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diff --git a/old/54100-0.txt b/old/54100-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 0e38b83..0000000 --- a/old/54100-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,15979 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Wayfaring Men, by Edna Lyall - -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: Wayfaring Men - A Novel - -Author: Edna Lyall - -Release Date: February 3, 2017 [EBook #54100] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAYFARING MEN *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - -WAYFARING MEN - -A Novel - -By Edna Lyall - -Author of “Doreen,” “Donovan,” “We Two,” “To Right the Wrong,” etc., etc. - -_“Every man’s task is his life-preserver. The conviction that his work -is dear to God and cannot be spared, defends him.”_ - ---Emerson - -New York - -Longmans, Green, and Co. - -London And Bombay - -1896 - - - Thou goest thine, and I go mine, - - Many ways we wend; - - Many days, and many ways, - - Ending in one end. - - Many a wrong, and its curing song; - - Many a road, and many an inn; - - Room to roam, but only one home - - For all the world to win.” - - --George MacDonald - -[Illustration: 0001] - -[Illustration: 0007] - - - - -WAYFARING MEN - - - - -CHAPTER I - - - “So is detached, so left all by itself, - - The little life, the fact which means so much. - - Shall not God stoop the kindlier to His work, - - Now that the hand He trusted to receive, - - And hold it, lets the treasure fall perforce? - - The better; He shall have in orphanage - - His own way all the clearlier.” - - R. Browning. - -|I wonder what will become of Ralph Denmead,” said Lady Tresidder, “it -is one of the saddest cases I ever heard of; the poor boy seems to be -left without a single relation.” - -“Yes,” said Sir John, musingly. “Just the way with these old decayed -families, they dwindle slowly away and then become extinct. There was -no spirit or energy in poor Denmead, the man was a mere hermit and -knew nothing of the world or he wouldn’t have made such a mull of his -affairs.” - -“Yet Ralph seems to have the energy of ten people,” said Lady Tresidder, -glancing as she walked at the river which wound its peaceful way through -the park and reflected in the afternoon light the early spring tints of -the wooded bank on its further side. At no great distance a boat glided -swiftly over the calm water: in the stern sat a dark-haired, handsome -girl of nineteen, while the vigorous little rower seemed to be not more -than eleven. - -“Poor little chap,” said Sir John, “he is terribly cut up about his -father’s death. I wish we could have kept him here a few days longer, -but it’s better that he should be put at once into his guardian’s hands. -There’s no fear that Sir Matthew Mactavish will not do all that’s right -for him, if only for the sake of his own reputation.” - -“I suppose he is a very charitable man,” said Lady Tresidder. - -“Oh, yes, extremely charitable, and very well thought of. For myself, -I frankly own I don’t like the way in which he mixes up speculation and -philanthropy, and I’m not at all sure that he was always a good adviser -to poor Denmead. But he’ll be kind enough to Ralph I’ve no doubt. The -boy is his godson, and Denmead was one of his oldest friends. By the -bye he was to be at the Rectory by five o’clock, and the boy ought to -be there to receive him. They had better be landing, and Mabel can drive -him to Whinhaven in the pony chaise.” - -He began to make vigorous signals to the occupants of the boat, who -somewhat reluctantly came ashore and slowly mounted the rising ground to -the house. - -“Come in and have some tea while they are putting in Ranger,” said Lady -Tresidder, kindly. “Sir John thinks you ought to be at the Rectory when -your guardian arrives, and Mab will like a drive with you.” - -Ralph grew grave at the thought of a return to the desolate Rectory -with its darkened windows and awful stillness; he sighed as he followed -comfortable motherly Lady Tresidder into the drawing-room where flowers -and well-used books and a cosy tea-table, and some needle work, just put -aside, gave a curiously homelike air to the whole place. - -“Come and sit by me,” said his hostess in that friendly voice which more -than anything helped him to forget his troubles. And perhaps it was the -thought of the hard future confronting him which made Lady Tresidder -glance so often at the little fellow who had outgrown the stage for -petting, and who in spite of his smallness was really thirteen, innocent -and ignorant of the world, and with a touch of the chivalrous gentleness -of manner that had characterised his father, but in other respects just -a high spirited, enthusiastic, hungry boy. - -His honest brown eyes grew less wistful as he waded blissfully through -the huge slice of Buzzard cake with which Mabel had provided him, but he -found the goodbyes hard to say, all the harder because of the kindness -he received. It was only afterwards, as they drove up the steep hill -in the park, and turned for a last look at the river, that he could -remember without a choking in his throat, Lady Tresidder’s motherly -kiss, and Sir John’s kindly farewell and cheery words about future -visits, and the half sovereign with which he had “tipped” him. - -There had been no particular reason why the Tresidders should have -been so good to him. Sir John was not the Squire of Whinhaven, indeed -Westbrook Hall was not even in his father’s parish: but they had been -practically Ralph’s only friends ever since he could remember and some -of his happiest hours had been spent with Mab, who being many years his -senior and a country girl of the best sort, had been able to teach him -to ride and drive, to fish, to row, and to care for animals as devotedly -as she herself did. - -Mab had a frank, hail fellow well met manner which contrasted rather -curiously with her beautiful womanly face and delicately chiselled -features; the world in general considered her somewhat off-hand and -brusque, but she had in her the makings of a very noble woman, and the -boy owed much to her companionship. They were very silent as they drove -through the park, but it was the comfortable silence of friends who -have perfect confidence in each other. Ralph seemed to be looking -with wistful eyes at every familiar turn of the road; his eyes rested -lingeringly on the grey walls of the house down below, and the gleaming -silvery river, and the old hawthorn bushes, and the fine old chestnut -trees. - -“Mab,” he said at length, “may we stop for a minute, and just see the -bullfinches? Look, there is one of them out of the nest and trying to -fly; the cat will get hold of it.” - -“Why, to be sure,” said Mab. “Will you care to take it with you to -London? It is fledged and I think you could rear it. Would you like it?” - -“Rather!” said Ralph emphatically. “And I have a cage at home that would -do for it.” - -So the young bullfinch was carefully placed in a covered basket, and -half an hour later Mabel Tresidder put down the two forlorn young things -at the door of Whinhaven Rectory wondering how they would prosper in -life. - -A severe-looking old housekeeper came out at the sound of the wheels. - -“So you’ve come back, Master Ralph,” she said looking him over -critically to see that he was clean and presentable. “That’s a good job, -for Sir Matthew has been here ten minutes or more, and the lawyer from -London with him. Are you coming in, Miss?” she added glancing with no -great favour at Miss Tresidder, and calling to mind how often in past -days she had led Ralph through bush and through brier to the great -detriment of his clothes. - -“No, I will not come in,” said Mab, “and this is not my real good-bye -to you, Ralph, for I shall stay and speak to you to-morrow morning after -the service.” - -She waved her hand to him, and drove swiftly off, while old Mrs. Grice -muttered something uncomplimentary about “new-fangled” ways, and not -liking females at a funeral. - -Ralph, meanwhile, had carefully hidden away the basket containing the -bullfinch, and now stood in the little hall with a heavy heart. The -quiet of the house was terrible, and the low murmur of strange voices in -the study accentuated the misery and desolateness, which seemed to grow -more and more oppressive every moment. - -“For goodness sake!” exclaimed old Mrs. Grice, “don’t stand there -staring at nothing, like a tragedy actor, but go in and make yourself -agreeable to the gentlemen; wait a bit, wait a bit, your hair’s all -rumpled up, not seen a brush since the morning, I’ll be bound.” - -Ralph, made meek by his misery, obediently turned into the room to -the right of the door, his own special sanctum where he had worked and -played ever since he could remember, and having brushed his wavy brown -hair into a state of immaculate order went slowly back once more to the -silent little hall which was not even enlivened now by the presence of -old Mrs. Grice. Nothing was to be heard save the ticking of the clock -and the low murmur of voices from the adjoining room, not a creature was -there to take compassion on the shy desolate boy. He looked up at the -black representation of Lord John Harsick and Katharine his wife, which -hung upon the wall above the old oak chest, and the tears started to his -eyes as he remembered how he had helped his father to mount this rubbing -from a brass, some two or three years before. The stately old couple -stood there holding each others’ hands, he fancied that they looked -down on him with a sort of pity because he was left so utterly alone. He -stood hesitatingly on the threshold of the study, dreading to enter, but -at length impelled to move by a worse fear. - -“If they come out and catch me here they’ll think I’m eavesdropping!” he -thought to himself, and therewith manfully turned the handle, and walked -in. - -The study was in reality the drawing-room of the Rectory, a pretty room -with a verandah and French windows opening on to it, and upon one side -of the fireplace there was a cosy little recess where the Rector had -been wont to keep his choicest flowers, and where the light from -a little western window fell upon the marble bust of a sweet-faced -woman--the mother whom Ralph could remember just in a vague dreamy -fashion. Seated now at his father’s writing-table was an old gentleman -with a kindly, astute face, and remarkably thick white hair. Standing -with his back to the fireplace was a middle-aged man whom Ralph at -once recognised from the photographs he had seen as his godfather, Sir -Matthew Mactavish. - -He looked up anxiously into the shrewd Scottish face, with its reddish -hair just touched with grey, its keen steel-coloured eyes, its somewhat -wrinkled forehead and ready smile. It was a powerful and an attractive -face, but with something about it curiously different to the faces to -which Ralph had been accustomed; the genial country squires, and the -country parsons had nothing in common with this brisk, managing man of -the world. - -“Well, my boy,” he said with a kindly greeting, “I’m glad to see you. -You’ll not remember me for you were but a little fellow when I was last -here. Let me see, they call you Raphe, don’t they?” - -“Not Raphe, but Ralph,” said the boy, and into his mind there darted -the recollection of a scene that had once been funny but now seemed -pathetic, of a discussion upon his name between his father and two old -antiquaries, and of how one of them had patted him on the head with the -gruff-voiced injunction, “If any one calls you ‘Raphe’ tell him he’s a -fool.” - -It was impossible to call such a man as Sir Matthew a fool, and the boy -turned to greet the lawyer, and was surprised to find that unlike the -typical solicitor of fiction he was a very noble looking man of the old -school, gentle and courtly in manner, and evidently understanding how -embarrassing the interview must be to a lad of thirteen. - -“Sit down, Ralph,” said Sir Matthew, motioning