery, and put her finger to her lips, +and he, beckoning to her to follow him, went downstairs, and turning into +the drawing-room, said, as he sank down upon the sofa, ‘Now, Phyllis, +what has happened?’ + +‘The gunpowder—I made it go off, and it has burnt poor Ada’s face! Mr. +Saunders is there, and she screams—’ + +Phyllis finding herself ready to roar, left off speaking, and laying her +head on the table, burst into an agony of crying, while Mr. Devereux was +too much exhausted to address her; at last she exclaimed: ‘I hear the +nursery door; he is going!’ + +She flew to the door, and listened, and then called out, ‘Emily, Jane, +here is Cousin Robert!’ + +Jane came down, leaving Emily to finish hearing Mr. Saunders’s +directions. She was even more shocked at her cousin’s looks than Phyllis +had been, and though she tried to speak cheerfully, her manner scarcely +agreed with her words. ‘It is all well, Robert, I am sorry you have been +so frightened. It is but a slight affair, though it looks so shocking. +There is no danger. But, oh, Robert! you ought not to be here. What +shall we do for you? you are quite knocked up.’ + +‘Oh! no,’ said Mr. Devereux, ‘I am only a little out of breath. A +terrible report came to me, and I set off to learn the truth. I should +like to hear what Mr. Saunders says of her.’ + +‘I will call him in here before he goes,’ said Jane; ‘how tired you are; +you have not been out before.’ + +‘Only to the gate to speak to Rotherwood yesterday, and prevent him from +coming in,’ said Mr. Devereux, ‘but I have great designs for Sunday. +They come home to-morrow, do not they?’ + +Jane was much relieved by hearing her cousin talk in this manner, and +answered, ‘Yes, and a dismal coming home it will be; it is too late to +let them know.’ + +Mr. Saunders now entered, and gave a very favourable account of the +patient, saying that even the scars would probably disappear in a few +weeks. His gig had come from Raynham, and he offered to set Mr. Devereux +down at the parsonage, a proposal which the latter was very glad to +accept. Emily and Jane had leisure, when they were gone, to inquire into +the manner of the accident. Phyllis answered that Maurice said that her +banging the door had made the powder go off. Jane then asked where +Maurice was, and Phyllis reporting that he was in his own room, she +repaired thither, and knocked twice without receiving an answer. On her +call, however, he opened the door; she saw that he had been in tears, and +hastened to tell him Mr. Saunders’s opinion. He fastened the door again +as soon as she had entered. ‘If I could have thought it!’ sighed he. +‘Fool that I was, not to lock the door!’ + +‘Then you were not there? Phyllis says that she did it by banging the +door. Is not that nonsense?’ + +‘Not at all. Did I not read to you in the _Year Book of Facts_ about the +patent signal rockets, which explode with the least vibration, even when +a carriage goes by? Now, mine was on the same principle. I was making +an experiment on the ingredients; I did not expect to succeed the first +time, and so I took no precautions. Well! Pyrotechnics are a dangerous +science! Next time I study them it shall be at the workshop at the Old +Court.’ + +Maurice was sincerely sorry for the consequence of his disobedience, and +would have been much to be pitied had it not been for his secret +satisfaction in the success of his art. He called his sister into the +schoolroom to explain how it happened. The room was a dismal sight, +blackened with smoke, and flooded with water, the table and part of the +floor charred, a mass of burnt paper in the midst, and a stifling smell +of fire. A pane of glass was shattered, and Maurice ran down to the lawn +to see if he could find anything there to account for it. The next +moment he returned, the powder-horn in his hand. ‘See, Jenny, how +fortunate that this was driven through the window with the force of the +explosion. The whole place might have been blown to atoms with such a +quantity as this.’ + +‘Then what was it that blew up?’ asked Jane. + +‘What I had put out for my rocket, about two ounces. If this half-pound +had gone there is no saying what might have happened.’ + +‘Now, Maurice,’ said Jane, ‘I must go back to Ada, and will you run down +to the parsonage with a parcel, directed to Robert, that you will find in +the hall?’ + +This was a device to occupy Maurice, who, as Jane saw, was so restless +and unhappy that she did not like to leave him, much as she was wanted +elsewhere. He went, but afraid to see his cousin, only left the parcel +at the door. As he was going back he heard a shout, and looking round +saw Lord Rotherwood mounted on Cedric, his most spirited horse, galloping +up the lane. ‘Maurice!’ cried he, ‘what is all this? they say the New +Court is blown up, and you and half the girls killed, but I hope one part +is as true as the other.’ + +‘Nobody is hurt but Ada,’ said Maurice, ‘but her face is a good deal +burnt.’ + +‘Eh? then she won’t be fit for the 30th, poor child! tell me how it was, +make haste. I heard it from Mr. Burnet as I came down to dinner. We +have a dozen people at dinner. I told him not to mention it to my +mother, and rode off to hear the truth. Make haste, half the people were +come when I set off.’ + +The horse’s caperings so discomposed Maurice that he could scarcely +collect his wits enough to answer: ‘Some signal rocket on a new +principle—detonating powder, composed of oxymuriate—Oh! Rotherwood, take +care!’ + +‘Speak sense, and go on.’ + +‘Then Phyllis came in, banged the door, and the vibration caused the +explosion,’ said Maurice, scared into finishing promptly. + +‘Eh! banging the door? You had better not tell that story at school.’ + +‘But, Rotherwood, the deton—Oh! that horse—you will be off!’ + +‘Not half so dangerous as patent rockets. Is Emily satisfied with such +stuff?’ + +‘Don’t you know that fulminating silver—’ + +‘What does Robert Devereux say?’ + +‘Really, Rotherwood, I could show you—’ + +‘Show me? No; if rockets are so perilous I shall have nothing to do with +them. Stand still, Cedric! Just tell me about Ada. Is there much harm +done?’ + +‘Her face is scorched a good deal, but they say it will soon be right.’ + +‘I am glad—we will send to inquire to-morrow, but I cannot come—ha, ha! a +new infernal machine. Good-bye, Friar Bacon.’ + +Away he went, and Maurice stood looking after him with complacent +disdain. ‘There they go, Cedric and Rotherwood, equally well provided +with brains! What is the use of talking science to either?’ + +It was late when he reached the house, and his two sisters shortly came +down to tea, with news that Adeline was asleep and Phyllis was going to +bed. The accident was again talked over. + +‘Well,’ said Emily, ‘I do not understand it, but I suppose papa will.’ + +‘The telling papa is a bad part of the affair, with William and Eleanor +there too,’ said Jane. + +‘I do not mean to speak to Phyllis about it again,’ said Emily, ‘it makes +her cry so terribly.’ + +‘It will come out fast enough,’ sighed Maurice. ‘Good-night.’ + +More than once in the course of the night did poor Phyllis wake and cry, +and the next day was the most wretched she had ever spent; she was not +allowed to stay in the nursery, and the schoolroom was uninhabitable, so +she wandered listlessly about the garden, sometimes creeping down to the +churchyard, where she looked up at the old tower, or pondered over the +graves, and sometimes forgetting her troubles in converse with the dogs, +in counting the rings in the inside of a foxglove flower, or in rescuing +tadpoles stranded on the broad leaf of a water-lily. + + [Picture: Rescuing tadpoles stranded on the broad leaf of a + water-lily.—p. 247] + +Her sisters and brothers were not less forlorn. Emily sighed and +lamented; Adeline was feverish and petulant; and Jane toiled in vain to +please and soothe both, and to comfort Maurice; but with all her +good-temper and good-nature she had not the spirit which alone could +enable her to be a comfort to any one. Ada whined, fretted, and was +disobedient, and from Maurice she met with nothing but rebuffs; he was +silent and sullen, and spent most of the day in the workshop, slowly +planing scraps of deal board, and watching with a careless eye the curled +shavings float to the ground. + +In the course of the afternoon Alethea and Marianne came to inquire after +the patient. Jane came down to them and talked very fast, but when they +asked for a further explanation of the cause of the accident, Jane +declared that Maurice said it was impossible that any one who did not +understand chemistry should know how it happened, and Alethea went away +strongly reminded that it was no affair of hers. + +Notes passed between the New Court and the vicarage, but Mr. Devereux was +feeling the effect of his yesterday’s exertion too much to repeat it, and +no persuasion of the sisters could induce Maurice to visit him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII +THE BARONIAL COURT + + + ‘Still in his eyes his soul revealing, + He dreams not, knows not of concealing, + Does all he does with single mind, + And thinks of others that are kind.’ + +THE travellers were expected to arrive at about seven o’clock in the +evening, and in accordance with a well-known taste of Eleanor’s, Emily +had ordered no dinner, but a substantial meal under the name of tea. +When the sound of carriage wheels was heard, Jane was with Adeline, +Maurice was in his retreat at the Old Court, and it was with no cheerful +alacrity that Emily went alone into the hall. Phyllis was already at the +front door, and the instant Mr. Mohun set foot on the threshold, her hand +grasped his coat, and her shrill voice cried in his ear, ‘Papa, I am very +sorry I blew up the gunpowder and burnt Ada.’ + +‘What, my dear? where is Ada?’ + +‘In bed. I blew up the gunpowder and burnt her face,’ repeated Phyllis. + +‘We have had an accident,’ said Emily, ‘but I hope it is nothing very +serious, only poor Ada is a sad figure.’ + +In another moment Mr. Mohun and Eleanor were on the way to the nursery; +Lilias was following, but she recollected that a general rush into a +sickroom was not desirable, and therefore paused and came back to the +hall. The worst was over with Phyllis when the confession had been made. +She was in raptures at the sight of the baby, and was presently showing +the nurse the way upstairs, but her brother William called her back: +‘Phyllis, you have not spoken to any one.’ + +Phyllis turned, and came down slowly in her most ungainly manner, +believing herself in too great disgrace to be noticed by anybody, and she +was quite surprised and comforted to be greeted by her brothers and Lily +just as usual. + +‘And how did you meet with this misfortune?’ asked Mr. Hawkesworth. + +‘I banged the door, and made it go off,’ said Phyllis. + +‘What can you mean?’ said William, in a tone of surprise, which Phyllis +took for anger, and she hid her face to stifle her sobs. + +‘No, no, do not frighten her,’ said Claude’s kind voice. + +‘Run and make friends with your nephew, Phyllis,’ said Mr. Hawkesworth; +‘do not greet us with crying.’ + +‘First tell me what is become of Maurice,’ said Claude, ‘is he blown up +too?’ + +‘No, he is at the Old Court,’ said Phyllis. ‘Shall I tell him that you +are come?’ + +‘I will look for him,’ said Claude, and out he went. + +The others dispersed in different directions, and did not assemble again +for nearly half an hour, when they all met in the drawing-room to drink +tea; Claude and Maurice were the last to appear, and, on entering, the +first thing the former said was, ‘Where is Phyllis?’ + +‘In the nursery,’ said Jane; ‘she has had her supper, and chooses to stay +with Ada.’ + +‘Has any one found out the history of the accident?’ said William. + +‘I have vainly been trying to make sense of Maurice’s account,’ said +Claude. + +‘Sense!’ said William, ‘there is none.’ + +‘I am perfectly bewildered,’ said Lily; ‘every one has a different story, +only consenting in making Phyllis the victim.’ + +‘And,’ added Claude, ‘I strongly suspect she is not in fault.’ + +‘Why should you doubt what she says herself?’ said Eleanor. + +‘What does she say herself?’ said William, ‘nothing but that she shut the +door, and what does that amount to?—Nothing.’ + +‘She says she touched the powder,’ interposed Jane. + +‘That is another matter,’ said William; ‘no one told me of her touching +the powder. But why do you not ask her? She is publicly condemned +without a hearing.’ + +‘Who accuses her?’ said Mr. Mohun. + +‘I can hardly tell,’ said Emily; ‘she met us, saying she was very sorry. +Yes, she accuses herself. Every one has believed it to be her.’ + +‘And why?’ + +There was a pause, but at last Emily said, ‘How would you account for it +otherwise?’ + +‘I have not yet heard the circumstances. Maurice, I wish to hear your +account. I will not now ask how you procured the powder. Whoever was +the immediate cause of the accident, you are chiefly to blame. Where was +the powder?’ + +Maurice gave his theory and his facts, ending with the powder-horn being +driven out of the window upon the green. + +‘I hear,’ said Mr. Mohun. ‘But, Maurice, did you not say that Phyllis +touched the powder? How do you reconcile that with this incomprehensible +statement?’ + +‘She might have done that before,’ said Maurice. + +‘Now call Phyllis,’ said his father. + +‘Is it not very formidable for her to be examined before such an +assembly?’ said Emily. + +‘The accusation has been public, and the investigation shall be the +same,’ said Mr. Mohun. + +‘Then you do not think she did it, papa?’ cried Lily. + +‘Not by shutting the door,’ said William. + +Phyllis entered, and Mr. Mohun, holding out both hands to her, drew her +towards him, and placing her with her back to the others, still retained +her hands, while he said, ‘Phyllis, do not be frightened, but tell me +where you were when the powder exploded?’ + +‘Coming into the room,’ said Phyllis, in a trembling voice. + +‘Where had you been?’ + +‘Fetching a wafer out of the drawing-room.’ + +‘What was the wafer for?’ + +‘To put on Emily’s letter, which she told us to send.’ + +‘And where was Ada?’ + +‘In the schoolroom, reading the direction of the letter.’ + +‘Tell me exactly what happened when you came back.’ + +‘I opened the door, and there was a flash, and a bang, and a smoke, and +Ada tumbled down.’ + +‘I have one more question to ask. When did you touch the powder?’ + +‘Then,’ said Phyllis. + +‘When it had exploded? Take care what you say.’ + +‘Was it naughty? I am very sorry,’ said Phyllis, beginning to cry. + +‘What powder did you touch? I do not understand you, tell me quietly.’ + +‘I touched the powder-horn. What went off was only a little in a paper +on the table, and there was a great deal more. When the rocket blew up +there was a great noise, and Ada and I both screamed, and Hannah ran in +and took up Ada in her arms. Then I saw a great fire, and looked, and +saw Emily’s music-book, and all the papers blazing. So I thought if it +got to the powder it would blow up again, and I laid hold of the horn and +threw it out of the window. That is all I know, papa, only I hope you +are not very angry with me.’ + +She looked into his face, not knowing how to interpret the unusual +expression she saw there. + +‘Angry with you!’ said he. ‘No, my dear child, you have acted with great +presence of mind. You have saved your sister and Hannah from great +danger, and I am very sorry that you have been unjustly treated.’ + +He then gave his little daughter a kiss, and putting his hand on her +head, added, ‘Whoever caused the explosion, Phyllis is quite free from +blame, and I wish every one to understand this, because she has been +unjustly accused, without examination, and because she has borne it +patiently, and without attempting to justify herself.’ + +‘Very right,’ observed Eleanor. + +‘Shake hands, Phyllis,’ said William. + +The others said more with their eyes than with their lips. Phyllis stood +like one in a dream, and fixing her bewildered looks upon Claude, said, +‘Did not I do it?’ + +‘No, Phyllis, you had nothing to do with it,’ was the general +exclamation. + +‘Maurice said it was the door,’ said Phyllis. + +‘Maurice talked nonsense,’ said Claude; ‘you were only foolish in +believing him.’ + +Phyllis went up to Claude, and laid her head on his arm; Mr. Hawkesworth +held out his hand to her, but she did not look up, and Claude withdrawing +his arm, and raising her head, found that she was crying. Eleanor and +Lilias both rose, and came towards her but Claude made them a sign, and +led her away. + +‘What a fine story this will be for Reginald,’ said William. + +‘And for Rotherwood,’ said Mr. Mohun. + +‘I do not see how it happened,’ said Eleanor. + +‘Of course Ada did it herself,’ said William. + +‘Of course,’ said Maurice. ‘It was all from Emily’s setting them to seal +her letter, that is plain now.’ + +‘Would not Ada have said so?’ asked Eleanor. + +Lily sighed at the thought of what Eleanor had yet to learn. + +‘Did you tell them to seal your letter, Emily?’ said Mr. Mohun. + +‘I am sorry to say that I did tell them to send it,’ said Emily, ‘but I +said nothing about sealing, as Jane remembers, and I forgot that +Maurice’s gunpowder was in the room.’ + +Eleanor shook her head sorrowfully, and looked down at her knitting, and +Lily knew that her mind was made up respecting little Henry’s +dwelling-place. + +It was some comfort to have raised no false expectations. + +‘Ada must not be frightened and agitated to-night,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘but +I hope you will talk to her to-morrow, Eleanor. Well, Claude, have you +made Phyllis understand that she is acquitted?’ + +‘Scarcely,’ said Claude; ‘she is so overcome and worn out, that I thought +she had better go to bed, and wake in her proper senses to-morrow.’ + +‘A very unconscious heroine,’ said William. ‘She is a wonder—I never +thought her anything but an honest sort of romp.’ + +‘I have long thought her a wonderful specimen of obedience,’ said Mr. +Mohun. + +William and Claude now walked to the parsonage, and the council broke up; +but it must not be supposed that this was the last that Emily and Maurice +heard on the subject. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII +JOYS AND SORROWS + + + ‘Complaint was heard on every part + Of something disarranged.’ + +THE next day, Sunday, was one of the most marked in Lily’s life. It was +the first time she saw Mr. Devereux after his illness, and though Claude +had told her he was going to church, it gave her a sudden thrill of joy +to see him there once more, and perhaps she never felt more thankful than +when his name was read before the Thanksgiving. After the service there +was an exchange of greetings, but Lily spoke no word, she felt too happy +and too awe-struck to say anything, and she walked back to the New Court +in silence. + +In the afternoon she had hopes that a blessing would be granted to her, +for which at one time she had scarcely dared to hope; and she felt +convinced that so it would be when she saw that Mr. Devereux wore his +surplice, although, as in the morning, his friend read the service. +After the Second Lesson there was a pause, and then Mr. Devereux left the +chair by the altar, walked along the aisle, and took his stand on the +step of the font. Lily’s heart beat high as she saw who were gathering +round him—Mrs. Eden, Andrew Grey, James Harrington, and Mrs. Naylor, who +held in her arms a healthy, rosy-checked boy of a year old. + +She could not have described the feelings which made her eyes overflow +with tears, as she saw Mr. Devereux’s thin hand sprinkle the drops over +the brow of the child, and heard him say, ‘Robert, I baptize thee’—words +which she had heard in dreams, and then awakened to remember that the +parish was at enmity with the pastor, the child unbaptized, and herself, +in part, the cause. + +The name of the little boy was an additional pledge of reconciliation, +and at the same time it made her feel again what had been the price of +his baptism. When she looked back upon the dreary feelings which she had +so lately experienced, it seemed to her as if she might believe that this +christening was, as it were, a pledge of pardon, and an earnest of better +things. + +Naylor, who had recovered much more slowly than Mr. Devereux, was at +church for the first time, and after the service Mr. Mohun sought him out +in the churchyard, and heartily shook hands with him. Lily would gladly +have followed his example, but she only stood by Eleanor and Mrs. Weston, +who were speaking to Mrs. Eden and Mrs. Naylor, admiring the little boy, +and praising him for his good behaviour in church. + +Love of babies was a strong bond between Mrs. Weston and Mrs. +Hawkesworth, who seemed to become well acquainted from the first moment +that little Henry was mentioned; and Lily was well pleased to see that in +Jane’s phrase Eleanor ‘took to her friends so well.’ + +And yet this day brought with it some annoyances, which once would have +fretted her so much as to interfere even with such joy as she now felt. +The song, with which she had taken so much pains, ought to have been sent +home a week before, but owing to the delay caused by Emily’s +carelessness, it had been burnt in the fire in the schoolroom, and Lily +could not feel herself forgiven till she had talked the disaster over in +private with her friend, and this was out of her power throughout the +day, for something always prevented her from getting Alethea alone. In +the morning Jane stuck close to her, and in the afternoon William walked +to the school gate with them. But Alethea’s manner was kinder towards +her than ever, and she was quite satisfied about her. + +It gave her more pain to perceive that Emily in every possible manner +avoided being alone with her. It was by her desire that Phyllis came to +sleep in their room; she would keep Jane talking there, give Esther some +employment which kept her in their presence, linger in the drawing-room +while Lilias was dressing, and at bedtime be too sleepy to say anything +but good-night. + +That Sunday was a sorrowful one to Eleanor; for in the course of the +conversation with Ada, which Mr. Mohun had desired her to hold, she +became conscious of the little girl’s double-dealing ways. It was only +by a very close cross-examination that she was able to extract from her a +true account of the disaster, and though Ada never went so far as +actually to tell a falsehood, it was evident that she was willing to +conceal as much as possible, and to throw the blame on other people. And +when the real facts were confessed she did not seem able to comprehend +why she was regarded with displeasure; her instinct of truth and +obedience was lost for the time, and Eleanor saw it with the utmost pain. +Adeline had been her especial darling, and cold as her manner had often +been towards the others, it ever was warm towards the motherless little +one, whom she had tended and cherished with most anxious care from her +earliest infancy. She had left her gentle, candid, and affectionate; a +loving, engaging, little creature, and how did she find her now? Her +fair bright face disfigured, her caresses affected, her mind turned to +deceit and prevarication! Well might Eleanor feel it more than ever +painful to leave her own little Henry to the care of others; and well it +was for her that she had learned to find comfort in the consciousness +that her duty was clear. + +The next morning Emily learned what was Henry’s destination. + +‘Oh! Eleanor,’ said she, ‘why do you not leave him here? We should be so +rejoiced to have him.’ + +‘Thank you, I am afraid it is out of the question,’ answered Eleanor, +quietly. + +‘Why, dear Eleanor? You know how glad we should be. I should have +thought,’ proceeded Emily, a little hurt, ‘that you would have wished him +to live in your own home.’ + +Eleanor did not speak, and Emily, who had the little boy in her arms, +went on talking to him: ‘Come, baby, let us persuade mamma to let you +stay with Aunt Emily. Ask papa, Henry, won’t you? Seriously, Eleanor, +has Frank considered how much better it would be to have him in the +country?’ + +‘He has, Emily; he once wished much to leave him here.’ + +‘I am sure grandpapa would like it,’ said Emily. ‘Do you observe, +Eleanor, how fond he is of baby, always calling him Harry too, as if he +liked the sound of the name?’ + +‘It has all been talked over, Emily, and it cannot be.’ + +‘With papa?’ asked Emily in surprise. + +‘No, with Lily.’ + +‘With Lily!’ exclaimed Emily. ‘Did not Aunt Lily wish to keep you, +Harry? I thought she was very fond of you.’ + +‘You had better inquire no further,’ said Eleanor, ‘except of your own +conscience.’ + +‘Did Lily think us unfit to take care of him?’ asked Emily, in surprise. + +As she spoke Lily herself came in, the key of the storeroom in her hand, +and looks of consternation on her face. She came to announce a terrible +deficiency in the preserved quinces, which she herself had carefully put +aside on a shelf in the storeroom, and which Emily said she had not +touched in her absence. + +‘Let me see,’ said Eleanor, rising, and setting off to the storeroom; +Emily and Lily followed, with a sad suspicion of the truth. On the way +they looked into the nursery, to give little Henry to his nurse, and to +ask Jane, who was sitting with Ada, what she remembered about it. Jane +knew nothing, and they went on to the storeroom, where Eleanor, quite in +her element, began rummaging, arranging, and sighing over the confusion, +while Lily lent a helping hand, and Emily stood by, wishing that her +sister would not trouble herself. Presently Jane came running up with a +saucer in her hand, containing a quarter of a quince and some syrup, +which she said she had found in the nursery cupboard, in searching for a +puzzle which Ada wanted. + +‘And,’ said Jane, ‘I should guess that Miss Ada herself knew something +about it, for when I could not find the puzzle in the right-hand +cupboard, she was so very unwilling that I should look into that one; she +said there was nothing there but the boys’ old playthings and Esther’s +clothes. And I do not know whether you saw how she fidgeted when you +were talking about the quinces, before you went up.’ + +‘It is much too plain,’ sighed Lily. ‘Oh! Rachel, why did we not listen +to you?’ + +‘Do you suppose,’ said Eleanor, ‘that Ada has been in the habit of taking +the key and helping herself?’ + +‘No,’ said Emily, ‘but that Esther has helped her.’ + +‘Ah!’ said Eleanor, ‘I never thought it wise to take her, but how could +she get the key? You do not mean that you trusted it out of your own +keeping.’ + +‘It began while we were ill,’ faltered Emily, ‘and afterwards it was +difficult to bring matters into their former order.’ + +‘But oh, Eleanor, what is to be done?’ sighed Lily. + +‘Speak to papa, of course,’ said Eleanor. ‘He is gone to the castle, and +in the meantime we had better take an exact account of everything here.’ + +‘And Esther? And Ada?’ inquired the sisters. + +‘I think it will be better to speak to him before making so grave an +accusation,’ said Eleanor. + +They now commenced that wearisome occupation—a complete +setting-to-rights; Eleanor counted, weighed, and measured, and extended +her cares from the stores to every other household matter. Emily made +her escape, and went to sit with Ada; but Lily and Jane toiled for +several hours with Eleanor, till Lily was so heated and wearied that she +was obliged to give up a walk to Broomhill, and spend another day without +a talk with Alethea. However, she was so patient, ready, and +good-humoured, that Eleanor was well pleased with her. She could hardly +think of the slight vexation, when her mind was full of sorrow and shame +on Esther’s account. It was she who, contrary to the advice of her +elders, had insisted on bringing her into the house; she had allowed +temptation to be set in her way, and had not taken sufficient pains to +strengthen her principles; and how could she do otherwise than feel +guilty of all Esther’s faults, and of those into which she had led +Adeline? + +On Mr. Mohun’s return Ada was interrogated. She pitied herself—said she +did not think papa would be angry—prevaricated—and tried to coax away his +inquiries, but all in vain; and at length, by slow degrees, the +confession was drawn from her that she had been used to asking Esther for +morsels of sweet things when she was sent to the storeroom; that +afterwards she had seen her packing up some tea and sugar to take to her +mother, and that Esther on that occasion, and several others, purchased +her silence by giving her a share of pilfered sweetmeats. Telling her +that he only spared her a very severe punishment for the present, on +account of her illness, Mr. Mohun left her, and on his way downstairs met +Phyllis. + +‘Phyl,’ said he, ‘did Esther ever give you sweet things out of the +storeroom?’ + +‘Once, papa, when she had been putting out some currant jam, she offered +me what had been left in the spoon.’ + +‘Did you take it?’ + +‘No, papa, for Eleanor used to say it was a bad trick to lick out +spoons.’ + +‘Did you ever know that she took tea and sugar from the storeroom, for +her mother?’ + +‘Took home tea and sugar to her mother! She could not have done it, +papa. It would be stealing!’ + +Esther, who was next called for, cried a great deal, and begged for +pardon, pleading again and again that— + +‘It was mother,’ an answer which made her young mistresses again sigh +over the remembrance of Rachel’s disregarded advice. Her fate was left +for consideration and consultation with Mr. Devereux, for Mr. Mohun, +seeing himself to blame for having allowed her to be placed in a +situation of so much trial, and thinking that there was much that was +good about her, did not like to send her to her home, where she was +likely to learn nothing but what was bad. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV +LOVE’S LABOUR LOST + + + ‘And well, with ready hand and heart, + Each task of toilsome duty taking, + Did one dear inmate take her part, + The last asleep, the earliest waking.’ + +IN the course of the afternoon Lord Rotherwood and Florence called, to +see Eleanor, inquire after Ada, and make the final arrangements for going +to a morning concert at Raynham the next day. Lady Rotherwood was afraid +of the fatigue, and Florence therefore wished to accompany her cousins, +who, as Eleanor meant to stay at home, were to be under Mrs. Weston’s +protection. Lady Florence and her brother, therefore, agreed to ride +home by Broomhill, and mention the plan to Mrs. Weston, and took their +leave, appointing Adam’s shop as the place of rendezvous. + +Next morning Emily, Lilias, and Jane happened to be together in the +drawing-room, when Mr. Mohun and Claude came in, the former saying to +Lily, ‘Here is the mason’s account for the gravestone which you wished to +have put up to Agnes Eden; it comes to two pounds. You undertook half +the expense, and as Claude is going to Raynham, he will pay for it if you +will give him your sovereign.’ + +‘I will,’ said Lily, ‘but first I must ask Emily to pay me for the London +commissions.’ + +Emily repented not having had a private conference with Lily. + +‘So you have not settled your accounts,’ said Mr. Mohun. ‘I hope Lily +has not ruined you, Emily.’ + +‘I thought her a mirror of prudence,’ said Claude. + +‘Well, Emily, is the sovereign forthcoming? I am going directly, for +Frank has something to do at Raynham, and William is going to try his +gray in the phaeton.’ + +‘I am afraid you will think me very silly,’ said Emily, after some +deliberation, ‘but I hope Lily will not be very angry when I confess that +seven shillings is the sum total of my property.’ + +‘Oh, Emily,’ cried Lily, in dismay, ‘what has become of your five +pounds?’ + +‘I gave them as a subscription for a clergyman’s widow in distress,’ said +Emily; ‘it was the impulse of a moment, I could not help it, and, dear +Lily, I hope it will not inconvenience you.’ + +‘If papa will be kind enough to wait for this pound till Michaelmas,’ +said Lily. + +‘I would wait willingly,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘but I will not see you +cheated. How much does she owe you?’ + +‘The commissions came to six pounds three,’ said Lily, looking down. + +‘But, Lily,’ said Jane, ‘you forget the old debt.’ + +‘Never mind,’ whispered Lily; but Mr. Mohun asked what Jane had said, and +Claude repeated her speech, upon which he inquired, ‘What old debt?’ + +‘Papa,’ said Emily, in her most candid tone, ‘I do not know what I should +have done but for Lily’s kindness. Really, I cannot get on with my +present allowance; being the eldest, so many expenses come upon me.’ + +‘Then am I to understand,’ replied Mr. Mohun, ‘that your foolish vanity +has led you to encroach on your sister’s kindness, and to borrow of her +what you had no reasonable hope of repaying? Again, Lily, what does she +owe you?’ + +Emily felt the difference between the sharp, curious eyes with which Jane +regarded her, and the sorrowful downcast looks of Lily, who replied, ‘The +old debt is four pounds, but that does not signify.’ + +‘Well,’ resumed her father, ‘I cannot blame you for your good-nature, +though an older person might have acted otherwise. You must have managed +wonderfully well, to look always so well dressed with only half your +proper income. Here is the amount of the debt. Is it right? And, Lily, +one thing more; I wish to thank you for what you have done towards +keeping this house in order. You have worked hard, and endured much, and +from all I can gather, you have prevented much mischief. Much has +unfairly been thrown upon you, and you have well and steadily done your +duty. For you, Emily, I have more to say to you, but I shall not enter +on it at present, for it is late. You had better get ready, or you will +keep the others waiting.’ + +‘I do not think I can go,’ sighed Emily. + +‘You are wanted,’ said Mr. Mohun. ‘I do not think your aunt would like +Florence to go without you.’ + +Lily had trembled as much under her father’s praise as Emily under his +blame. She did not feel as if his commendation was merited, and longed +to tell him of her faults and follies, but this was no fit time, and she +hastened to prepare for her expedition, her spirits scarcely in time for +a party of pleasure. Jane talked about the 30th, and asked questions +about London, all the way to Raynham, and both Emily and Lily were glad +to join in her chatter, in hopes of relieving their own embarrassment. + +On arriving at the place of meeting they found Lady Florence watching for +them. + +‘I am glad you are come,’ said she, ‘Rotherwood will always set out +either too soon or too late, and this time it was too soon, so here we +have been full a quarter of an hour, but he does not care. There he is, +quite engrossed with his book.’ + +Lord Rotherwood was standing by the counter, reading so intently that he +did not see his cousins’ arrival. When they entered he just looked up, +shook hands, asked after Ada, and went on reading. Lily began looking +for some books for the school, which she had long wished for, and was now +able to purchase; Emily sat down in a melancholy, abstracted mood, and +Florence and Jane stood together talking. + +‘You know you are all to come early,’ said the former, ‘I do not know how +we should manage without you. Rotherwood insists on having everything +the same day—poor people first, and gentry and farmers altogether. Mamma +does not like it, and I expect we shall be dreadfully tired; but he says +he will not have the honest poor men put out for the fashionables; and +you know we are all to dance with everybody. But Jenny, who is this +crossing the street? Look, you have an eye for oddities.’ + +‘Miss Fitchett, the subscription-hunter,’ said Jane. + +‘She is actually coming to hunt us. I believe I have my purse. Oh! +Emily is to be the first victim.’ + +Miss Fitchett advanced to Emily, and saying that she believed she had the +honour to address Miss Mohun, began to tell her that her friend having +been prematurely informed of her small efforts, had with a noble spirit +of independence begged that the subscription might not be continued, and +that what had already been given might be returned, and she rejoiced in +this opportunity of making the explanation. But Miss Fitchett could not +bear to relinquish the five-pound note, and added, that perhaps Miss +Mohun might not object to apply her subscription to some other object, +the Dorcas Society for instance. + +‘Thank you, I have no interest in the Dorcas Society,’ said Emily; a +reply which brought upon her a full account of all its aims and objects; +and as still her polite looks spoke nothing of assent, Miss Fitchett went +on with a string of other societies, speaking the louder and the more +eagerly in the hope of attracting the attention of the young marquis and +his sister. Emily was easily overwhelmed with words, and not thinking it +lady-like to claim her money, yet feeling that none of these societies +were fit objects for it, she stood confused and irresolute, unwilling +either to consent or refuse. Jane, perceiving her difficulty, turned to +Lord Rotherwood, and rousing him from his book, explained Emily’s +distress in a few words, and sent him to her rescue. He stepped forward +just as Miss Fitchett, taking silence for consent, was proceeding to +thank Emily; ‘I think you misunderstand Miss Mohun,’ said he. ‘Since her +subscription is not needed by the person for whom it was intended, she +would be glad to have it restored. She does not wish to encourage any +unauthorised societies.’ + +Boy as he was, in appearance still more than in age, there was a dignity +in his manner which, together with the principle on which he spoke, +overawed Miss Fitchett even more than his rank. She only said, ‘Oh! my +lord, I beg your pardon. Certainly, only—’ + +The note was placed in Emily’s hands, and with a bow from Lord +Rotherwood, she retreated, murmuring to herself the remonstrance which +she had not courage to bestow upon the Marquis. + +‘Thank you, thank you, Rotherwood,’ said Emily; ‘you have done me a great +service.’ + +‘Well done, Rotherwood,’ said Florence; ‘you have given the old lady +something to reflect upon.’ + +‘Made a public announcement of principle,’ said Lily. + +‘I was determined to give her a reason,’ said the Marquis, laughing, ‘but +I assure you I felt like the stork with its head in the wolf’s mouth, I +thought she would give me a screed of doctrine. How came you to let your +property get unto her clutches, Emily?’ + +‘It was a subscription for Mrs. Aylmer,’ said Emily. + +‘Our curate’s wife!’ cried he with a start; ‘how was it? Florence, did +you know anything? I thought she was in London. Why were we in the +dark? Tell me all.’ + +‘All I know is that she is living somewhere in Raynham, and last week +there was a paper here to say that she was in want of the means of +fitting out her son for India.’ + +‘Yes, yes, Johnny, I know my father did get a promise for him—well!’ + +‘That is all I know, except that she does not choose to be a beggar.’ + +‘Poor Mrs. Aylmer! shameful neglect! she shall not be ill-used any +longer, I will find her out this instant. Don’t wait for me.’ + +And after a few words to Mr. Adams, off he went, walking as fast as he +could, and leaving the young ladies not without fear of another invasion. +Soon, however, the brothers came in, and presently after Mrs. Weston +appeared. It was agreed that Lord Rotherwood should be left to his own +devices, and they set out for the concert-room. Poor Florence lost much +pleasure in disappointment at his non-appearance, but when the concert +was over they found him sitting in the carriage, reading. As soon as +they appeared he sprang out, and came to meet them, pouring rapidly out a +history of his adventures. + +‘Then you have found them, and what can be done for them?’ + +‘Everything ought to be done, but Mrs. Aylmer has a spirit of +independence. That foolish woman’s advertisement was unknown to her till +Emily’s five pounds came in, so fine a nest-egg that she could not help +cackling, whereupon Mrs. Aylmer insisted on having every farthing +returned.’ + +‘Can she provide the boy’s outfit?’ + +‘She says so, or rather that her daughter can, but I shall see about +that. It is worth while to be of age. Imagine! That bank which failed +was the end of my father’s legacy. They must have lived on a fraction of +nothing! Edward went to sea. Miss Aylmer went out as a governess. Now +she is at home.’ + +‘Miss Aylmer!’ exclaimed Miss Weston, ‘I know she was a clergyman’s +daughter. Do you know the name of the family she lived with?’ + +‘Was it Grant?’ said William. ‘I remember hearing of her going to some +Grants.’ + +‘It was,’ said Alethea; ‘she must be the same. Is she at home?’ + +‘Yes,’ said Lord Rotherwood, ‘and you may soon see her, for I mean to +have them all to stay at the castle as soon as our present visitors are +gone. My mother and Florence shall call upon them on Friday.’ + +‘Now,’ said Claude, ‘I have not found out what brought them back to +Raynham.’ + +‘Have you lived at Beechcroft all your life, and never discovered that +there is a grammar-school at Raynham, with special privileges for the +sons of clergymen of the diocese?’ + +A few more words, and the cousins parted; Emily by no means sorry that +she had been obliged to go to Raynham. She tendered the five-pound note +to her father, but he desired her to wait till Friday, and then to bring +him a full account of her expenditure of the year. Her irregular ways +made this almost impossible, especially as in the present state of +affairs she wished to avoid a private conference with either Lily or +Jane. She was glad that an invitation to dine and sleep at the castle on +Wednesday would save her from the peril of having to talk to Lily in the +evening. Reginald came home on Tuesday, to the great joy of all the +party, and especially to that of Phyllis. This little maiden was more +puzzled by the events that had taken place than conscious of the feeling +which she had once thought must be so delightful. She could scarcely +help perceiving that every one was much more kind to her than usual, +especially Claude and Lily, and Lord Rotherwood said things which she +could not at all understand. Her observation to Reginald was, ‘Was it +not lucky I had a cough on Twelfth Day, or Claude would not have told me +what to do about gunpowder?’ + +Reginald troubled Phyllis much by declaring that nothing should induce +him to kiss his nephew, and she was terribly shocked by the indifference +with which Eleanor treated his neglect, even when it branched out into +abuse of babies in general, and in particular of Henry’s bald head and +turned-up nose. + +In the evening of Wednesday Phyllis was sitting with Ada in the nursery, +when Reginald came up with the news that the party downstairs were going +to practise country dances. Eleanor was to play, Claude was to dance +with Lily, and Frank with Jane, and he himself wanted Phyllis for a +partner. + +‘Oh!’ sighed Ada, ‘I wish I was there to dance with you, Redgie! What +are the others doing?’ + +‘Maurice is reading, and William went out as soon as dinner was over; +make haste, Phyl.’ + +‘Don’t go,’ said Ada, ‘I shall be alone all to-morrow, and I want you.’ + +‘Nonsense,’ said Reginald, ‘do you think she is to sit poking here all +day, playing with those foolish London things of yours?’ + +‘But I am ill, Redgie. I wish you would not be cross. Everybody is +cross to me now, I think.’ + +‘I will stay, Ada,’ said Phyllis. ‘You know, Redgie, I dance like a +cow.’ + +‘You dance better than nothing,’ said Reginald, ‘I must have you.’ + +‘But you are not ill, Redgie,’ said Phyllis. + +He went down in displeasure, and was forced to consider Sir Maurice’s +picture as his partner, until presently the door opened, and Phyllis +appeared. ‘So you have thought better of it,’ cried he. + +‘No,’ said Phyllis, ‘I cannot come to dance, but Ada wants you to leave +off playing. She says the music makes her unhappy, for it makes her +think about to-morrow.’ + +‘Rather selfish, Miss Ada,’ said Claude. + +‘Stay here, Phyllis, now you are come,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘I will go and +speak to Ada.’ + +Phyllis was now captured, and made to take her place opposite to +Reginald; but more than once she sighed under the apprehension that Ada +was receiving a lecture. This was the case; and very little did poor Ada +comprehend the change that had taken place in the conduct of almost every +one towards her; she did not perceive that she was particularly naughty, +and yet she had suddenly become an object of blame, instead of a spoiled +pet. Formerly her little slynesses had been unnoticed, and her +overbearing ways towards Phyllis scarcely remarked, but now they were +continually mentioned as grievous faults. Esther, her especial friend +and comforter, was scarcely allowed to come into the same room with her; +Hannah treated her with a kind of grave, silent respect, far from the +familiarity which she liked; little Henry’s nurse never would talk to +her, and if it had not been for Phyllis, she would have been very +miserable. On Phyllis, however, she repaid herself for all the +mortifications that she received, while the sweet-tempered little girl +took all her fretfulness and exactions as results of her illness, and +went on pitying her, and striving to please her. + +When Phyllis came up to wish her good-night, she was received with an +exclamation at her lateness in a peevish tone: ‘Yes, I am late,’ said +Phyllis, merrily, ‘but we had not done dancing till tea-time, and then +Eleanor was so kind as to say I might sit up to have some tea with them.’ + +‘Ah! and you quite forgot how tiresome it is up here, with nobody to +speak to,’ said Ada. ‘How cross they were not to stop the music when I +said it made me miserable!’ + +‘Claude said it was selfish to want to stop five people’s pleasure for +one,’ said Phyllis. + +‘But I am so ill,’ said Ada. ‘If Claude was as uncomfortable as I am, he +would know how to be sorry for me. And only think—Phyl, what are you +doing? Do not you know I do not like the moonlight to come on me. It is +like a great face laughing at me.’ + +‘Well, I like the moon so much!’ said Phyllis, creeping behind the +curtain to look out, ‘there is something so white and bright in it; when +it comes on the bed-clothes, it makes me go to sleep, thinking about +white robes, oh! and all sorts of nice things.’ + +‘I can’t bear the moon,’ said Ada; ‘do not you know, Maurice says that +the moon makes the people go mad, and that is the reason it is called +lunacy, after _la lune_?’ + +‘I asked Miss Weston about that,’ said Phyllis, ‘because of the Psalm, +and she said it was because it was dangerous to go to sleep in the open +air in hot countries. Ada, I wish you could see now. There is the great +round moon in the middle of the sky, and the sky such a beautiful colour, +and a few such great bright stars, and the trees so dark, and the white +lilies standing up on the black pond, and the lawn all white with dew! +what a fine day it will be to-morrow!’ + +‘A fine day for you!’ said Ada, ‘but only think of poor me all alone by +myself.’ + +‘You will have baby,’ said Phyllis. + +‘Baby—if he could talk it would be all very well. It is just like the +cross people in books. Here I shall lie and cry all the time, while you +are dancing about as merry as can be.’ + +‘No, no, Ada, you will not do that,’ said Phyllis, with tears in her +eyes. ‘There is baby with all his pretty ways, and you may teach him to +say Aunt Ada, and I will bring you in numbers of flowers, and there is +your new doll, and all the pretty things that came from London, and the +new book of Fairy Tales, and all sorts—oh! no, do not cry, Ada.’ + +‘But I shall, for I shall think of you dancing, and not caring for me.’ + +‘I do care, Ada—why do you say that I do not? I cannot bear it, Ada, +dear Ada.’ + +‘You don’t, or you would not go and leave me alone.’ + +‘Then, Ada, I will not go,’ said Phyllis; ‘I could not bear to leave you +crying here all alone.’ + +‘Thank you, dear good Phyl, but I think you will not have much loss. You +know you do not like dancing, and you cannot do it well, and they will be +sure to laugh at you.’ + +‘And I daresay Redgie and Marianne will tell us all about it,’ said +Phyllis, sighing. ‘I should rather like to have seen it, but they will +tell us.’ + +‘Then do you promise to stay?—there’s a dear,’ said Ada. + +‘Yes,’ said Phyllis. ‘Cousin Robert is coming in, and that will be very +nice, and I hope he will not look as he did the day the gunpowder went +off—oh, dear!’ She went back to the window to get rid of her tears +unperceived. ‘Ah,’ cried she, ‘there is some one in the garden!’ + +‘A man!’ screamed Ada—‘a thief, a robber—call somebody!’ + +‘No, no,’ said Phyllis, laughing, ‘it is only William; he has been out +all the evening, and now papa has come out to speak to him, and they are +walking up and down together. I wonder whether he has been sitting with +Cousin Robert or at Broomhill! Well, good-night, Ada. Here comes +Hannah.’ + + + + +CHAPTER XXV +THE THIRTIETH OF JULY + + + ‘The heir, with roses in his shoes, + That night might village partner choose.’ + +THE 30th of July was bright and clear, and Phyllis was up early, +gathering flowers, which, with the help of Jane’s nimble fingers, she +made into elegant little bouquets for each of her sisters, and for +Claude. + +‘How is this?’ said Mr. Hawkesworth, pretending to look disconsolate, ‘am +I to sing “Fair Phyllida flouts me,” or why is my button-hole left +destitute?’ + +‘Perhaps that is for you on the side-table,’ said Lily. + +‘Oh! no,’ said Phyllis, ‘those are some Provence roses for Miss Weston +and Marianne, because Miss Weston likes those, and they have none at +Broomhill. Redgie is going to take care of them. I will get you a +nosegay, Frank. I did not know you liked it.’ + +She started up. ‘How prudent, Phyllis,’ said Eleanor, ‘not to have put +on your muslin frock yet.’ + +‘Oh! I am not going,’ said Phyllis. + +‘Not going!’ was the general outcry. + +‘No, poor Ada cries so about being left at home with only baby, that I +cannot bear it, and so I promised to stay.’ + +Away went Phyllis, and Reginald exclaimed, ‘Well, she shall not be served +so. I will go and tell Ada so this instant.’ + +Off he rushed, and putting in his head at the nursery door, shouted, +‘Ada, I am come to tell you that Phyl is not to be made your black-a-moor +slave! She shall go, that is settled.’ + +Down he went with equal speed, without waiting for an answer, and arrived +while Eleanor was saying that she thought Ada was provided with amusement +with the baby, her playthings, and books, and that Mr. Devereux had +promised to make her a visit. + +‘Anybody ought to stay at home rather than Phyllis,’ said Lily; ‘I think +I had better stay.’ + +‘No, no, Lily,’ said Jane, ‘you are more wanted than I am; you are really +worth talking to and dancing with; I had much better be at home.’ + +‘I forgot!’ exclaimed William. ‘Mrs. Weston desired me to say that she +is not going, and she will take care of Ada. Mr. Weston will set her +down at half-past ten, and take up one of us.’ + +‘I will be that one,’ said Reginald, ‘I have not seen Miss Weston since I +came home. I meant to walk to Broomhill after dinner yesterday, only the +Baron stopped me about that country-dance. Last Christmas I made her +promise to dance with me to-day.’ + +Lily had hoped to be that one, but she did not oppose Reginald, and +turned to listen to Eleanor, who was saying, ‘Let us clearly understand +how every one is to go, it will save a great deal of confusion. You and +Jane, and Maurice, go in the phaeton, do not you? And who drives you?’ + +‘William, I believe,’ said Lily. ‘Claude goes earlier, so he rides the +gray. Then there is the chariot for you and Frank, and papa and +Phyllis.’ + +So it was proposed, but matters turned out otherwise. The phaeton, +which, with a promoted cart-horse, was rather a slow conveyance, was to +set out first, but the whole of the freight was not ready in time. The +ladies were in the hall as soon as it came to the door, but neither of +the gentlemen were forthcoming. Reginald, who was wandering in the hall, +was sent to summon them; but down he came in great wrath. Maurice had +declared that he was not ready, and they must wait for him till he had +tied his neckcloth, which Reginald opined would take three quarters of an +hour, as he was doing it scientifically, and William had said that he was +not going in the gig at all, that he had told Wat Greenwood to drive, and +that Reginald must go instead of Maurice. + +In confirmation of the startling fact Wat, who had had a special +invitation from the Marquis, was sitting in the phaeton in his best black +velvet coat. Jane only hoped that Emily would not look out of the +window, or she would certainly go into fits on seeing them arrive with +the old phaeton, the thick-legged cart-horse, and Wat Greenwood for a +driver; and Reginald, after much growling at Maurice, much bawling at +William’s door, and, as Jane said, romping and roaring in all parts of +the house, was forced to be resigned to his fate, and all the way to +Hetherington held a very amusing conversation with his good-natured +friend the keeper. + +They were overtaken, nodded to, and passed by the rest of their party. +Maurice had been reduced to ride the pony, William came with the Westons, +and the chariot load was just as had been before arranged. + +Claude came out to meet them at the door, saying, ‘I need not have gone +so early. What do you think has become of the hero of the day? Guess, I +will just give you this hint, + + “Though on pleasure he was bent, he had no selfish mind.”’ + +‘Oh! the Aylmers, I suppose,’ said Lilias. + +‘Right, Lily, he heard something at dinner yesterday about a school for +clergymen’s sons, which struck him as likely to suit young Devereux +Aylmer, and off he set at seven o’clock this morning to Raynham, to +breakfast with Mrs. Aylmer, and talk to her about it. Never let me hear +again that he is engrossed with his own affairs!’ + +‘And why is he in such a hurry?’ asked Lily. + +‘’Tis his nature,’ said Claude, ‘besides Travers, who mentioned this +school, goes away to-morrow. My aunt is in a fine fright lest he should +not come back in time. Did not you hear her telling papa so in the +drawing-room?’ + +‘There he is, riding up to the door,’ said Phyllis, who had joined them +in the hall. Lord Rotherwood stopped for a few moments at the door to +give some directions to the servants, and then came quickly in. ‘Ah, +there you are!—What time is it? It is all right, Claude—Devereux is just +the right age. I asked him a few questions this morning, and he will +stand a capital examination. Ha, Phyl, I am glad to see you.’ + +‘I wish you many happy returns of the day, Cousin Rotherwood.’ + +‘Thank you, Phyl, we had better see how we get through one such day +before we wish it to return. Are the rest come?’ + +He went on into the drawing-room, and hastily informing his mother that +he had sent the carriage to fetch Miss Aylmer and her brothers to the +feast, called Claude to come out on the lawn to look at the preparations. +The bowling-green was to serve as drawing-room, and at one end was +pitched an immense tent where the dinner was to be. + +‘I say, Claude,’ said he in his quickest and most confused way, ‘I depend +upon you for one thing. Do not let the Baron be too near me.’ + +‘The Baron of Beef?’ said Claude. + +‘No, the Baron of Beechcroft. If you wish my speech to be _radara +tadara_, put him where I can imagine that he hears me.’ + +‘Very well,’ said Claude, laughing; ‘have you any other commands?’ + +‘No—yes, I have though. You know what we settled about the toasts. Hunt +up old Farmer Elderfield as soon as he comes, and do not frighten him. +If you could sit next to him and make him get up at the right time, it +would be best. Tell him I will not let any one propose my health but my +great-grandfather’s tenant. You will manage it best. And tell Frank +Hawkesworth, and Mr. Weston, or some of them, to manage so that the +gentry may not sit together in a herd, two or three together would be +best. Mind, Claude, I depend on you for being attentive to all the +damsels. I cannot be everywhere at once, and I see your great Captain +will be of no use to me.’ + +Here news was brought that the labourers had begun to arrive, and the +party went to the walnut avenue, where the feast was spread. It was +pleasant to see so many poor families enjoying their excellent dinner; +but perhaps the pleasantest sight was the lord of the feast speaking to +each poor man with all his bright good-natured cordiality. Mr. Mohun was +surprised to see how well he knew them all, considering how short a time +he had been among them, and Lilias found Florence rise in her estimation, +when she perceived that the inside of the Hetherington cottages were not +unknown to her. + +‘Do you know, Florence,’ said she, as they walked back to the house +together, ‘I did you great injustice? I never expected you to know or +care about poor people.’ + +‘No more I did till this winter,’ said Florence; ‘I could not do +anything, you know, before. Indeed, I do not do much now, only +Rotherwood has made me go into the school now and then; and when first we +came, he made it his especial request that whenever a poor woman came to +ask for anything I would go and speak to her. And so I could not help +being interested about those I knew.’ + +‘How odd it is that we never talked about it,’ said Lily. + +‘I never talk of it,’ said Florence, ‘because mamma never likes to hear +of my going into cottages with Rotherwood. Besides, somehow I thought +you did it as a matter of duty, and not of pleasure. Oh! Rotherwood, is +that you?’ + +‘The Aylmers are come,’ said Lord Rotherwood, drawing her arm into his, +‘and I want you to come and speak to them, Florence and Lily; I can’t +find any one; all the great elders have vanished. You know them of old, +do not you, Lily?’ + +‘Of old? Yes; but of so old that I do not suppose they will know me. +You must introduce me.’ + +He hastened them to the drawing-room, where they found Miss Aylmer, a +sensible, lady-like looking person, and two brothers, of about fifteen +and thirteen. + +‘Well, Miss Aylmer, I have brought you two old friends; so old, that they +think you have forgotten them—my cousin Lilias, and my sister Florence.’ + +‘We have not forgotten you, Miss Aylmer,’ said Florence, warmly shaking +hands with her. ‘You seem so entirely to belong to Hetherington that I +scarcely knew the place without you.’ + +There was something that particularly pleased Lily in the manner in which +Miss Aylmer answered. Florence talked a little while, and then proposed +to adjourn to the supplementary drawing-room—the lawn—where the company +were already assembling. + +Florence was soon called off to receive some other guest, and Lilias +spent a considerable time in sitting under a tree talking to Miss Aylmer, +whom she found exceedingly pleasant and agreeable, remembering all that +had happened during their former intercourse, and interested in +everything that was going on. Lily was much amused when her companion +asked her who that gentleman was—‘that tall, thin young man, with dark +hair, whom she had seen once or twice speaking to Lord Rotherwood?’ + +The tall gentleman advanced, spoke to Miss Aylmer, told Lily that the +world was verging towards the tent, and giving one arm to her and the +other to Miss Aylmer, took that direction. In the meantime Phyllis had +been walking about with her eldest sister, and wondering what had become +of all the others. In process of time she found herself seated on a high +bench in the tent, with a most beautiful pink-and-white sugar temple on +the table before her. She was between Eleanor and Frank. All along one +side of the table was a row of faces which she had never seen before, and +she gazed at them in search of some well-known countenance. At last Mr. +Weston caught her eye, and nodded to her. Next to him she saw Marianne, +then Reginald; on the other side Alethea and William. A little +tranquillised by seeing that every one was not lost, she had courage to +eat some cold chicken, to talk to Frank about the sugar temple, and to +make an inventory in her mind of the smartest bonnets for Ada’s benefit. +She was rather unhappy at not having found out when grace was said before +dinner, and she made Eleanor promise to tell her in time to stand up +after dinner. She could not, however, hear much, though warned in time, +and by this time more at ease and rather enjoying herself than otherwise. +Now Eleanor told her to listen, for Cousin Rotherwood was going to speak. +She listened, but knew not what was said, until Mr. Hawkesworth told her +it was Church and Queen. What Church and Queen had to do with Cousin +Rotherwood’s birthday she could not imagine, and she laid it up in her +mind to ask Claude. The next time she was told to listen she managed to +hear more. By the help of Eleanor’s directions, she found out the +speaker, an aged farmer, in a drab greatcoat, his head bald, excepting a +little silky white hair, which fell over the collar of his coat. It was +Mr. Elderfield, the oldest tenant on the estate, and he was saying in a +slow deliberate tone that he was told he was to propose his lordship’s +health. It was a great honour for the like of him, and his lordship must +excuse him if he did not make a fine speech. All he could say was, that +he had lived eighty-three years on the estate, and held his farm nearly +sixty years; he had seen three marquises of Rotherwood besides his +present lordship, and he had always found them very good landlords. He +hoped and believed his lordship was like his fathers, and he was sure he +could do no better than tread in their steps. He proposed the health of +Lord Rotherwood, and many happy returns of the day to him. + +The simplicity and earnestness of the old man’s tones were appreciated by +all, and the tremendous cheer, which almost terrified Phyllis, was a fit +assent to the hearty good wishes of the old farmer. + +‘Now comes the trial!’ whispered Claude to Lilias, after he had +vehemently contributed his proportion to the noise. Lilias saw that his +colour had risen, as much as if he had to make a speech himself, and he +earnestly examined the coronet on his fork, while every other eye was +fixed on the Marquis. Eloquence was not to be expected; but, at least, +Lord Rotherwood spoke clearly and distinctly. + +‘My friends,’ said he, ‘you must not expect much of a speech from me; I +can only thank you for your kindness, say how glad I am to see you here, +and tell you of my earnest desire that I may not prove myself unworthy to +be compared with my forefathers.’ Here was a pause. Claude’s hand +shook, and Lily saw how anxious he was, but in another moment the Marquis +went on smoothly. ‘Now, I must ask you to drink the health of a +gentleman who has done his utmost to compensate for the loss which we +sustained nine years ago, and to whom I owe any good intentions which I +may bring to the management of this property. I beg leave to propose the +health of my uncle, Mr. Mohun, of Beechcroft.’ + +Claude was much surprised, for his cousin had never given him a hint of +his intention. It was a moment of great delight to all the young Mohuns +when the cheer rose as loud and hearty as for the young lord himself, and +Phyllis smiled, and wondered, when she saw her papa rise to make answer. +He said that he could not attempt to answer Lord Rotherwood, as he had +not heard what he said, but that he was much gratified by his having +thought of him on this occasion, and by the goodwill which all had +expressed. This was the last speech that was interesting; Lady +Rotherwood’s health and a few more toasts followed, and the party then +left the tent for the lawn, where the cool air was most refreshing, and +the last beams of the evening sun were lighting the tops of the trees. + +The dancing was now to begin, and this was the time for Claude to be +useful. He had spent so much time at home, and had accompanied his +father so often in his rides, that he knew every one, and he was inclined +to make every exertion in the cause of his cousin, and on this occasion +seemed to have laid aside his indolence and disinclination to speak to +strangers. + +Lady Florence was also indefatigable, darting about, with a wonderful +perception who everybody was, and with whom each would like to dance. +She seized upon little Devereux Aylmer for her own partner before any one +else had time to ask her, and carried him about the lawn, hunting up and +pairing other shy people. + +‘Why, Reginald, what are you about? You can manage a country-dance. +Make haste; where is your partner?’ + +‘I meant to dance with Miss Weston,’ said Reginald, piteously. + +‘Miss Weston? Here she is.’ + +‘That is only Marianne,’ said Reginald. + +‘Oh! Miss Weston is dancing with William. Marianne, will you accept my +apologies for this discourteous cousin of mine? I am perfectly +horror-struck. There, Redgie, take her with a good grace; you will never +have a better partner.’ + +Marianne was only too glad to have Reginald presented to her, ungracious +as he was, but the poor little couple met with numerous disasters. They +neither of them knew the way through a country-dance, and were almost run +over every time they went down the middle; Reginald’s heels were very +inconvenient to his neighbours; so much so, that once Claude thought it +expedient to admonish him, that dancing was not merely an elegant name +for football without a ball. Every now and then some of their friends +gave them a hasty intimation that they were all wrong, but that they knew +already but too well. At last, just when Marianne had turned scarlet +with vexation, and Reginald was growing so desperate that he had thoughts +of running a way, the dance came to an end, and Reginald, with very +scanty politeness to his partner, rushed away to her sister, saying, in +rather a reproachful tone, ‘Miss Weston, you promised to dance with me.’ + +‘I have not forgotten my promise,’ said Alethea, smiling. + +At the same moment Claude hurried up, saying, ‘William, I want a partner +for Miss Wilkins, of the Wold Farm. Miss Wilkins, let me introduce +Captain Mohun.’ + +‘You see I have made the Captain available,’ said Claude, presently after +meeting Lord Rotherwood, as he speeded across the lawn. + +‘Have you? I did not think him fair game,’ said the Marquis. ‘Where is +your heroine, Claude? I have not seen her dancing.’ + +‘What heroine? What do you mean?’ + +‘Honest Phyl, of course. Did you think I meant Miss Weston?’ + +‘With Eleanor, somewhere. Is the next dance a quadrille?’ + +Lord Rotherwood ran up the bank to the terraced walks, where the +undancing part of the company sat or walked about. Soon he spied Phyllis +standing by Eleanor, looking rather wearied. ‘Phyllis, can you dance a +quadrille?’ + +Phyllis opened her eyes, and Eleanor desired her to answer. + +‘Come, Phyllis, let me see what M. Le Roi has done for you.’ + +He led her away, wondering greatly, and thinking how very good-natured +Cousin Rotherwood was. + +Emily was much surprised to find Phyllis her _vis à vis_. Emily was very +generally known and liked, and had no lack of grand partners, but she +would have liked to dance with the Marquis. When the quadrille was over, +she was glad to put herself in his way, by coming up to take charge of +Phyllis. + +‘Well done, Phyl,’ said he; ‘no mistakes. You must have another dance. +Whom shall we find for you?’ + +‘Oh! Rotherwood,’ said Emily, ‘you cannot think how you gratified us all +with your speech.’ + +‘Ah! I always set my heart on saying something of the kind; but I wished +I could have dared to add the bride’s health.’ + +‘The bride!’ + +‘Do not pretend to have no eyes,’ said Lord Rotherwood, with a +significant glance, which directed Emily’s eyes to the terrace, where Mr. +Mohun and Alethea were walking together in eager conversation. + +Emily was ready to sink into the earth. Jane’s surmises, and the +mysterious words of her father, left her no further doubt. At this +moment some one asked her to dance, and scarcely knowing what she did or +said, she walked to her place. Lord Rotherwood now found a partner for +Phyllis, and a farmer’s daughter for himself. + +This dance over, Phyllis’s partner did not well know how to dispose of +her, and she grew rather frightened on finding that none of her sisters +were in sight. At last she perceived Reginald standing on the bank, and +made her escape to him. + +‘Redgie, did you see who I have been dancing with? Cousin Rotherwood and +Claude’s grand Oxford friend—Mr. Travers.’ + +‘It is all nonsense,’ said Reginald. ‘Come out of this mob of people.’ + +‘But where is Eleanor?’ + +‘Somewhere in the midst. They are all absurd together.’ + +‘What is the matter, Redgie?’ asked Phyllis, unable to account for this +extraordinary fit of misanthropy. + +‘Papa and William both driving me about like a dog,’ said Reginald; +‘first I danced with Miss Weston—then she saw that woman—that Miss +Aylmer—shook hands—talked—and then nothing would serve her but to find +papa. As soon as the Baron sees me he cries out, “Why are not you +dancing, Redgie? We do not want you!” Up and down they walk, ever so +long, and presently papa turns off, and begins talking to Miss Aylmer. +Then, of course, I went back to Miss Weston, but then up comes William, +as savage as one of his Canadian bears; he orders me off too, and so here +I am! I am sure I am not going to ask any one else to dance. Come and +walk with me in peace, Phyl. Do you see them?—Miss Weston and Marianne +under that tulip-tree, and the Captain helping them to ice.’ + +‘Redgie, did you give Miss Weston her nosegay? Some one put such +beautiful flowers in it, such as I never saw before.’ + +‘How could I? They sent me off with Lily and Jane. I told William I had +the flowers in charge, and he said he would take care of them. By the +bye, Phyl,’ and Reginald gave a wondrous spring, ‘I have it! I have it! +I have it! If he is not in love with Miss Weston you may call me an ass +for the rest of my life.’ + +‘I should not like to call you an ass, Redgie,’ said Phyllis. + +‘Very likely; but do not make me call you one. Hurrah! Now ask Marianne +if it is not so. Marianne must know. How jolly! I say, Phyl, stay +there, and I will fetch Marianne.’ + +Away ran Reginald, and presently returned with Marianne, who was very +glad to be invited to join Phyllis. She little knew what an examination +awaited her. + +‘Marianne,’ began Phyllis, ‘I’ll tell you what—’ + +‘No, I will do it right,’ said Reginald; ‘you know nothing about it, +Phyl. Marianne, is not something going on there?’ + +‘Going on?’ said Marianne, ‘Alethea is speaking to Mrs. Hawkesworth.’ + +‘Nonsense, I know better, Marianne. I have a suspicion that I could tell +what the Captain was about yesterday when he walked off after dinner.’ + +‘How very wise you think you look, Reginald!’ said Marianne, laughing +heartily. + +‘But tell us; do tell us, Marianne,’ said Phyllis. + +‘Tell you whet?’ + +‘Whether William is going to marry Miss Weston,’ said the straightforward +Phyllis. ‘Redgie says so—only tell us. Oh! it would be so nice!’ + +‘How you blurt it out, Phyl,’ said Reginald. ‘You do not know how those +things are managed. Mind, I found it out all myself. Just say, +Marianne. Am not I right?’ + +‘I do not know whether I ought to tell,’ said Marianne. + +‘Oh! then it is all right,’ said Reginald, ‘and I found it out. Now, +Marianne, there is a good girl, tell us all about it.’ + +‘You know I could not say “No” when you asked me,’ said Marianne; ‘I +could not help it really; but pray do not tell anybody, or Captain Mohun +will not like it.’ + +‘Does any one know?’ said Reginald. + +‘Only ourselves and Mr. Mohun; and I think Lord Rotherwood guesses, from +something I heard him say to Jane.’ + +‘To Jane?’ said Reginald. ‘That is provoking; she will think she found +it out all herself, and be so conceited!’ + +‘You need not be afraid,’ said Marianne, laughing; ‘Jane is on a wrong +scent.’ + +‘Jane? Oh! I should like to see her out in her reckonings! I should +like to have a laugh against her. What does she think, Marianne?’ + +‘Oh! I cannot tell you; it is too bad.’ + +‘Oh! do; do, pray. You may whisper it if it is too bad for Phyllis to +hear.’ + +‘No, no,’ said Marianne; ‘it is nothing but nonsense. If you hear it, +Phyllis shall too; but mind, you must promise not to say anything to +anybody, or I do not know what will become of me.’ + +‘Well, we will not,’ said Reginald; ‘boys can always keep secrets, and +I’ll engage for Phyl. Now for it.’ + +‘She is in a terrible fright lest it should be Mr. Mohun. She got it +into her head last autumn, and all I could say would not persuade her out +of it. Why, she always calls me Aunt Marianne when we are alone. Now, +Reginald, here comes Maurice. Do not say anything, I beg and entreat. +It is my secret, you know. I daresay you will all be told +to-morrow,—indeed, mamma said so,—but pray say nothing about me or Jane. +It was only settled yesterday evening.’ + +At this moment Maurice came up, with a message that Miss Weston and +Eleanor were going away, and wanted the little girls. They followed him +to the tent, which had been cleared of the tables, and lighted up, in +order that the dancing might continue there. Most of their own party +were collected at the entrance, watching for them. Lilias came up just +as they did, and exclaimed in a tone of disappointment, on finding them +preparing to depart. She had enjoyed herself exceedingly, found plenty +of partners, and was not in the least tired. + +‘Why should she not stay?’ said William. ‘Claude has engaged to stay to +the end of everything, and he may as well drive her as ride the gray.’ + +‘And you, Jenny,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘do you like to stay or go? Alethea +will make room for you in the pony-carriage, or you may go with Eleanor. + +‘With Eleanor, if you please,’ said Jane. + +‘Already, Jane?’ said Lily. ‘Are you tired?’ + +Jane drew her aside. ‘Tired of hearing that I was right about what you +would not believe. Did you not hear what he called her? And Rotherwood +has found it out.’ + +‘It is all gossip and mistake,’ said Lily. + +Here Jane was called away by Eleanor, and departed with her; Lilias went +to look for her aunt or Florence, but on the way was asked to dance by +Mr. Carrington. + +‘I suppose I may congratulate you,’ said he in one of the pauses in the +quadrille. + +Lily thought it best to misunderstand, and answered, ‘Everything has gone +off very well.’ + +‘Very. Lord Rotherwood will be a popular man; but my congratulations +refer to something nearer home. I think you owe us some thanks for +having brought them into the neighbourhood.’ + +‘Report is very kind in making arrangements,’ said Lily, with something +of Emily’s haughty courtesy. + +‘I hope this is something more than report,’ said her partner. + +‘Indeed, I believe not. I think I may safely say that it is at present +quite unfounded,’ said Lily. + +Mr. Carrington, much surprised, said no more. + +Lily did not believe the report sufficiently to be annoyed by it during +the excitement and pleasure of the evening, and at present her principal +vexation was caused by the rapid diminution of the company. She and her +brother were the very last to depart, even Florence had gone to bed, and +Lady Rotherwood, looking exceedingly tired, kissed Lily at the foot of +the stairs, pitied her for going home in an open carriage, and wished her +good-night in a very weary tone. + +‘I should think you were the fiftieth lady I have handed across the +hall,’ said Lord Rotherwood, as he gave Lily his arm. + +‘But where were the fireworks, Rotherwood?’ + +‘Countermanded long ago. We have had enough of them. Well, I am sorry +it is over.’ + +‘I am very glad it is so well over,’ said Claude. + +‘Thanks to your exertions, Claude,’ said the Marquis. ‘You acted like a +hero.’ + +‘Like a dancing dervish you mean,’ said Claude. ‘It will suffice for my +whole life.’ + +‘I hope you are not quite exhausted.’ + +‘No, thank you. I have turned over a new leaf.’ + +‘Talking of new leaves,’ said the Marquis, ‘I always had a presentiment +that Emily’s government would come to a crisis to-day.’ + +‘Do you think it has?’ said Claude. + +‘Trust my word, you will hear great news to-morrow. And that reminds +me—can you come here to-morrow morning? Travers is going—I drive him to +meet the coach at the town, and you were talking of wanting to see the +new windows in the cathedral: it will be a good opportunity. And dine +here afterwards to talk over the adventures.’ + +‘Thank you—that last I cannot do. The Baron was saying it would be the +first time of having us all together.’ + +‘Very well, besides the great news. I wish I was going back with you; it +is a tame conclusion, only to go to bed. If I was but to be on the scene +of action to-morrow. Tell the Baron that—no, use your influence to get +me invited to dinner on Saturday—I really want to speak to him.’ + +‘Very well,’ said Claude, ‘I’ll do my best. Good-night.’ + +‘Good-night,’ said the Marquis. ‘You have both done wonders. Still, I +wish it was to come over again.’ + +‘Few people would say so,’ said Lily, as they drove off. + +‘Few would say so if they thought so,’ said Claude. ‘I have been quite +admiring the way Rotherwood has gone on—enjoying the fun as if he was +nobody—just as Reginald might, making other people happy, and making no +secret of his satisfaction in it all.’ + +‘Very free from affectation and nonsense,’ said Lily, ‘as William said of +him last Christmas. You were in a fine fright about his speech, Claude.’ + +‘More than I ought to have been. I should have known that he is too +simple-minded and straightforward to say anything but just what he ought. +What a nice person that Miss Aylmer is.’ + +‘Is not she, Claude? I was very glad you had her for a neighbour. Happy +the children who have her for a governess. How sensible and gentle she +seems. The Westons—But oh! Claude, tell me one thing, did you hear—’ + +‘Well, what?’ + +‘I am ashamed to say. That preposterous report about papa. Why, +Rotherwood himself seems to believe it, and Mr. Carrington began to +congratulate—’ + +‘The public has bestowed so many ladies on the Baron, that I wonder it is +not tired,’ said Claude. ‘It is time it should patronise William +instead.’ + +‘Rotherwood is not the public,’ said Lily, ‘and he is the last person to +say anything impertinent of papa. And I myself heard papa call her +Alethea, which he never used to do. Claude, what do you think?’ + +After a long pause Claude slowly replied, ‘Think? Why, I think Miss +Weston must be a person of great courage. She begins the world as a +grandmother, to say nothing of her eldest daughter and son being +considerably her seniors.’ + +‘I do not believe it,’ said Lily. ‘Do you, Claude?’ + +‘I cannot make up my mind—it is too amazing. My hair is still standing +on end. When it comes down I may be able to tell you something.’ + +Such were the only answers that Lily could extract from him. He did not +sufficiently disbelieve the report to treat it with scorn, yet he did not +sufficiently credit it to resign himself to such a state of things. + +On coming home Lily found Emily and Jane in her room, eagerly discussing +the circumstances which, to their prejudiced eyes, seemed strong +confirmation. While their tongues were in full career the door opened +and Eleanor appeared. She told them it was twelve o’clock, turned Jane +out of the room, and made Emily and Lily promise not to utter another +syllable that night. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI +THE CRISIS + + + ‘“Is this your care of the nest?” cried he, + “It comes of your gadding abroad,” said she.’ + +TO the consternation of the disconsolate damsels, the first news they +heard the next morning was that Mr. Mohun was gone to breakfast at +Broomhill, and the intelligence was received by Frank Hawkesworth with a +smile which they thought perfectly malicious. Frank, William, and +Reginald talked a little at breakfast about the _fête_, but no one joined +them, and Claude looked so grave that Eleanor was convinced that he had a +headache, and vainly tried to persuade him to stay at home, instead of +setting off to Devereux Castle immediately after breakfast. + +The past day had not been spent in vain by Ada. Mrs. Weston had led her +by degrees to open her heart to her, had made her perceive the real cause +of her father’s displeasure, see her faults, and promise to confess them, +a promise which she performed with many tears, as soon as she saw Eleanor +in the morning. + +On telling this to Emily Eleanor was surprised to find that she was not +listened to with much satisfaction. Emily seemed to think it a piece of +interference on the part of Mrs. Weston, and would not allow that it was +likely to be the beginning of improvement in Ada. + +‘The words were put into her mouth,’ said she; ‘and they were an easy way +of escaping from her present state of disgrace.’ + +‘On the contrary,’ said Eleanor, ‘she seemed to think that she justly +deserved to be in disgrace.’ + +‘Did you think so?’ said Emily, in a careless tone. + +‘You are in a strange mood to-day, Emily,’ said Eleanor. + +‘Am I? I did not know it. I wonder where Lily is.’ + +Lily was in her own room, teaching Phyllis. Phyllis was rather wild and +flighty that morning, scarcely able to command her attention, and every +now and then bursting into an irrepressible fit of laughter. Reginald +and Phyllis found it most difficult to avoid betraying Marianne, and as +soon as luncheon was over, they agreed to set out on a long expedition +into the woods, where they might enjoy their wonderful secret together. +Just at this time Mr. Mohun returned. He came into the drawing-room, and +Lilias, perceiving that the threatened conversation with Emily was about +to take place, made her escape to her own room, whither she was presently +followed by Jane, who could not help running after her to report the +great news that Emily was to be deposed. + +‘I am sure of it,’ said she. ‘They sent me out of the room, but not +before I had seen certain symptoms.’ + +‘It is very hard that poor Emily should bear all the blame,’ said Lily. + +‘You have managed to escape it very well,’ said Jane, laughing. ‘You +have all the thanks and praise. I suppose it is because the intimacy +with Miss Weston was your work.’ + +‘I will not believe that nonsense,’ said Lily. + +‘Seeing is believing, they say,’ said Jane. ‘Remember, it is not only +me. Think of Rotherwood. And Maurice guesses it too, and Redgie told +him great things were going on.’ + +While Jane was speaking they heard the drawing-room door open, and in +another moment Emily came in. + +It was true that, as Jane said, she had been deposed. Mr. Mohun had +begun by saying, ‘Emily, can you bring me such an account of your +expenditure as I desired?’ + +‘I scarcely think I can, papa,’ said Emily. ‘I am sorry to say that my +accounts are rather in confusion.’ + +‘That is to say, that you have been as irregular in the management of +your own affairs as you have in mine. Well, I have paid your debt to +Lilias, and from this time forward I require of you to reduce your +expenses to the sum which I consider suitable, and which both Eleanor and +Lilias have found perfectly sufficient. And now, Emily, what have you to +say for the management of my affairs? Can you offer any excuse for your +utter failure?’ + +‘Indeed, papa, I am very sorry I vexed you,’ said Emily. ‘Our illness +last autumn—different things—I know all has not been quite as it should +be; but I hope that in future I shall profit by past experience.’ + +‘I hope so,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘but I am afraid to trust the management of +the family to you any longer. Your trial is over, and you have failed, +merely because you would not exert yourself from wilful indolence and +negligence. You have not attended to any one thing committed to your +charge—you have placed temptation in Esther’s way—and allowed Ada to take +up habits which will not be easily corrected. I should not think myself +justified in leaving you in charge any longer, lest worse mischief should +ensue. I wish you to give up the keys to Eleanor for the present.’ + +Mr. Mohun would perhaps have added something if Emily had shown signs of +repentance, or even of sorrow. The moment was at least as painful to him +as to her, and he had prepared himself to expect either hysterical tears, +with vows of amendment, or else an argument on her side that she was +right and everybody else wrong. But there was nothing of the kind; Emily +neither spoke nor looked; she only carried the tokens of her authority to +Eleanor, and left the room. She thought she knew well enough the cause +of her deposition, considered it quite as a matter of course, and +departed on purpose to avoid hearing the announcement which she expected +to follow. + +She was annoyed by finding her sisters in her room, and especially +irritated by Jane’s tone, as she eagerly asked, ‘Well, what did he say?’ + +‘Never mind,’ replied Emily, pettishly. + +‘Was it about Miss Weston?’ persisted Jane. + +‘Not actually, but I saw it was coming,’ said Emily. + +‘Ah!’ said Jane, ‘I was just telling Lily that she owes all her present +favour to her having been Alethea’s bosom friend.’ + +‘I confess I thought Miss Weston was assuming authority long ago,’ said +Emily. + +‘Emily, how can you say so?’ cried Lily. ‘How can you be so unjust and +ungrateful? I do not believe this report; but if it should be true, are +not these foolish expressions of dislike so many attempts to make +yourself undutiful?’ + +‘I have rather more sincerity, more dignity, more attachment to my own +mother, than to try to gain favour by affecting what I do not feel,’ said +Emily. + +‘Rather cutting, Emily,’ said Jane. + +‘Do not give that speech an application which Emily did not intend,’ said +Lily, sadly. + +‘What makes you think I did not intend it?’ said Emily, coldly. + +‘Emily!’ exclaimed Lily, starting up, and colouring violently, ‘are you +thinking what you are saying?’ + +‘I do not know what you mean,’ replied Emily quietly, in her soft, +unchanging voice; ‘I only mean that if you can feel satisfied with the +new arrangement you are more easily pleased than I am.’ + +‘Only tell me, Emily, do you accuse me of attempting to gain favour in an +unworthy manner?’ + +‘I only congratulate you on standing so well with every one.’ + +Lily hid her face in her hands. At this moment Eleanor opened the door, +saying, ‘Can you come down? Mrs. Burnet is here.’ Eleanor went without +observing Lily, and Emily was obliged to follow. Jane lingered in order +to comfort Lily. + +‘You know she did not quite mean it,’ said she; ‘she is only very much +provoked.’ + +‘I know, I know,’ said Lily; ‘she is very sorry herself by this time. Of +course she did not mean it, but it is the first unkind thing she ever +said to me. It is very silly, and very unjust to take it seriously, but +I cannot help it.’ + +‘It is a very abominable shame,’ said Jane, ‘and so I shall tell Emily.’ + +‘No, do not, Jenny, I beg. I know she thinks so herself, and grieves too +much over it. No wonder she is vexed. All my faults have come upon her. +You had better go down, Jane; Mrs. Burnet is always vexed if she does not +see a good many of us, and I am sure I cannot go. Besides, Emily +dislikes having that girl to entertain.’ + +‘Lily, you are so very gentle and forgiving, that I wonder how any one +can say what grieves you,’ said Jane, for once struck with admiration. + +She went, and Lily remained, weeping over the injustice which she had +forgiven, and feeling as if, all the time, it was fair that the rule of +‘love’ should, as it were, recoil upon her. Her tears flowed fast, as +she went over the long line of faults and follies which lay heavy on her +conscience. And Emily against her! That sister who, from her infancy, +had soothed her in every trouble, of whose sympathy she had always felt +sure, whose gentleness had been her admiration in her days of sharp +answers and violent temper, who had seemed her own beyond all the others; +this wound from her gave Lily a bitter feeling of desertion and +loneliness. It was like a completion of her punishment—the broken reed +on which she leant had pierced her deeply. + +She was still sitting on the side of her bed, weeping, when a slight tap +at the door made her start—a gentle tap, the sound of which she had +learned to love in her illness. The next moment Alethea stood before +her, with outstretched arms. This was a time to feel the value of such a +friend, and every suspicion passing from her mind, she flew to Alethea, +kissed her again and again, and laid her head on her shoulder. Her +caress was returned with equal warmth. + +‘But how is this?’ said Alethea, now perceiving that her face was pale, +and marked by tears. ‘How is this, my dear Lily?’ + +‘Oh, Alethea! I cannot tell you, but it is all misery. The full effect +of my baneful principle has appeared!’ + +‘Has anything happened?’ exclaimed Alethea. + +‘No,’ said Lily. ‘There is nothing new, except the—Oh! I cannot tell +you.’ + +‘I wish I could do anything for you, my poor Lily,’ said Alethea. + +‘You can look kind,’ said Lily, ‘and that is a great comfort. Oh! +Alethea, it was very kind of you to come and speak to me. I shall do +now—I can bear it all better. You have a comforting face and voice like +nobody else. When did you come? Have you been in the drawing-room?’ + +‘No,’ said Alethea. ‘I walked here with Marianne, and finding there were +visitors in the drawing-room we went to Ada, and she told me where to +find you. I had something to tell you—but perhaps you know already.’ + +The colour on her cheek recalled all Lily’s fears, and to hear the news +from herself was an unexpected trial. She felt as if what she had said +justified Emily’s reproach, and turning away her head, replied, ‘Yes, I +know.’ + +Alethea was a little hurt by her coldness, but she ascribed it to +dejection and embarrassment, and blamed herself for hurrying on what she +had to tell without sufficient regard for Lily’s distress. There was an +awkward pause, which Alethea broke, by saying, ‘Your brother thought you +would like to hear it from me.’ + +‘My brother!’ cried Lily, with a most sudden change of tone. ‘William? +Oh, Alethea! dearest Alethea; I beg your pardon. They almost made me +believe it was papa. Oh! I am so very glad!’ + +Alethea could not help laughing, and Lily joined her heartily. It was +one of the brightest hours of her life, as she sat with her hand in her +friend’s, pouring out her eager expressions of delight and affection. +All her troubles were forgotten—how should they not, when Alethea was to +be her sister! It seemed as if but a few minutes had passed, when the +sound of the great clock warned Alethea that it was time to return to +Broomhill, and she asked Lilias to walk back with her. After summoning +Marianne, they set out through the garden, where, on being joined by +William, Lily thought it expedient to betake herself to Marianne, who was +but too glad to be able freely to communicate many interesting +particulars. At Broomhill she had a very enjoyable talk with Mrs. +Weston, but her chief delight was in her walk home with her brother. She +was high in his favour, as Alethea’s chief friend. Though usually +reserved, he was now open, and Lily wondered to find herself honoured +with confidence. His attachment had begun in very early days, when first +he knew the Westons in Brighton. Harry’s death had suddenly called him +away, and a few guarded expressions of his wishes in the course of the +next winter had been cut short by his father. He then went to Canada, +and had had no opportunity of renewing his acquaintance till the last +winter, when, on coming home, to his great joy and surprise he found the +Westons on the most intimate terms with his family. + +He then spoke to his father, who wished him to take a little more time +for consideration, and he had accordingly waited till the summer. Lily +longed to know his plans for the future, and presently he went on to say +that his father wished him to leave the army, live at home, and let +Alethea be the head of the household. + +‘Oh, William! it is perfect. There is an end of all our troubles. It is +as if a great black curtain was drawn up.’ + +‘They say such plans never succeed,’ said William; ‘but we mean to prove +the contrary.’ + +‘How good it will be for the children!’ said Lily. + +‘Oh! why had we not such a guide at first?’ + +‘She has all that Eleanor wants,’ said William. + +‘My follies were not Eleanor’s fault,’ said Lily; ‘but I do think I +should not have been quite so silly if I had known Alethea from the +first.’ + +It was not in the power of William himself to say more in her praise than +Lily. In the eagerness of their conversation they walked slowly, and as +they were crossing the last field the dinner-bell rang. As they +quickened their steps they saw Mr. Mohun looking at his wheat. Lily told +him how late it was. + +‘There,’ said he, ‘I am always looking after other people’s affairs. +Between Rotherwood and William I have not a moment for my own crops. +However, my turn is coming. William will have it all on his hands, and +the old deaf useless Baron will sit in his great chair and take his +ease.’ + +‘Not a bit, papa,’ said Lily, ‘the Baron will grow young, and take to +dancing. He is talking nonsense already.’ + +‘Eh! Miss Lily turned saucy? Mrs. William Mohun must take her in hand. +Well, Lily, has he your consent and approbation?’ + +‘I only wish this was eighteen months ago, papa.’ + +‘We shall soon come into order, Lily. With Miss Aylmer for the little +ones, and Mrs. Mohun for the great ones, I have little fear.’ + +‘Miss Aylmer, papa!’ + +‘Yes, if all turns out well. We propose to find a house for her mother +in the village, and let her come every day to teach the little ones.’ + +‘Oh! I am very glad. We liked her so much.’ + +‘I hope,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘that this plan will please Claude better than +my proposal of a governess last month. He looked as if he expected +Minerva with helmet, and Ægis and all. Now make haste and dress. Do not +let us shock Eleanor by keeping dinner waiting longer than we can help.’ + +Lilias found that her sisters had long been dressed and gone down. She +dressed alone, every now and then smiling at her own happy looks +reflected in the glass. Just as she had finished, Claude knocked at the +door, and putting in his head, said, ‘Well, Lily, has the wonderful news +come forth? I see it has, by your face.’ + +‘And do you know what it is, Claude?’ said Lily. + +‘I know what Rotherwood meant, and I cannot think where all our senses +were.’ + +‘And, Claude, only say that you like her.’ + +‘I think it is a very good thing indeed.’ + +‘Only say that you cordially like her.’ + +‘I do. I admire her sense and her gentleness very much, and I think you +owe a great deal to her.’ + +‘Then you allow that you were unjust last summer?’ + +‘I do; but it was owing to you. You were somewhat foolish, and I thought +it was her fault. Besides, I was quite tired of hearing that +extraordinary name of hers for ever repeated.’ + +Here they were summoned to dinner, and hurried down. The dinner passed +very strangely; some were in very high spirits, others in a very +melancholy mood; Eleanor and Maurice alone preserved the golden mean; and +the behaviour of the merry ones was perfectly unintelligible to the rest. +Reginald, still bound by his promise to Marianne, was wild to make his +discovery known, and behaved in such a strange and comical manner as to +call forth various reproofs from Eleanor, which provoked double mirth +from the others. The cause of their amusement was ostensibly the talking +over of yesterday’s _fête_, but the laughing was more than adequate, even +to the wonderful collection of odd speeches and adventures which were +detailed. Emily and Jane could not guess what had come to Lily, and +thought her merriment very ill-placed. Yet, in justice to Lily, it must +be said that her joy no longer made her wild and thoughtless. There was +something guarded and subdued about her, which made Claude reflect how +different she was from the untamed girl of last summer, who could not be +happy without a sort of intoxication. + +The ladies returned to the drawing-room, where Ada now appeared for the +first time, and while they were congratulating her Mr. Mohun summoned +Eleanor away. Jane followed at a safe distance to see where they went. +They shut themselves into the study, and Jane, now meeting Maurice, went +into the garden with him. ‘It must be coming now,’ said she; ‘oh! there +are William and Claude talking under the plane-tree.’ + +‘Claude has his cunning smile on,’ said Maurice. + +‘No wonder,’ said Jane, ‘it is very absurd. I daresay William will +hardly ever come home now. One comfort is, they will see I was right +from the first.’ + +Jane and Maurice remained in the garden till teatime, and thus missed +hearing the whole affair discussed in the drawing-room between Emily, +Lilias, and Frank. This was the first news that Emily heard of it, and a +very great relief it was, for she could imagine liking, and even loving, +Alethea as a sister-in-law. Her chief annoyance was at present from the +perception of the difference between her own position and that of Lilias. +Last year how was Lily regarded in the family, and what was her opinion +worth? Almost nothing; she was only a clever, romantic, silly girl, +while Emily had credit at least for discretion. Now Lily was consulted +and sought out by father, brothers, Eleanor—no longer treated as a child. +And what was Emily? Blamed or pitied on every side, and left to hear +this important news from the chance mention of her brother-in-law, +himself not fully informed. She had become nobody, and had even lost the +satisfaction, such as it was, of fancying that her father only made her +bad management an excuse for his marriage. She heard many particulars +from Lily in the course of the evening, as they were going to bed; and +the sisters talked with all their wonted affection, although Emily had +not thought it worth while to revive an old grievance, by asking Lily’s +pardon for her unkind speech, and rested satisfied with the knowledge +that her sister knew her heart too well to care for what she said in a +moment of irritation. On the other hand, Lily did not think that she had +a right to mention the plan of Alethea’s government, and the next day she +was glad of her reserve, for her father called her to share his early +walk for the purpose of talking over the scheme, telling her that he +thought she understood the state of things better than Eleanor could, and +that he considered that she had sufficient influence with Emily to +prevent her from making Alethea uncomfortable. The conclusion of the +conversation was, that they thought they might depend upon Emily’s +amiability, her courtesy, and her dislike of trouble, to balance her love +of importance and dignity. And that Alethea would do nothing to hurt her +feelings, and would assume no authority that she could help, they felt +convinced. + +After breakfast Mr. Mohun called Emily into his study, informed her of +his resolution, to which she listened with her usual submissive manner, +and told her that he trusted to her good sense and right feeling to +obviate any collisions of authority which might be unpleasant to Alethea +and hurtful to the younger ones. She promised all that was desired, and +though at the moment she felt hurt and grieved, she almost immediately +recovered her usual spirits, never high, but always serene, and only +seeking for easy amusement and comfort in whatever happened. There was +no public disgrace in her deposition; it would not seem unnatural to the +neighbours that her brother’s wife should be at the head of the house. +She would gain credit for her amiability, and she would no longer be +responsible or obliged to exert herself; and as to Alethea herself, she +could not help respecting and almost loving her. It was very well it was +no worse. + +In the meantime Lily, struck by a sudden thought, had hastened to her +mother’s little deserted morning-room, to see if it could not be made a +delightful abode for Alethea; and she was considering of its capabilities +when she started at the sound of an approaching step. It was the rapid +and measured tread of the Captain, and in a few moments he entered. +‘Thank you,’ said he, smiling, ‘you are on the same errand as myself.’ + +‘Exactly so,’ said Lily; ‘it will do capitally; how pretty Long Acre +looks, and what a beautiful view of the church!’ + +‘This room used once to be pretty,’ said William, looking round, +disappointed; ‘it is very forlorn.’ + +‘Ah! but it will look very different when the chairs do not stand with +their backs to the wall. I do not think Alethea knows of this room, for +nobody has sat in it for years, and we will make it a surprise. And here +is your own picture, at ten years old, over the fireplace! I have such a +vision, you will not know the room when I have set it to rights.’ + +They went on talking eagerly of the improvements that might be made, and +from thence came to other subjects—Alethea herself, and the future plans. +At last William asked if Lily knew what made Jane look as deplorable as +she had done for the last two days, and Lily was obliged to tell him, +with the addition that Eleanor had begun to inform her of the real fact, +but that she had stopped her by declaring that she had known it all from +the first. Just as they had mentioned her, Jane, attracted by the +unusual sound of voices in Lady Emily’s room, came in, asking what they +could be doing there. Lily would scarcely have dared to reply, but +William said in a grave, matter-of-fact way, ‘We are thinking of having +this room newly fitted up.’ + +‘For Alethea Weston?’ said Jane; ‘how can you, Lily? I should have +thought, at least, it was no laughing matter.’ + +‘I advise you to follow Lily’s example and make the best of it,’ said +William. + +‘I do, but it is another thing to stand laughing here. I see one thing +that I shall do—I shall take away your picture and hang it in my room.’ + +‘We shall see,’ said William, following Lilias, who had left the room to +hide her laughter. + +To mystify Jane was the great amusement of the day; Reginald, finding +Maurice possessed with the same notion, did more to maintain it than the +others would have thought right, and Maurice reporting his speeches to +Jane, she had not the least doubt that her idea was correct. Lord +Rotherwood came to dinner, and no sooner had he entered the drawing-room +than Reginald, rejoicing in the absence of the parties concerned, +informed him of the joke, much to his diversion, though rather to the +discomfiture of the more prudent spectators, who might have wished it +confined to themselves. + +‘It has gone far enough,’ said Claude; ‘she will say something she will +repent if we do not take care.’ + +‘I should like to reduce her to humble herself to ask an explanation from +Marianne,’ said Lily. + +‘And pray don’t spoil the joke before I have enjoyed it,’ said Lord +Rotherwood. ‘My years of discretion are not such centuries of wisdom as +those of that gentleman who looks as grim as his namesake the Emperor on +a coin.’ + +The entrance of Eleanor and Jane here put an end to the conversation, +which was not renewed till the evening, when the younger, or as Claude +called it, the middle-aged part of the company were sitting on the lawn, +leaving the drawing-room to the elder and more prudent, and the terrace +to the wilder and more active. Emily was talking of Mrs. Burnet’s visit +of the day before, and her opinion of the Hetherington festivities. ‘And +what an interminable visit it was,’ said Jane; ‘I thought they would +never go!’ + +‘People always inflict themselves in a most merciless manner when there +is anything going on,’ said Emily. + +‘I wonder if they guessed anything,’ said Lily. + +‘To be sure they did, and stayed out of curiosity,’ said Lord Rotherwood. +‘In spite of Emily’s dignified contradictions of the report, every one +knew it the other evening. It was all in vain that she behaved as if I +was speaking treason—people have eyes.’ + +‘Ah! I am very sorry for that contradiction,’ said Lily; ‘I hope people +will not fancy we do not like it.’ + +‘No, it will only prove my greatness,’ said Lord Rotherwood. ‘Your +Marques, was China in the map, so absorbing all beholders that the +magnanimous Mohuns themselves—’ + +‘What nonsense, Rotherwood,’ said Jane, sharply; ‘can’t you suppose that +one may shut one’s eyes to what one does not wish to see.’ + +The singular inappropriateness of this answer occasioned a general roar +of laughter, and she looked in perplexity. Every one whom she asked why +they laughed replied by saying, ‘Ask Marianne Weston;’ and at length, +after much puzzling and guessing, and being more laughed at than had ever +before happened to her in her life, she was obliged to seek an +explanation from Marianne, who might well have triumphed had she been so +disposed. Jane’s character for penetration was entirely destroyed, and +the next morning she received, as a present from Claude, an old book, +which had long belonged to the nursery, entitled, _A Puzzle for a Curious +Girl_. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII +CONCLUSION + + + ‘There let Hymen oft appear + In saffron robe, with taper clear, + And pomp, and feast, and revelry, + And mask, and antique pageantry; + Such sights as useful poets dream + On summer eves, by haunted stream.’ + +ON the morning of a fine day, late in September, the Beechcroft bells +were ringing merrily, and a wedding procession was entering the gate of +the churchyard. + +In the afternoon there was a great feast on the top of the hill, attended +by all the Mohuns, who were forced, to Lily’s great satisfaction, to give +it there, as there was no space in the grounds at the New Court. All was +wonderfully suitable to old times, inasmuch as the Baron was actually +persuaded to sit for five minutes under the yew-tree where ‘Mohun’s +chair’ ought to have been, and the cricketers were of all ranks, from the +Marquis of Rotherwood to little Dick Grey. + +The wedding had been hurried on, and the wedding tour was shortened, in +order that Mrs. William Mohun might be installed as mistress of the New +Court before Eleanor’s departure, which took place early in October; and +shortly after Mrs. Ridley, who had come on a visit to Beechcroft, to take +leave of her brother, returned to the north, taking with her the little +Harry. He was nearly a year old, and it gave great pain to his young +aunts to part with him, now that he had endeared himself to them by many +engaging ways, but Lily felt herself too unequal to the task of training +him up to make any objection, and there were many promises that he should +not be a stranger to his grandfather’s home. + +Mrs. and Miss Aylmer had been about a month settled at a superior sort of +cottage, near the New Court, with Mrs. Eden for their servant. Lord +Rotherwood had fitted out the second son, who sailed for India with Mr. +and Mrs. Hawkesworth, had sent Devereux to school, and was lying in wait +to see what could be done for the two others, and Jane was congratulated +far more than she wished, on having been the means of discovering such an +excellent governess. Jane was now a regular inhabitant of the +schoolroom, as much tied down to lessons and schoolroom hours as her two +little sisters, with the prospect of so continuing for two years, if not +for three. She made one attempt to be pert to Miss Aylmer; but something +in the manner of her governess quite baffled her, and she was obliged to +be more obedient than she had ever been. The mischief which Emily and +Lilias had done to her, by throwing off their allegiance to Eleanor, and +thus unconsciously leading her to set her at nought, was, at her age, not +to be so easily repaired; yet with no opportunity for gossiping, and with +involuntary respect for her governess, there were hopes that she would +lose the habit of her two great faults. There certainly was an +improvement in her general tone and manner, which made Mr. Devereux hope +that he might soon resume with her the preparation for confirmation which +had been cut short the year before. + +Phyllis and Adeline had been possessed by Reginald with a great dread of +governesses; and they were agreeably surprised in Miss Aylmer, whom they +found neither cross nor strict, and always willing to forward their +amusements, and let them go out with their papa and sisters whenever they +were asked. Phyllis, without much annoyance to one so obedient, was +trained into more civilisation, and Ada’s more serious faults were duly +watched and guarded against. The removal of Esther was a great advantage +to Ada; an older and more steady person was taken in her place; while to +the great relief of Mr. Mohun and Lilias, Rachel Harvey took Esther to +her brother’s farmhouse, where she promised to watch and teach her, and +hoped in time to make her a good servant. + +Of Emily there is little to say. She ate, drank, and slept, talked +agreeably, read idle books, and looked nice in the drawing-room, wasting +time, throwing away talents, weakening the powers of her mind, and laying +up a store of sad reflections for herself against the time when she must +awake from her selfish apathy. + +As to Lilias Mohun, the heroine of this tale, the history of the +formation of her character has been told, and all that remains to be said +of her is, that the memory of her faults and her sorrows did not fleet +away like a morning cloud, though followed by many happy and prosperous +days, and though the effects of many were repaired. Agnes’s death, +Esther’s theft, Ada’s accident, the schism in the parish, and her own +numerous mistakes, were constantly recalled, and never without a thought +of the danger of being wise above her elders, and taking mere feeling for +Christian charity. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SCENES AND CHARACTERS*** + + +******* This file should be named 4944-0.txt or 4944-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/9/4/4944 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law 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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