him to a chair, “there -are several things I must talk to you about.” - -Ralph obeyed, not without a curious sensation at being ordered about in -his own home by a perfect stranger. “Mr. Marriott and I,” resumed his -godfather, “have been looking into your father’s affairs on our way -from London, and as a matter of fact they were pretty well known to me -before. I grieve to say, my boy, that he has left you quite unprovided -for.” - -“I--I knew,” said Ralph, “that father had lost a great deal of money -lately--it was through some company that failed: he told me he never -would have speculated, but he wanted very much to make money and send -me to Winchester and then to Oxford; he couldn’t do that, you know, only -out of the living. But he blamed himself for having done it; he said it -was no better than gambling.” - -Sir Matthew had paced up and down the room restlessly during this -speech, he seemed to be moved by it, and it was the lawyer who first -broke the silence. “You are happy,” he said to Ralph, “in having the -memory of a father who was just enough to recognise his own mistakes, -and noble enough to confess them. Be warned, my boy, and never in the -future dabble in speculation.” - -Sir Matthew returned to his former position on the hearthrug. “In the -meantime,” he said with displeasure in his tone, “his more useful study -will be how to live in the present.” - -“That,” said Mr. Marriott gravely, “is a matter which you, Sir Matthew, -will no doubt help him to consider.” - -Ralph, with a child’s quick consciousness that something lay beneath -these words which he did not altogether understand, glanced from one to -the other in some perplexity. He saw that Sir Matthew was angry with the -lawyer, and that the lawyer disapproved somehow of Sir Matthew. - -“I wish Mr. Marriott had been my godfather,” he thought to himself. “I -like him twice as well. Sir Matthew orders one about as though he bossed -the whole world.” - -And then, as often happens, he was forced to modify his rather severe -criticism of his godfather, for Sir Matthew with a genuinely kind glance -drew him nearer, and laying a hand on his shoulder, said in the most -genial of voices: - -“Don’t you be afraid, my boy, I’ll see you through your trouble. Leave -everything to me. We’ll have you a Wykehamist as I know your father -wished, and then make a parson of you, eh?” - -“Oh no, thank you,” said Ralph, “I couldn’t be a clergyman, I don’t want -to be that at all.” - -“Eh! What! you have already some other idea? Come tell me, for it’s a -real help to know what a boy’s tastes are.” - -“I want to be an actor,” said Ralph quietly. - -“What!” cried Sir Matthew. “Go on the stage? Oh, that’s just a passing -fancy. No gentleman can take up play-acting as a profession. No, no, I -don’t send you to Winchester to fit you for such a trumpery calling as -that. If you’ll not be a parson what do you say to trying for the Indian -Civil Service? I’m much mistaken if you have not very good abilities, -and for a man who has to make his own way in the world, why India is the -right place.” - -“I should like to go to India,” said Ralph, thinking of certain tales of -jungle life and thrilling adventures with man-eating tigers that he had -lately read. - -“Very well,” said Sir Matthew briskly, “that’s decided then. To -Winchester for six years, then a choice of the Church or the Indian -Civil Service. There’s your future my boy, and I will see you fairly -started in life whichever line you choose. To-morrow you shall come back -with me to London, so run off now and let them get your things together, -and Mr. Marriott and I will make all the necessary arrangements with -regard to your father’s effects.” - -Not sorry to be dismissed, Ralph made his way upstairs, where he found -the housekeeper already busy with his packing. She made him collect what -few possessions he had, two or three pictures, some tools, some books -and a toy boat; but what she termed “the rubbish,” such as bird’s -eggs, mosses, fossils, imperfect models of engines, and such like, she -entirely declined to handle. “The rubbish” must be left, and Ralph with -an odd sinking of the heart, as he remembered how short was the time -remaining to him, began his sad round of farewells. He stole quietly up -to the attic from which the harbour could best be seen, and watched the -stately ships going into port. Then he walked through the garden with -lingering steps; he had worked in it with his father so long and so -happily that every plant was dear to him; to leave it just now in this -May weather, when the Gloire de Dijon on the south wall was covered with -exquisite roses, when the snapdragons, which as a little fellow he had -delighted in feeding with spoonfuls of sugar and water, were just coming -into flower, when the bedding-out plants, which but three weeks ago they -had planted were actually in bloom--this was hard indeed! Could it be -only three weeks since that half-holiday when, with no thought of coming -trouble, they had worked so merrily together? - -Passing through the green lauristinus arch he paced slowly on between -the strawberry-beds now white with blossom. That Saturday had been their -last really happy day, for the next morning’s post had brought the news -of his father’s great losses, and though the Sunday’s work had been -struggled through, the Rector had never been the same again, the -burdened look had never left his face. - -Ralph thought it all over as he rested his arms on the little iron gate -leading into the glebe, his eyes wandering sadly over that distant view -which he had always loved, with its stretch of gorse and heather, and -to the right the beautiful woods of Whinhaven park, just now in the full -perfection of their spring tints. Well, it was all over now, and the -place was to pass into the hands of strangers, and somehow he must get -through his goodbyes. Making his way to the stable, he flung his arms -about the neck of old Forester the pony, choked back a sob in his throat -as he unfastened Skipper the Irish terrier, and picking up in his arms -a scared-looking white cat, ran at full speed down the drive, across the -common, with its golden gorse and dark fir trees, until he reached the -coastguard station. Beneath the flag-staff, with a telescope tucked -under his arm, there stood a cheery-looking official in trim reefer and -gold-laced cap. It was Langston--the head of the coastguard station, and -one of Ralph’s best friends. - -“I have come to say good-bye, for to-morrow I’m going to London,” said -the boy hurriedly. “And I want to give you Skipper, if you care to -have him. He’s of a very good breed, father said, and he’s an awfully -friendly dog. And if you had room for Toots as well I should be awfully -obliged. I know he’s not worth anything, and ever since Benjamin was -lost Toots has been sort of queer, always mewing and roaming about -looking for him. But I think if you buttered his feet he would stay, and -he’s a real good mouser.” - -Langston promised to adopt both dog and cat, but he would not allow all -the giving to be on one side. He went into his house and returned in a -few minutes with a little pocket compass. - -“I’ll ask you to accept that, Master Ralph,” he said, as he gripped the -boy’s hand in a friendly grasp. “You’ll maybe have rough times in life, -but steer well, my lad, steer well, and be the man your father would -have had you.” - -“How does one steer if one doesn’t know which is the right way to go?” - said Ralph with a sigh. - -“Why it’s then that you’ll hear your captain’s orders,” said the -coastguardsman. “Cheer up, Master Ralph, it don’t all depend on the man -at the wheel.” - - - - -CHAPTER II - - - “Ill is that angel which erst fell from heaven, - - But not more ill than he, nor in worse case, - - Who hides a traitorous mind with smiling face, - - And with a dove’s white feather masks a raven, - - Each sin some colour hath it to adorn. - - Hypocrisy, Almighty God doth scorn.” - - Wm. Drummond, 1616. - -|Dinner proved a trying meal that evening, although Sir Matthew and Mr. -Marriott exerted themselves to talk, and were both of them very kind to -their small companion. Afterwards they adjourned once more to the study -where for the sake of the old lawyer a fire had been lighted. - -“The nights are still cold,” he said drawing a chair towards the hearth, -and warming his thin white hands; “May is but a treacherous month in -spite of the good things the poets say of it. I understand that your -father’s illness was caused by a chill,” he added, glancing kindly at -Ralph. - -“He caught cold one night when they sent for him down in the village,” - said Ralph, tears starting to his eyes. “He was called up at two o’clock -to see a man who was dying: there was an east wind, he said it seemed to -go right through him. But then you know he had been very much troubled -because of his losses; for the last ten days he had scarcely eaten -anything, and had slept badly.” - -Sir Matthew paced the room restlessly, but when he spoke his voice was -bland and calm. - -“A noble end!” he said, “dying in harness like that; carrying comfort to -the dying and then lying down upon his own death-bed; a very noble end.” - -Something in the tone of this speech grated on Ralph, he shrank a little -closer to the lawyer. - -“Why do I hate him?” thought the boy. “He’s going to send me to -Winchester with his own money, I ought to like him, but I -can’t--I can’t!” - -At that moment old Mrs. Grice appeared at the door asking to speak with -Mr. Marriott. He followed her into the hall returning in a minute or two -and approaching Ralph. - -“My boy,” he said, laying a kindly hand on his shoulder, “if you want to -see your father’s face again it must be now.” - -Together they went up the dimly lighted staircase to the room overhead, -Sir Matthew following slowly and with reluctance, a strange expression -lurking about the corners of his mouth. Many thoughts passed through -his mind as he stood looking down upon the still features of his dead -friend; if the pale lips could have spoken he well knew they might have -reproached him; and yet it was less painful to him to look at the stern -face of the dead, than to watch the grief of the little lad as, through -fast falling tears he gazed for the last time on his father’s face. It -was a relief to him when the old lawyer drew the boy gently away, and -persuaded him to return to the study fire. - -“I will be good to his son,” thought Sir Matthew as he looked once -more at the silent form. “I will make it up to Ralph. He shall have the -education his father would have given him. And then he must shift for -himself, I shall have done my duty, and he must sink or swim. The -very sight of him annoys me, but it will be only for a few years, and, -meantime, I must put up with it.” - -So Ralph for the last time slept in the only home he had ever known, -and woke the next day to endure as best he might all the last painful -ceremonies through which it was necessary that he should bear his part. -When the funeral was over he left Sir John Tresidder to talk with the -lawyer and Sir Matthew, and drew Mab away into a sheltered nook of the -walled kitchen garden where stood a rabbit-hutch. - -“These are the only things left,” he said, mournfully. “Should you care -to have them, Mab? I should like them to be at Westbrook for I know -you would be good to them. Rabbi Ben Ezra is the best rabbit that ever -lived, and he’ll soon get to care for you. Sarah Jane is rather dull, -but I suppose he likes her, and she doesn’t eat her little ones or do -anything horrid of that sort like some rabbits.” - -“I will take no end of care of them,” said Mab; “but it seems a pity that -you should leave them. Could you not take them with you?” - -“If I were going to live with Mr. Marriott I wouldn’t mind asking -leave,” said Ralph, “but there’s something about Sir Matthew--I don’t -know what it is--but one can’t ask a favour of him. I’d far rather give -up the rabbits.” - -“Perhaps you are right,” said Mab. “And by the bye Ralph, let me have -your new address, you are to live with your guardian are you not?” - -“They say Sir Matthew is not exactly my guardian. But father’s will was -made many years ago and he was named as sole executor, and father wrote -to him the day before he died asking him to see to me. Here comes the -man to say your carriage is ready.” - -“Very well,” said Mab. “And tell Mrs. Grice I will send over for the -rabbits. Good-bye, dear old boy. Don’t forget us all.” - -She stooped down, and for the first time in her life kissed him, and -Ralph having watched at the gate till the carriage was out of sight, -suddenly felt a horrible wave of desolation sweep over him, and knew -that he could not keep up one minute longer. Running down the road he -fled through the churchyard never stopping till he found himself in a -lovely sheltered fir grove--his favourite nook in the whole park; and -here, while the nightingales, and the cuckoos, and the thrushes sang -joyously overhead, he threw himself down at full length on the slippery -pine needles that covered the warm dry ground, and sobbed as though -his heart would break. They had always called this particular nook the -“Goodly Heritage,” because whenever friends had been brought to see it -they had always said to the Rector: “Ah, Denmead, your lines are fallen -in pleasant places.” Poor Ralph felt that this saying was no longer -true, he thought that the pleasantness had forever vanished from his -life, and the prospect of going forth into the world dependent for every -penny upon a man whom he vaguely disliked was almost more than he could -endure. The boy had a keenly sensitive artistic temperament, but luckily -his father’s strenuous endeavours had taught him self-control; he did -not long abandon himself to that passion of grief but pulled himself -together and began to pace slowly through the grove crushing into -his hand as he walked a rough hard fir-cone. And then gradually as he -breathed the soft pine scented air, and watched the sunbeams streaking -with light the dark fir trunks, and glorifying the silvery birch trees -in a distant glade which sloped steeply down to a little murmuring -brook, he realised that the past was his goodly heritage, his possession -of which no man could rob him, and in thankfulness for the home which -had been so happy for thirteen years he set his face bravely towards the -dark future. - -“Waterloo, first single, a child’s ticket,” said Sir Matthew Mactavish -entering the booking-office an hour or two later. - -“But I am thirteen,” said Ralph quickly. - -“Then he must have a whole ticket,” said the official, and Sir Matthew -frowned but was obliged to comply. - -“You are so absurdly small,” he said glancing with annoyance at his -charge as they passed out on to the platform, “you might very well have -passed for under twelve.” - -Ralph felt hot all over, partly because no boy likes to be told that he -is small, partly because he was angry at being reproved for not standing -calmly by to see the railway company cheated. How could it be that a man -as wealthy as Sir Matthew could stoop to do a thing which his father -in spite of narrow means would never have thought of doing? He could -as soon have imagined him stealing goods from a shop as attempting -to defraud in this meaner, because less risky, fashion. However, Mr. -Marriott happily diverted his thoughts just then. - -“Are you fond of Dickens?” he said kindly. “Have you read his ‘Tale of -Two Cities,’ or his ‘Christmas Tales?’” - -Ralph had read neither, and was soon leaning back in his corner of -the railway carriage, forgetful of all his wretchedness, cheered -and fascinated, amused and filled with kind thoughts by the story of -Scrooge, and Marley’s ghost, and Tiny Tim, and the Christmas turkey. - -It was with a pang of regret that he bade old Mr. Marriott farewell when -they reached London, and illogically yet naturally enough he felt far -more grateful for the parting sovereign and the kindly glance which the -lawyer bestowed on him, than for his adoption by Sir Matthew. A sense -of utter desolation stole over him as Mr. Marriott disappeared, and he -followed his guardian into a hansom and found himself for the first time -in the heart of London. To his country eyes the crowded thoroughfares, -the grim houses, the bustle and confusion, and the sordid misery seemed -absolutely hateful; it was not until they happened to pass a theatre, -and he caught sight of the name of a well known actor that his face -brightened and his tongue was unloosed. - -“Oh!” he exclaimed, “does Washington act there? Is that his own -theatre?” - -“Yes, to be sure,” said Sir Matthew; “you shall go some night and see -him.” - -“Oh, thank you!” said Ralph rapturously; “how awfully good of you. -Father took me once to hear him at Southampton, he was playing in ‘The -Bells’ one Saturday afternoon. It was splendid; there was the dream you -know, you saw it all before you. He dreamt of the court of justice, and -all the time it was his own conscience that was killing him, and his -remorse for having murdered the traveller in the sleigh. I thought I -should have choked at the end when he believed they were hanging him; he -just says, you know, in a sort of gasp, ‘Take the rope off my neck!’ and -then he falls back dead, and the play ends. It felt so jolly to get out -of the dark theatre into the street, and to find the sun shining, and -everything as jolly as usual, and to know that all that dreadful misery -wasn’t really true.” - -“Not true?” said Sir Matthew reflectively. “H’m!” He looked with a sort -of envy at the boy’s clear innocent eyes, then he turned away; whether -he were absorbed in his own thoughts or in the observation of the dingy -crowd, it would have been hard to say. - -They paused at a house in Bow Street where he had to make some inquiry, -and Ralph fell into a happy dream about his latest hero the great actor, -returning with a pang to the uncomfortable present when the hansom at -length drew up at a house in Queen Anne’s Gate. - -Feeling very small and desolate he followed his guardian up the broad -steps and into the imposing entrance hall. - -“Wipe your shoes,” said Sir Matthew, in his brisk authoritative tone. - -Ralph obediently complied, and saw somewhat to his amusement that the -same command was printed in large black letters on the mat. - -“When I have a house of my own,” he reflected, “there shall be a doormat -with SALVE on it. Then the chaps will know I’m awfully glad to see them, -and that I’m not thinking first of my carpets.” - -Sir Matthew, meantime, had been talking to a greyheaded butler; Ralph -only caught the closing remark: “And let someone show Master Denmead up -to the school-room.” - -The butler looked at the small lonely boy in his black suit. “Fraulein -and Miss Evereld are out, sir,” he replied unwilling to send this -sad-faced little lad into the utter solitude of the upper regions. - -“Oh, very well, then you had better come with me, Ralph,” said Sir -Matthew, and he led the way upstairs. The boy glanced nervously round -as they entered. This was not one of the homelike, comfortable, used -drawing-rooms such as he had grown to love at Westbrook Hall, but a -great saloon upholstered in the best style of a well-known firm, and as -lacking in soul and individuality as a Parisian doll. - -There were several people present. Lady Mactavish a peevish-looking -woman with small suspicious blue eyes and a nervous manner, shook hands -with him and looked him over in a dissatisfied way as though mentally -reflecting what in the world she was to do with him. - -“Janet,” she called turning to her elder daughter, “this is poor Mr. -Denmead’s son.” - -Janet, a somewhat sharp-featured clever-looking girl of four-and-twenty, -came up and shook hands with him, but her cold light eyes beneath the -fringe of red hair, looked to him unfriendly. She just passed him on to -her younger sister who was enjoying a comfortable little flirtation at -the other side of the room with a middle-aged officer. - -“This is Ralph Denmead, Minnie,” she said, returning to her former -place, and resuming the interrupted conversation with a lady caller. - -Minnie, who was also redhaired, had a more friendly expression, she -smiled at him as she shook hands. - -“Fraulein has taken Evereld to her French class, but they will soon be -home, and then they will look after you,” she said, motioning him to -a chair at some little distance from herself and the Major. It was a -modern imitation of an antique chair, very hard in the seat, very high -from the ground, and with rich carving all over the back which made any -sort of comfort impossible. As he sat on it with his legs uncomfortably -dangling, he saw the lady who was talking to Janet put up her -long-handled eye-glass, and inspect him critically as if he had been -some strange animal at the Zoological Gardens. However small schoolboys -were not interesting, she soon put down the eye-glass and turned to Miss -Mactavish with a question which arrested Ralph’s attention. - -“By the bye, have you read ‘The Marriage of Melissa’? It is the book of -the season, you must get it my dear at once, everyone is talking of it, -and it is an open secret that Sir Algernon Wyte and Mrs. Hereward Lyne -wrote it, though of course it appeared anonymously.” - -“What is it? A society novel?” - -“Yes, and such a plot! There’s a tremendous run upon it they say, and -wherever you go you hear people discussing it.” - -Then followed a graphic account of the chief characters, and the most -difficult situations; it was a plot which made the boy’s ears tingle. He -wriggled round in his chair and tried to become interested in the vapid -talk of Major Gillot and Minnie, it was doubtless very interesting to -them, but to him it seemed the most insane interchange of bantering -compliments and teasing replies that he had ever heard. Was this love -making? he wondered. If so, they did it much better in books. It was not -in this fashion that Frank Osbaldistone wooed Di Vernon, or that John -Kidd made love to Lorna Doone. - -He looked wearily across to the hearthrug where Sir Matthew was shouting -unintelligible jargon about the money market into the ear of a deaf -old Scotsman; then in desperation tried to listen to Lady Mactavish’s -grumbling voice as she related her difficulties to a soothing and -sympathetic friend. - -“You are always burdening yourself with other people’s affairs,” said -the purring voice of the adept in flattery. - -“Well,” said Lady Mactavish, “you see my husband is one of those men who -inspire confidence. They all turn to him naturally. And I do assure you -he has a perfect passion for adopting children. There’s this boy to-day. -To-morrow it will be some other sad case. A little while ago it was -Evereld Ewart, poor Sir Richard Ewart’s little girl. You must see her -by and bye. Yes, we have taken her in and her nurse and her German -governess. It’s been a very great anxiety to me, a great responsibility, -though I make no complaint of the child. Still one likes to have one’s -house to oneself.” - -“And dear Sir Matthew,” remarked the friend, “is fast turning it into an -orphan asylum. But there it’s just like him! so noble-minded! So ready -to give and glad to distribute!” - -There came a little interlude with the tea. Ralph handed about cups and -hot scones which looked very tempting he thought. But there was no cup -for him; evidently boys of his age were not supposed to feed in the -drawing-room. He returned to the mock antique chair with its bony -back and thought wistfully of the drawing-room at Westbrook Hall, and -wondered whether Mab was at this very moment finishing that particularly -good Buzzard cake to which she had so lavishly helped him yesterday. At -lunch he had been too miserable to eat, but now he was ravenous, and to -be at once hungry and lonely and unhappy was a sensation he had never -before experienced. How was he to bear this detestable new life? How was -he to take root in this uncongenial soil? - -His dismal reverie was interrupted by Lady Mactavish’s voice: “Just -ring the bell, Ralph. By this time she must surely be in.” Then as the -butler appeared, the welcome news came that Miss Evereld was at that -moment on the stairs. Orders were given that she should come in at once. - -Ralph looked eagerly towards the open door, and watched the entrance -of a little girl who was apparently about a year or two younger than -himself. She was dressed in a short black frock trimmed with crape, but -nothing else about her was mournful, her nut-brown hair seemed full -of golden sunbeams, her rosy face was dimpled and smiling; she seemed -neither shy nor forward, but stood patiently listening to the remarks -of Lady Mactavish, and old Lady Mountpleasant, as long as was necessary, -then having received a warm greeting from Sir Matthew, who appeared to -be genuinely fond of her, she caught sight of Ralph and crossing the -room shook hands with him in an eager friendly way. The tide of general -conversation rolled on, but the two children stood silently looking at -each other for a minute or two. At last Evereld had a happy intuition. - -“Are you not hungry?” she said. - -“Yes, starving,” said Ralph, with a pathetic glance at the scones. - -“It’s no good,” said Evereld, noting the look. “We never have anything -down here, but we’ll try and slip away quietly. No one really wants us -you see. And I’ll beg Bridget to make us some hot buttered toast. She is -the dearest old thing in the world.” - -“Does she live here?” said Ralph, as though he doubted whether anything -superlatively good would be found beneath Sir Matthew’s roof. - -“She is my nurse,” said Evereld. “We came from India you know last -February. Her husband was a soldier but he died, and then she came to be -our servant. Look, some more callers are coming in, now is our time to -slip out.” - -Ralph gladly followed the little girl as she glided dexterously from the -room, and it was with a sense of mingled triumph and relief that they -found themselves outside on the staircase. - -“Fraulein Ellerbeck and I have been talking all day about your coming,” - said Evereld, as they toiled up to the top of the house. “The telegram -only came at breakfast.” - -“They must all have thought it an awful bore to have me,” said Ralph, -remembering Lady Mactavish’s preference for having her house to herself. - -“We schoolroom people didn’t think it a bore,” said Evereld, gaily. “You -can’t think how dull it is to have no one to play with. I could hardly -do my French this afternoon for wondering about you, and once when the -master asked me something about the difference between _connaître_ -and _savoir_, I said, by mistake, ‘Ralph Denmead.’ It was dreadful! -Everyone laughed.” She laughed herself at the remembrance. “But, you -see, I had been thinking how well we should get to know each other.” - -A comforting sense of comradeship crept into Ralph’s sore heart; he -forgot his troubles for a while as he looked at the merry face beside -him. It was what he would have called an “awfully jolly” little face, -with soft curves and a dainty little mouth and chin, a rounded forehead -from which the hair was unfashionably thrown back, and a pair of clear -blue eyes that made him think of speedwell blossoms. - -Evereld led him in triumph to the schoolroom to introduce him to her -governess, and Miss Ellerbeck’s warm German greeting, so unlike the -chilly reception he had met with in the drawing-room, at once set him -at his ease. Bridget, too, accorded him a hearty welcome, and brought -in enough toast even to satisfy a hungry schoolboy. She was a motherly -person, with one of those rather melancholy dark faces of almost Spanish -outline which one meets with among the Mayo peasants. But not all her -wanderings or her troubles as a soldier’s wife and widow had robbed her -of that delicious quaint humour which brightens many a desolate Irish -cabin, and which brightened some parts of this great desolate London -house. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - - “I do not love thee, Dr. Fell, - - The reason why I cannot tell; - - But this alone I know full well, - - I do not love thee, Dr. Fell.” - -|Precisely why the house seemed to him so dreary Ralph would have found -it hard to say. It did not usually strike people as anything but a model -English home. Something had, however, given the boy a clue, and already -he vaguely guessed, what no one else suspected, that there was a -skeleton in the cupboard. Little enough had fallen from his father’s -lips during those last days, yet Ralph had gathered an impression that -in some way Sir Matthew was connected with that disastrous speculation -which had ruined his father. He was far too young and ignorant to -understand the matter, and even had he been sure that Mr. Marriott knew -all the facts he could not have asked the old lawyer to explain things -to him, for was not Sir Matthew his godfather? a godfather, moreover, -who had generously undertaken to provide for him till he was grown up? -He was ashamed of himself for not being able to feel more grateful, but -that vague dislike and distrust which he had felt during their first -talk at Whinhaven Rectory, only grew stronger each hour. - -When the last guest had departed, Sir Matthew was beset by eager -questions. - -“Why did you adopt that horrid little schoolboy, papa?” said Janet, -reproachfully. “You are far too generous.” - -“My dear, you forget; he is my godson, and I couldn’t leave him without -a helping hand. His father entrusted him to me.” - -“They are all ready to sponge upon you, papa,” said Minnie. “A -reputation for generosity is a terrible thing.” - -“For a man’s daughters, eh?” he said, laughingly. “Well, my dear, I -don’t want you to be troubled in the least. The boy will be going to -Winchester in September, and we shall only have him in the holidays. As -for little Evereld, we shall not be keeping her after her first season -unless I’m much mistaken.” - -“It’s true she is an heiress,” said Lady Mactavish, critically, “but -I doubt if she will make a very stylish girl. And she’s far too -conscientious to get on well in society.” - -“Well, well, we shall see,” said Sir Matthew, easily. “Already she has -one fervent admirer. Bruce Wylie makes himself a perfect fool about the -child.” - -“He’s old enough to be her father,” said Janet. - -“But she couldn’t have a better husband,” said Sir Matthew, in the voice -that meant that no more was to be said. “Nothing would give me greater -satisfaction than to see poor Ewart’s daughter safely under the -protection of a man like Wylie, before the heiress-hunters have had time -to torment her.” - -“You remember that he dines with us this evening?” said Lady Mactavish. - -“Yes, to be sure; let me have a list of the guests. And, my dear, remind -me that I promised Lady Mountpleasant to open the bazaar for the Decayed -Gentlefolk’s Aid Society at the Albert Hall next month.” - -“We are no sooner off with one bazaar than we are on with another,” - protested Minnie. “Bazaars seem to me the curse of the age.” - -“Blessings in disguise, my dear,” replied her father, with a smile. “The -days of simple humdrum giving are over, and nowadays, with great wisdom, -we kill two or more birds with one stone. To my mind, the bazaar is a -most useful institution, and I should be sorry to see it abandoned.” - -“Ah, you would ruin yourself with giving, if I allowed you to do -it,” said Lady Mactavish, glancing up at him with an air of pride and -admiration which for the moment made her hard face beautiful. - -The words touched him, and as he left the room he stooped and kissed her -forehead. Yet, on the way down to his library, an odd sarcastic smile -played about his lips, and he thought to himself, “They have yet to -learn that, had St. Paul been a man of the world, he would have added -a postscript to his famous chapter, and said, ‘For charity is the best -policy.’” - -In the meanwhile the schoolroom party were snugly ensconced in the -window-seat overlooking St. James’s Park. Ralph had been cheered by -the sight of a regiment of Horse Guards, and Miss Ellerbeck had been -beguiled into telling them stories of the Franco-Prussian War and of -her brother’s adventures during the campaign. By and bye, as the evening -advanced, they were interrupted by the appearance of old Geraghty the -butler. - -“Sir Matthew would like you to be in the drawing-room before dinner, Miss -Evereld,” he said, “and I was to say there was no need for the young -gentleman to come down. Maybe he’s tired after the journey,” concluded -the Irishman, adding these polite words of his own accord, for Sir -Matthew had curtly remarked, “Not Master Denmead, you understand.” - -“That means that Mr. Bruce Wylie is coming!” cried Evereld, joyously. -“He’s such a nice man, and he always brings me chocolate--real French -chocolate. I never go down unless Mr. Wylie is there. You’ll like him, -Ralph; he has such nice kind eyes, and such a soft voice.” - -“Well, you must run and dress, my child,” said Miss Ellerbeck; “and I, -too, must be wishing you both goodnight, for I go, as you remember, with -a friend to the Richter concert. We will light the gas for you, Ralph, -and then you must, for a short time, make yourself happy with your -Charles Dickens. Evereld will soon come back to you.” - -She bade him a kind good-night, and Ralph took up “The Cricket on the -Hearth” and tried to read. But it would not do; the book had ceased to -appeal to him. He threw it down, lowered the gas, and returned to the -open window, leaning his arms on the sill and looking down through the -bars at the dim road beneath, with its endless succession of cabs and -carriages. For a little while it amused him to count the red and yellow -lamps as they flitted by, but soon his sorrow overwhelmed him once more. -It was the first time he had been alone since that morning hour in the -fir-grove at Whinhaven, and now once more all the misery of his loss -forced itself upon him. He was well fed, well housed, and his immediate -future was provided for, yet, perhaps, in all London, there was not at -that moment a more desolate little fellow. To be violently plucked up -by the roots and for ever banished from that goodly heritage that had -so far been his, was in itself hard enough; but to belong to no one in -particular, to be planted down and expected to grow and thrive among -loveless strangers seemed intolerable, and no ambitious dreams of a -future in India came now to his help! He saw nothing before him but an -endless vista of this same pain and aching loss. Tomorrow would be as -to-day, and all real happiness had, he fancied, gone from him for ever. -There is nothing quite so poignant as a child’s first great grief, -though mercifully, like all acute pain, it cannot last long. - -The passing lights down below had long ceased to interest him, but -presently through his tears he happened to notice the pointers and the -Pole Star, and found a sort of comfort in what had for so long been -familiar. At any rate the same sky was over Whinhaven and London, -and the motto which he could remember puzzling over in his childhood, -illuminated in one of the Rectory rooms, returned now to his -mind--“Astra castra, Numen lumen.” It was true that the stars were his -canopy, but was God his light? Had He not plunged his whole life in -darkness, and set him far away from love and help and all that could -keep a boy straight? - -The Westminster chimes rang out just then into the night air, startling -him back from his perplexed wondering. Ralph was not of the temperament -that is liable to doubt. He took life very simply, and it would have -been almost impossible seriously to disturb the faith into which he had -grown up; the wave of wretched questioning passed, and he knew in his -heart that just as over the great city with its debates and crimes, its -sorrows and struggles, the bells ring out their message, so heavenly -voices are ringing through the consciences of men, guiding, controlling, -influencing all. Had not his father always said it was mere miserable -cowardice to believe that darkness would triumph over light, that -selfish competition would in the end conquer? Love was to be the victor. -Love was to rule. And the great deep bell as it boomed out the hour -seemed to his fancy to ring--“Love! Love! Love!” over the restless crowd -of hearers. - -In the meantime, however, his heart was still aching with the loss of -the man who had been friend and companion, teacher and father in one. -Surely since God loved him He would send some one to comfort him? Some -one whose voice he could hear, whose hand he could grasp. For after all -it was the outward tokens of love and comfort that he craved, as all -beings of a threefold nature must crave them. A spiritual love could not -as yet suffice him. - -Now as Ralph leant on the window-sill crying quietly, much as a soldier -slowly bleeds on a battlefield because there is no one to staunch his -wound, the schoolroom door opened. He had expected some one to be sent -to his great need, but had pictured to himself a man. He glanced round -into the dim room and started when he saw, instead, only a little -white-robed figure. - -“Of course,” he thought to himself in his disappointment, “I ought to -have known. It is only Evereld come back.” - -“Oh, it’s you,” he said, with profound dejection in his voice. - -“Are you all in the dark?” said Evereld. - -“I’ve been looking at the carriage lamps,” he replied, evasively. - -Evereld made no comment, she knew quite well that he had been crying, -and a great shyness stole over her--a terror of not being able to reach -him, and yet a consuming desire somehow to comfort him. She remembered -that in her own grief grown-up people had always tried to soothe her -with the adjuration, “Don’t cry, darling.” She had never found any -comfort in the words, and of course they would vex a boy. Dick would -have hated them. - -“Do you know,” she said suddenly, “in some ways you do so remind me of -Dick.” - -“Who is he?” asked Ralph, still in the dejected voice. - -“Dick is my brother,” said Evereld. “He died last winter. There was -an outbreak of cholera. On the Thursday father and mother died, on the -Friday Dick and I were taken ill, and when I got better they told me -he was gone. I was the only one left.” Her voice quivered a little. She -ended abruptly. - -“Oh!” cried Ralph, like one in pain, and instinctively he caught her -hand in his and held it fast. There was a silence. It seemed as if they -did not need words just then. - -Ralph had not found the strong man of his dreams; he had found instead -a little girl with griefs greater than his own, and he felt a longing to -comfort her and care for her, and as far as possible to be to her what -Dick would have been. - -“Was he older than I am?” was his first question. - -“He was thirteen,” said Evereld. “His birthday was in last September--on -the 15th.” - -“And I was thirteen in September, too,--on the 9th,” said Ralph. - -“Only a week between you--how strange!” said Evereld. “And about -soldiers he was just like you. When you rushed to the window this -afternoon and saw all the little details about the Horse Guards’ -uniforms, that I never much noticed before, you made me think of Dick -directly. He was crazy about uniforms, and Bridget used to make them for -him. We’ll get her to make you one.” - -“Do you think she would?” said Ralph, forgetting his troubles. “We could -act all sorts of things then, you know. Do you like acting?” - -“I love the dressing-up part,” said Evereld, “I don’t much care about -the talking, Dick used to do most of that.” - -“I’ll do that part,” said Ralph blithely, for although shy and reserved -with his elders, he was never at a loss for words in a charade, and the -two instantly fell to discussing future plans, forgetting every grief -and care in the bliss of perfect companionship. - -“Let us come down now,” said Evereld, presently. “Geraghty promised to -bring us whatever we liked. We’ll sit on the lowest flight of stairs, -you know, and he’ll help us as the dishes come out of the dining-room. -It’s such fun. I always do it when there’s a dinner-party.” - -Ralph consented willingly enough, and found something cheering in the -general air of excitement that pervaded the house. They sat cosily on -the rich stair carpet with its soft Eastern colouring, a funny little -pair, he in his deep black, she in her white Indian muslin, watching the -servants as they hurried to and fro, and enjoying what Evereld termed -“that nice sort of late-dinner smell.” - -“But it makes one awfully hungry,” said Ralph, and the good-natured -Geraghty, catching the words, murmured a comforting assurance as he -passed by, “I’m coming to you directly, sir,” and in a minute or two -with a beaming face he reappeared with two delicious oyster patties. - -“How clever you are, Geraghty,” said the little girl. “You always know -just what will be nicest.” Whether Geraghty had much regard for their -powers of digestion may be doubted, but he took a rare delight in -tempting them with every delicacy, from prawns in aspic, to that curious -dish called “Angels on horseback.” Ralph was half way through a huge -helping of ice pudding when a momentary pang of doubt and reproach -seized him. Ought he to be feasting on the very day of his father’s -funeral? Evereld saw the change in his face, and helped by what she had -lately lived through, was able to read his thoughts. “Dick will be so -glad that I’ve got you,” she said, smiling, though Ralph fancied there -were tears in her eyes. “I somehow think that your father and mine will -be talking together to-night.” - -And those few comfortable words were more to the boy than any number of -sermons on the resurrection; all his vague beliefs were freshened into -living parts of his everyday existence, and for the first time he knew -for himself what had been to him hitherto merely things that others told -him. - -A sudden lull in the roar of voices from the dining-room now took place, -after which the Babel of many tongues rose once more. “They are just -beginning dessert,” said Evereld. “That was grace, and in a few minutes -the ladies will be coming upstairs. I think we had better go to bed -now.” - -So they parted, after having arranged that in the walking hour on the -next morning, they would go together and sail Ralph’s little schooner in -St. James’ Park. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - - “Of my grief (guess the length of the sword by the sheath’s); - - By the silence of life, more pathetic than death’s! - - Go--be clear of that day.” - - E. Barrett Browning. - -|The Park seemed dull and well-nigh deserted when, at about ten o’clock -on the following day, Fraulein Ellerbeck and the two children made their -way to the water’s edge. Fraulein said she would establish herself on a -seat in a sheltered nook not far off, and the children carried her book -and her knitting-bag for her, chatting as they walked. Pacing slowly -towards them was a figure which somehow arrested their attention. - -“Why,” said Evereld, lowering her voice, “it is surely the man we saw as -_Benedick_, last March, Fraulein. It’s Hugh Macneillie, the actor.” - -Ralph looked curiously and with great interest at a member of the -profession which had such charms for him. - -Macneillie was a man of about seven and thirty, with chestnut-brown -hair, strongly marked features, and a muscular, well-knit figure. -About his clean-shaven face there was an air of profound gravity which -surprised Ralph, who could not conceive how a man capable of acting -_Benedick_, and noted for his subtle sense of humour, could wear such -an anxious and melancholy expression. He glanced at them with dreamy, -absent eyes and paced slowly by. - -Yet the little group had not been altogether lost on Hugh Macneillie in -spite of the unseeing look in his eyes. He had carried away a curiously -vivid impression of the two children, their black garments and their -fresh young faces. He gave an impatient sigh, and paced on with quicker -steps, yet turned again to walk by the side of the water, every now and -then glancing at his watch with an air of vexation. He had been waiting -there for a good hour, and he was in a mood which made waiting specially -irksome. - -“I will give her till half past ten,” he thought to himself, and walked -doggedly on, his face growing more and more haggard as the time -passed by. At last the Westminster chimes rang out the half hour; he -mechanically took out his watch again to verify the time, and setting -his teeth hard turned to go. - -At that moment there suddenly appeared, walking towards him, a very -beautiful woman. It was difficult to say precisely in what her great -charm lay. Her every movement was full of grace, and although she was -dressed with scrupulous quietness--indeed with a simplicity that was -almost severe,--no one could have passed her by without a lingering -glance. Her complexion was pale but very fair, her hair was like spun -gold, contrasting curiously with the brown, deep-set eyes; and -though the mouth was a little too wide and betrayed a not ever strong -character, both face and manner were full of that indescribable -fascination which carries all before it. - -Macneillie, though he met her in the company of other people every day -of his life, though he had known her for at least ten years, went to -meet her now with his heart throbbing painfully. She gave him a charming -little greeting, and apologised prettily for being so unpunctual. - -“It is Elizabeth’s fault,” she said, glancing at the maid who -accompanied her. “She allowed me to oversleep myself. You can wait for -me on that bench Elizabeth, I shall not be long.” - -The maid walked back to the seat where Fraulein Ellerbeck sat with her -knitting, and Macneillie, who had scarcely spoken a word as yet, broke -the silence as they paced on together. “I had almost given you up,” he -said, a world of repressed impatience in his tone. - -“That’s the wisest thing I ever heard you say, Hugh,” she replied -lightly, though with a secret effort. “But you must go further. It must -be not only almost, but altogether.” - -“Don’t let us talk in parables,” said Macneillie, passionately. “You -can’t compare an hour’s waiting in a park with ten years waiting through -the best part of a man’s life.” - -A look of pain flashed across her face: there was remorse and tenderness -in her voice as she replied. But there was not the love he had once -heard there, and he knew it well enough. - -“Poor Hugh!” she said, “I have treated you very badly. But how am I to -help myself. We have waited for each other, as you say, these ten years, -but you know well enough that my father and mother will never consent. -They have made up their minds that I shall make a very different -marriage.” - -“In other words,” said Macneillie between his teeth, “they have made up -their minds to sell you to the highest bidder.” - -“No, no, you are so exaggerated, Hugh. Every one can’t look at the -matter as you with your religious education in the Highlands look at -it. Marriage is, after all, an arrangement affecting many people and -interests. We are not living in a romance but in the prosaic nineteenth -century. And I must not just please myself. I must think of what will -best help on my career; my first duty is undoubtedly to help and to -please my parents who have done so much for me.” - -“You didn’t think so ten years ago,” said Macneillie. - -“Ten years ago I was a foolish girl of seventeen. You had been very good -to me when the year before I had been taken straight from school and set -down alone and friendless in a travelling company. It was natural enough -that I should love you then, Hugh--you who shielded me and helped me.” - -“But later on,” said Macneillie, clenching his hands, “when you no -longer were lonely and friendless, when fame had come to you and all the -world was at your feet, you very naturally needed me no longer, and your -love died. Mine was never that sort of love--it will always live.” - -Christine Greville looked down with troubled face. Ambition and the -importunities of her parents had for the time stifled her love. She felt -cold and hard. His passionate constancy annoyed her. “I wish,” she said -plaintively, “you would not speak like that, Hugh. I hate to think that -I have pained you, or spoiled your life; but what am I to do? What am I -to do?” - -He turned to her eagerly. - -“Be true to your best self, Christine. Trust the man who loved you long -before this Sir Roderick Fenchurch had ever seen you. I’m not blind! I -can see the advantages you might gain by marrying him! You would be very -rich. You could have your own theatre, you would leap at once to a much -higher position. But do you dream that such a marriage would be happy? -Why, you have hardly a taste in common, and he is old enough to be your -father.” - -“Oh, as to happiness,” she said, impatiently, “I have long ceased to -expect that. Don’t think me brutal if I speak plainly. I have had your -love all these years, and it has not made me really happy. And if I -married you, Hugh, I should not be happy at all. You are much too good -for me, your standard of life is far too high. You would not be able to -draw me up, and I should be always longing to drag you down to my level. -It would be a life of perpetual strain and tension.” - -“No, no,” he cried passionately, and as he spoke he caught her hand -in his as though he felt that she was slipping from him. “Together, -darling, we should be happy, we should be strong to work for art’s sake -and for truth’s sake--strong to fight all that is evil.” - -They had paused, and were standing now beside the railing that fenced -off the grass and bushes, and within a stone’s throw of Ralph and -Evereld; half unconsciously Macneillie watched the progress of the -toy boat as the soft summer wind filled its white sails. At a little -distance the ducks swam about the wooded island, and in the golden haze -Queen Anne’s Mansions loomed up impressively like some great fortress. - -“But I don’t want to toil and to struggle like that,” said his -companion, petulantly. “Every word you say only proves to me how far we -have drifted apart, Hugh. You have a sort of ideal of me in your mind -not in the least like the true Christine. I tell you I am tired of all -your ideals and aims and dreams of raising the drama. That is not what I -care for. I care for success and applause--yes I do, don’t interrupt me. -I care for them, and I must have them. And I want a better position, and -I want much, much more money. I want other things, too, which you can -never give me. You’ll never be a rich man, Hugh, it’s somehow not in -you; you’ll never push your way to the very front of the profession. But -I must do that, nothing but the very first place will satisfy me. I have -ten times your ambition.” - -“By that sin fell the angels,” said Macneillie. - -“Don’t quote Shakspere, we have enough of him every evening,” she said, -forcing a laugh. “And for me, I am not an angel as you very well know. -Come, let us make an end of this useless talk. My father is at this -moment discussing settlements with Sir Roderick, and in a day or two all -the world will know that the marriage is arranged.” - -Macneillie’s lips moved but no words would come--he breathed hard. - -“Don’t look like that, Hugh,” she exclaimed. “We shall often see each -other; we shall be the best of friends; and when I have my own theatre, -why you shall be the first to find a place in the company.” - -A look of hot anger flashed across Macneillie’s haggard face. - -“Do you think I would accept such a post?” he said, indignantly. “For -what do you take me?” Then, his tone softening to tender reproach, “You -don’t understand a man’s love--you don’t understand!” - -“Perhaps I don’t understand it,” she said, looking rather nettled; “but -I have met plenty of men who were dying for love of me one month and -raving about some one else the next. There, I must go home. Talking -only makes matters worse. Go and take a good walk, Hugh, or you will act -abominably to-night. _Au revoir!_” - -She beckoned to her maid and turned away abruptly, anxious to put an -end to an interview which had been trying to both of them. Her face -was grave and down-cast as she walked, and more than once she sighed -heavily. She had never been formally betrothed to Macneillie, but there -had been a private engagement between them, and she had spoken quite -truly when she said that his care during her girlhood had shielded her -from many perils. Her love for him had been very real; she had struggled -long against the opposition of her parents, but at last her strength had -failed, and little by little she had yielded to the influence which by -degrees had paralysed her powers of loving. - -“Poor Hugh,” she thought to herself, remorsefully. “He is terribly cut -up. But I was never good enough for him. Sir Roderick and the low level -will suit me much better.” - -After he was left alone, Macneillie did not move for some minutes. He -just leant on the iron fence with clenched hands and set face, despair -in his heart. The voices of the two children to the right fell on his -ear, mingling strangely with his miserable thoughts. - -“I shall lose her! I shall lose her!” cried the boy in a tragic voice. - -“How came you to let go of the string?” asked his small companion. - -“I had forgotten all about it; I was thinking of those people. Hurrah! -the wind is shifting; she is coming nearer. I do believe I could reach -her with my stick.” - -Macneillie watched the boy’s strenuous efforts to recapture the tiny -craft, which seemed almost within his reach, yet somehow always eluded -him. Suddenly, at the very moment when his stick had touched the boat, -he lost his balance and fell headlong over the low foot-rail into the -water. - -Macneillie had hurried to the rescue before Evereld’s cry of terror had -reached Fraulein Ellerbeck. He lifted out the dripping boy and laid him -on the path, and Ralph, recovering from the shock and rubbing his wet -eyelashes, looked up to find a grave face bending over him and to meet -the inquiry of the kindest blue-grey eyes he had ever seen. - -“None the worse for your bath, I hope?” said Macneillie, smiling a -little. - -“No, thank you,” said Ralph, struggling to his feet and looking very -much like Johnnie Head-in-air when “with hooks the two strong men hooked -poor Johnnie out again.” - -“It was awfully good of you to help me,” he added, gratefully. - -“And now let us rescue the boat,” said Macneillie, winning golden -opinions from the children by the real pains he took to capture the _Rob -Roy_, and the same from Fraulein Ellerbeck by his courteous farewell. - -“So few Englishmen,” she remarked, “know how to bow. You must take a -lesson from him, Ralph.” - -“And, oh, Fraulein,” said Evereld, as they walked briskly home, that -Ralph might change his clothes, “did you see what a long time Miss -Christine Greville stayed talking to him? And part of the time they were -quite close to us, and we heard her say that soon every one would know -she was to be married--I think, to some very rich man--and she would -have a theatre of her own, and Mr. Macneillie should act there.” - -“You should not have listened, my dears,” said Fraulein Ellerbeck, -uneasily. - -“But, indeed, Fraulein, we couldn’t help it; her voice was so very, -very clear, it reached us every word just like raindrops pattering on -leaves.” - -“And so did his voice too,” said Ralph. “He seemed quite angry when -she said that. He said he would never accept such a post, and that she -didn’t a bit understand how he loved her.” - -“Well, well,” said Fraulein, “let us say no more about it now; and -be sure you never repeat what you accidentally overheard. It may be a -secret from people in general, and it would be more honourable if you -treated it as a secret.” - -The children promised that they would do so, but, like the celebrated -parrot, though they said nothing, they thought the more, and Macneillie -became their great hero. Through him they had both received their first -glimpse into the unknown region where men and women loved and suffered; -and, since they both were missing the familiar home life and the close -companionship of parents, they seized eagerly on this new outlet -for certain feelings of reverence and hero-worship which they both -possessed. - -Could the actor have known what sympathy and devotion these two felt for -him, or how real was their childish love and admiration, he would have -felt, even at that bitter time in his life, a touch of amused gratitude -and wonder. Wholly unknown to himself he was filling the minds of two -somewhat desolate little mortals, brightening their tedious days, and -drawing them out of themselves and their own troubles. - -Often, in after years, they would laugh to think what pleasure they had -found in running downstairs before the breakfast gong had sounded, that -they might get possession of the _Times_ and see the announcement of -“Hamlet,” in which Macneillie was appearing. And one morning it chanced -that their two smiling faces were still bent over the paper when Sir -Matthew came into the room. - -“Well,” he said, kindly, “what good news have you found?” - -For once Ralph forgot the shy stiffness of manner which usually crept -over him at his guardian’s approach. - -“Oh,” he said, in an eager boyish way, “We were just looking at the cast -for ‘Hamlet.’” - -“To be sure. I had quite forgotten that you were stage-struck, and -that I had promised you to go to see Washington. You must get Fraulein -Ellerbeck to take you some day.” - -“We would much rather see Macneillie,” said Evereld, “for it was -Macneillie, you know, who helped Ralph out when he tumbled into the -water.” - -“Very well,” said Sir Matthew, “then do that instead. Fraulein -Ellerbeck, will you take tickets for them?--and the sooner the better, -for I hear there has been a great run on the seats there since the -announcement of Miss Greville’s marriage. She’s to marry Sir Roderick -Fenchurch at the end of the season.” - -Ralph and Evereld having poured forth delighted thanks, discreetly kept -silence when the conversation turned on Miss Greville’s betrothal. - -“They say, you know,” said Janet, “that it is a great surprise to every -one, and that it was always supposed she would marry Macneillie.” - -And in response to this every one had something to say about the -probability or the improbability of such a story, save the two children -who, with a proud pleasure in feeling that Macneillie’s secret was safe -in their keeping, went on eating bacon with the most absolute control of -countenance. - -When the eagerly awaited day at length arrived and the two -hero-worshippers were sitting in bliss at the theatre, they found some -difficulty at first in recognising Macneillie. He was just the Danish -prince and no one else. It was only when both hero and heroine were -called before the curtain, that they could at all think of him as the -same man they had seen a few weeks before in St. James’ Park. - -As he led forward Miss Greville the contrast between them was curiously -marked. She, with her smiling face, her air of perfect ease and content, -seemed thoroughly to enjoy the warm reception. He, on the other hand, -merely bowed mechanically, and looked as if this interlude were -highly distasteful to him; the children could have fancied that he was -positively nervous, though they doubted whether an experienced actor -could really know what nervousness meant. - -After that call before the curtain they lost the sense that _Hamlet_ -himself was actually present; always through the passionate scenes -and the tragic death which followed, it was not entirely _Hamlet_, but -Macneillie with his own personal troubles that they saw; they wondered -much how he could get through his part, and more and more after that day -his name continually recurred in their talk, in their games, and even in -their prayers. - -Just at the close of the season they saw him once again. Fraulein -Ellerbeck had promised that on the first fine Saturday they should go -to Richmond Park, taking their lunch with them. They had learnt from the -conversation of their elders at the breakfast table that it was the -very day on which Miss Christine Greville was to marry Sir Roderick -Fenchurch. The marriage was to take place at a small country church, and -was to be of a strictly private character. They had talked of it more -than once as they sat at lunch under the trees in the park, and early -in the afternoon as they wandered along the quiet paths and watched the -deer grazing peacefully, their minds were full of their hero and his -trouble. Suddenly Evereld gripped hold of her companion’s arm. - -“Look!” she exclaimed in a low voice. “Is it not Mr. Macneillie?” - -Ralph’s heart beat fast as he glanced at the approaching figure. Had -their incessant thought of him conjured up a sort of vision of the -actor? Or was it indeed himself? Nearer approach answered the question -plainly enough. It was undoubtedly Macneillie, but there was something -in his ghastly face which struck terror into the boy’s heart, it -reminded him of that awful shadow of death which he had seen stealing -over his father on that last never-to-be-forgotten day. Apparently quite -unconscious of their presence, Macneillie passed by, but in a minute -Ralph, to the amazement of Fraulein Ellerbeck and Evereld, had rushed -back and overtaken him. - -“I beg your pardon,” he said, panting a little; “but I am the boy you -saved the other day in St. James’ Park. And--and please will you take -this knife as a remembrance.” - -He thrust into Macneillie’s hand a little old-fashioned silver fruit -knife which had belonged to his father. - -The actor evidently dragged himself back with an effort to the world -of realities. He looked in a puzzled way at the boy and at the embossed -handle of the knife. - -“You are very good,” he said in a perplexed tone. “Yes, yes, I remember -you now--you and your boat. But I don’t like to take your knife away -from you.” - -“But, indeed, I never use it; I always eat peel and all,” said Ralph -with an earnestness which brought a smile to Macneillie’s face. “We went -to see you as _Hamlet_, and you were splendid! Please take it. You don’t -know how awfully I like you.” - -Macneillie’s eyes gave him a kindly glance and his cold fingers closed -over the boy’s small hot hand in a hearty grip. - -“Then I will certainly use it,” he said. “It shall travel in my pocket -for the rest of my life. But only on condition that you take this. Don’t -get into mischief with it.” - -And with a smile he put into his hand a clasp-knife, and while Ralph was -still lost in admiration of the longest and sharpest blade he had ever -seen, Macneillie passed rapidly on and disappeared among the trees. - -“Oh, Ralph, how delightful!” cried Evereld, as the boy rejoined them. - -“How could you be so brave as to go up and speak to him?” - -“I’m awfully glad he took the fruit knife,” said Ralph. “But I wish -he hadn’t given me this. It’s such a beauty and I had done nothing for -him.” - -“Perhaps you had,” said Fraulein Ellerbeck, thoughtfully. “The unseen -and unrealised help is often the most real help of all.” - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -“_The recognition of his rights therefore, the justice he requires of -our hands or our thoughts, is the recognition of that which the person, -in his inmost nature, really is; and as sympathy alone can discover that -which really is in matters of feeling and thought, true justice is in -its essence a finer knowledge through love._” - -“_Appreciations,_” Walter Pater. - -|Six years after that memorable August day, Ralph and Evereld might -have been seen on the tennis ground attached to the pretty house near -Redvale, which Sir Matthew was pleased to call his “little country -cottage.” - -It was decidedly one of those cottages of gentility which once caused -the devil to grin. But in spite of that it was a very charming place. -Its windows commanded an exquisite view over the hills and woods of one -of the southern counties, and its gardens were the admiration of the -whole neighbourhood. The tennis-lawn lay to the left of the house in -a cosy nook of its own, and there was no one to see the vigorous game -which the two were playing. This was a pity, for the play was skilful -and dainty to watch, and the players themselves were worth looking at. - -Ralph, who had been a remarkably small boy, was never likely, as -Geraghty expressed it, to be “six foot long and broad,” but he had -developed into a well-proportioned, healthy-looking fellow, and still -retained his open, boyish face, expressive brown eyes, and thick, wavy -brown hair. Evereld was even less changed, she was still very small and -young for her age; and although she was fast approaching her eighteenth -birthday she wore the sort of nondescript dress which girls often wear -during their last year in the schoolroom, her skirt revealing a pair of -pretty ankles, and her hair still hanging down her back. - -The contest was an exciting one, but it ended in a victory for Ralph, -whose greater strength usually conquered. - -“I am heavily handicapped,” said Evereld, throwing up her racket with a -laugh. “We’ll borrow the vicar’s cassock and the Lord Chancellor’s wig -and you shall play a set in them and see if I don’t beat you then!” - -“Come and rest,” said Ralph, strolling towards the little shady arbour -at the side of the lawn. “The sun is grilling.” - -“You would find it worse if you had all this weight to endure,” said -Evereld, shaking back the cloud of nut-brown hair which hung over her -shoulders. “I shall take to plaiting it up, then at least one would be -cool.” - -“No, don’t!” protested Ralph. “You’ll never look half as nice -afterwards. And besides, when girls do up their hair they always leave -off being natural and get grown-up and horrid, and can’t talk sense to a -fellow.” - -“My hair has nothing to do with being natural,” said Evereld, fanning -herself with a big fern. “How could I help being natural with you, when -we have been together all this long time? How I do wish I were a boy and -might have gone in for the Indian Civil, too. By-the-by, Ralph, is that -to-day’s paper? Is there any news about your exam?” - -“They sent the wrong paper,” said Ralph taking it up. “See, it’s last -night’s _Evening Standard_ instead of this morning’s; they have been -taking a nap down at the bookstall. I wonder if there really is anything -in at last. It seems hard lines to keep us on tenterhooks from the 1st -June till August.” - -“I don’t believe you have worried about it. Your head was full of those -private theatricals the moment the exam. was over. How well they went -off! I never saw Sir Matthew so nice to you. He really did for once -appreciate you.” - -“That was because other people praised me” said Ralph. “He would never -have said one word of his own accord. You’ll never find him committing -himself before he knows whether he will be swimming with the stream.” - -“Ralph, do you know I think you are growing rather hard. I hate to hear -you say things like that about Sir Matthew. If Fraulein were here she -would have a hundred instances of his kindness to tell us.” - -“Yes she would,” owned Ralph. “She has been our good angel all these -years. Worse luck to that old professor who married her and left us to -ourselves. Why, Evereld, just look at it in that way. What should -you and I have been like if all this time we had only had the sort of -indifferent cold charity which the Mactavishes have given us? Oh, I know -there has been money spent on me: do you think I have ever been allowed -to forget that for a moment? But Sir Matthew spoils with one hand the -good he does with the other. Thank heaven, I shall soon be on my own -hook. I wonder what life out in India will be like--and what the chances -of getting any cricket are?” - -Evereld fell to talking of happy reminiscences of Simla, and they were -planning all manner of impossible arrangements for the future, in which -they fondly imagined their present brotherly and sisterly relations -would be maintained, when Bridget suddenly appeared upon the scene. - -“Miss Evereld,” she exclaimed, “you’d best be coming in to change your -frock, my dear. Sir Matthew has come down without any warning from -London. He’s in the library, Mr. Ralph and they did tell me he was -askin’ for you. Geraghty he just passed me the word that he thought Sir -Matthew was troubled in his mind about some little matter.” - -Ralph flushed. - -“You see now,” he exclaimed, turning to Evereld, “if I haven’t gone and -failed in that wretched exam! What on earth shall I do if I have?” - -“Why, you will go in for it again next year,” said Evereld -philosophically. “But who says you have failed? It may be nothing to -do with the exam. Besides, you know that your coach and Professor -Rosenwald and Fraulein--I mean Frau Rosenwald--all thought you were -safe to pass.” - -“I know I had worked hard,” said Ralph. “Well, let me go and hear the -worst at once.” - -“Don’t despair so soon. As for me, I believe you have passed, and that -it is only some business matter that’s worrying Sir Matthew. Good -luck to you. Don’t stay long in the library. I shall be dressed in ten -minutes.” - -She waved her hand gaily and ran upstairs, while Ralph, with a great -dread hanging over him, went to the library. - -With other people he was invariably cheerful and talkative, but with Sir -Matthew he was never his best self. To begin with, he was always ill -at ease, and by a sort of fate he seemed destined to say and do exactly -what would annoy his patron. If he was silent, Sir Matthew was in the -habit of rating him for his dulness. If he laughed and talked, he was -ordered not to make so much noise. If he hazarded an opinion he was sure -to meet with a snub, and at all times and seasons he was hedged in by -significant reminders that he was eating the bread of charity. It was -well for him that he had seen comparatively little of the Mactavishes, -thanks to his life at Winchester and to his friendship with Evereld and -her governess; but he had seen enough to do him considerable harm and -to plant seeds of pride, and hardness, and distrust of humanity in his -heart. - -Sir Matthew was sitting at his bureau. He glanced up as the door opened, -bestowed a curt nod upon Ralph and went on writing in silence. - -“They told me you were inquiring for me,” said Ralph nervously, noting -at once the storm signals in Sir Matthew’s face. - -“I did send for you,” said the master of the house grimly, as he signed -his name with two flourishing M’s, and methodically folded, directed and -stamped his dispatch. - -Ralph, horribly chafed by the manner of his reception and by the -suspense, turned to the window and took up a newspaper which was lying -near it. - -“Put that down,” thundered Sir Matthew, as though he had been ordering a -child of four years old. - -“Sir?” said Ralph, in angry astonishment. - -“Do you think I don’t understand your game,” said Sir Matthew. “You -are pretending to look for news of your examination when all the time -you perfectly well know that you have failed.” - -“Failed!” cried Ralph turning pale, and realising how little he had -believed in failure when he had talked of the possibility with Evereld. -“Who says I have failed? Where are the lists?” - -He snatched at the paper again, neither heeding Sir Matthew’s orders nor -his scoffing laugh. Here was the list of the successful candidates, and -with eager eyes he looked down it. The name of Denmead was not there. - -Sir Matthew silently watched his expression of bewildered despair, but -though it would have appealed to some men it did not appeal to him. - -“Now that the newspaper corroborates what I told you, perhaps you -believe my word,” he said sarcastically. - - “I beg your pardon,” said -Ralph, “I did not mean to doubt you--but the shock------” - -“Now my good fellow, you may as well be silent, the less said about a -shock the better; you know perfectly well that you never deserved to -pass that examination. You had idled away your time over cricket and -theatricals, and now you have to face the consequences.” - -“You are the first person to say that,” said Ralph, resentfully. “They -all told me I had an excellent chance and was well prepared.” - -“The examiners, however, thought differently,” said Sir Matthew; “your -work was miserable. I have this very day been making special inquiries -into the matter, that I may not judge you unfairly. You have not only -failed, but failed ignominiously. Don’t fidget about while I am talking -to you; sit down and listen to me for I have much to say.” - -Ralph forced himself to obey in silence. - -“I am perfectly well aware,” resumed Sir Matthew, “that nowadays young -men think nothing of failing, that they go in for an examination time -after time with light hearts while their unfortunate fathers have to pay -the piper. You were not in a position to behave in that fashion. And -you would have shown, I think, a finer sense of honour if you had worked -well.” - -“I did work,” said Ralph emphatically. “If you------” - -Sir Matthew raised his long hand and waved it downwards in a silencing -manner that was peculiarly his own. - -“I say nothing,” he continued, in his cool, measured tone, “as to what -I might have expected after the large sum I have thrown away on your -schooling at Winchester; I say nothing as to the three months in Germany -and the special coach I provided for you; I say nothing of the manner -in which I took you at once into my own house when there was no one to -stand by you; I say nothing as to the fatherly care I have bestowed on -you all these----” - -He broke off abruptly, for Ralph, with the look of one goaded past -bearing, had sprung to his feet. - -“No,” he cried passionately, “at least that word you shall not use: -there was never anything fatherly about you. All those other things that -you cast in my teeth though you say you won’t mention them--they are -true enough, and I have tried to be grateful--I--” he half choked in -the desperate struggle between his pride and a certain sense of courtesy -which still clung to him--“I will try always to be grateful.” He strode -across the room to the window, panting for air. A chuckle escaped Sir -Matthew. - -“You were always a good hand at acting,” he remarked, “but I shall be -obliged if you will come down from your high horse and remember that I -am talking about a business arrangement. Don’t waste my time, but listen -to what I have to say to you.” - -Ralph paced back again to the hearthrug and stood there, looking -steadily down at his patron. It somehow seemed as if in those few -moments he had passed from boyhood altogether, even Sir Matthew noted -the change in his look and bearing. “The only thing,” he resumed, “in -which I ever saw you really exert yourself was in that play at the -end of the season. I quite admit that you learnt the part of _Charles -Surface_ at very short notice and that you acted it far better than -any amateur I ever had the pain of watching. But to play a part in ‘The -School for Scandal’ is one thing, and to be fit to play your part in -life is another. You will never, I am convinced, be sharp enough for the -Indian Civil Service, I shall not permit you to go in again for it next -year. I have already wasted too much upon you and shall not throw good -money after bad. That’s always a mistake.” - -Ralph could not calmly stand by and hear his whole future overturned -without a word; he broke in eagerly, perhaps rashly. “Yet many have -failed the first time and afterwards turned out well,” he pleaded. “The -standard of age, too, is likely to be raised they say. I would work my -hardest. If you will let me try again----” But once more Sir Matthew -gave that expressive downward wave of the hand. - -“No,” he said peremptorily, “You have had your chance and lost it. -Still, I am loth to turn my back altogether on an old friend’s son, and -for my own satisfaction I offer you one more opportunity. I will make a -parson of you. Do you remember that snug little vicarage up in the north -of England where last year we went to call on a Mr. Crosbie? Years -ago the Mactavishes owned the living; it had been in the family for -generations. My father at a time when he was pressed for money sold it -to old Crosbie. I have long wished to have the property again, and only -to-day Crosbie happened to be in town and I got him to promise me that -if I bought the living he would undertake to retire in four years. You had -better not tell it in Gath, for of course the promise to retire is a -strictly private matter, but for the rest it’s all legal enough. Next -month you will be twenty. In four years you could be ordained priest, -and I will undertake to see you through your training and to put you -into this living. It’s three hundred and a house; you could be happy -enough up there, and for your father’s sake I am willing to do as much -as that for you.” - -There was something so artificial in those last words that Ralph, whose -anger had been rising every moment, now broke forth indignantly. - -“Is it for his sake that you put before me a temptation of this sort? -You surely know--you must know--that my father would never have accepted -a living obtained in that way. Had you offered it him, and had it been -worth ten times the money, he would not have touched it with a pair of -tongs. Why, the thing is rank simony!” - -“You receive offers of help in a somewhat curious fashion, young man,” - said Sir Matthew with a sneer. “But in spite of that I still think you -are very well cut out for a parson. Your dramatic instincts and your -good voice would fit you well enough for the Church, and you are already -able, I perceive, to preach to your elders and betters.” - -Ralph winced at the sarcasm, but he caught hold of the weak point in his -opponent’s argument. - -“No,” he said, emphatically, “I am not fit for the work of a clergyman. -The only thing that can fit a man for that is a distinct call from God. -You are tempting me to go in for the loaves and fishes, and you dare -to say that you do this for my father’s sake--my father, who would have -starved first!” - -“Perhaps he would,” said Sir Matthew coldly. “He was, as all his friends -knew, an unpractical fool. You needn’t look as if you could kill me. He -had excellent abilities but no power of pushing his way, and he left you -a beggar in consequence, proving, according to scripture, that as he had -neglected to secure future provision for his family he had denied the -faith and was worse than an infidel. Now, to return to business; are you -going to accept this offer of mine, or do you intend to be a pig-headed -idiot, and affect to be calling a mere matter of business simony?” - -Ralph’s eyes lighted up. - -“I mean,” he said quietly, “to be true to my father’s ideals.” - -Sir Matthew broke into a discordant laugh. - -“Did his precious ideals feed you and clothe you and send you to -Winchester? Don’t you know by his own confession that he had mismanaged -his affairs?” - -“I know,” said Ralph indignantly, “that, whatever his faults, he was at -least an honest man.” - -He had meant no insinuation whatever, but the words galled his companion -terribly. Sir Matthew rose to his feet in a towering passion. - -“You impertinent, ungrateful fellow, do you dare to insult me in my own -house? Go, sir, get out of my sight! I have had enough of you. Let us -see now how your ideals will support you! Leave my house and never set -foot in it again!” - -Ralph, too angry and sore to realise all that the words meant, turned -without a word and left the library. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - - “The grace of friendship--mind and heart, - - Linked with their fellow heart and mind; - - The gains of science, gifts of art; - - The sense of oneness with our kind; - - The thirst to know and understand-- - - A large and liberal discontent: - - These are the goods in life’s rich hand, - - The things that are more excellent.” - - William Watson. - -|The moment the door had closed behind the boy Sir Matthew’s anger -cooled. For the time it had been genuine, for quite unintentionally -Ralph had used words which stung him as no others could have done. There -were two things in the world that the company promoter sincerely cared -about--successful speculation, and his reputation as a philanthropist. -His adoption of Ralph had been almost entirely a speculation, one of the -specious bits of kindness which he had intended to redound to his own -honour and glory. Having once undertaken the lad’s education he could -not for his own credit’s sake turn back, but from the very first he had -shrewdly guessed that it would prove a bad investment, and Ralph had -been a thorn in his side. To begin with, the boy was in face curiously -like his father, and Sir Matthew had some lingering remains of affection -for his old friend, even though in his heart he despised him for not -being more of a man of the world. He had not lived the life of a company -promoter without having grown perfectly callous to the sufferings of his -victims, but yet the conscience that was not dead but dormant within him -had been faintly stirred at Whinhaven when he realised that the Rector’s -ruin had been his work. Partly to salve his conscience, but chiefly -because the world would applaud the action, he had adopted Ralph. The -boy, however, had not taken kindly to the part assigned him. He never -showed off well before visitors, never learnt to pose as a grateful -recipient of unmerited kindness. On the contrary, Sir Matthew always had -an uncomfortable feeling that Ralph saw through him, and knew him to be -a humbug. As a matter of fact, the taunting allusions he had just made -to Mr. Denmead’s mistakes and errors of judgment had driven his hearer -far from all recollection of Sir Matthew’s actions or character; Ralph -had thought only of that inward picture stamped indelibly upon his -brain of the high-minded and scrupulously honourable father, who somehow -seemed to him more of a living reality as he spoke than the angry, -self-important patron confronting him. - -“He was at least an honest man!” The words had intended no reflection -on Sir Matthew, but they had gone straight to the company promoter’s one -vulnerable spot, and for the moment had sharply pained him. Incensed -at the perception that this fellow might hurt his jealously guarded -reputation,--that reputation for benevolence which was part of his -stock-in-trade, he had burst forth into angry denunciation, and in one -indignant sentence had severed all connection between them. - -He took out a memorandum book now, and made an entry in it with much -deliberation, then sat for some time wrapped in thought, gnawing -absently at his pencil case, a trick which he had acquired, and of which -the dinted surface of the silver bore tokens. - -“One may trust a Denmead to be honourable,” he reflected with a curious -sense of satisfaction. “The boy will never mention that little private -arrangement as to Crosbie’s retiring in four years. I have bought the -living and now the question is how can I use it best to further my own -ends? After all, it’s just as well that this fool has refused it. I can -use it as a bait for some one else, and I’m quit of Ralph for ever. -Though the boy is so like his father in face there’s much more go in him -than there ever was in poor Denmead. He has a bit of the sturdy pluck -and energy of his little Welsh mother. Pshaw! I needn’t trouble about -him. He’s the sort that will swim and not sink, and a little course of -starvation will bring him down from his impossible heights and teach him -that he must do as other men do.” - -With that he rose and left the library in search of his wife, and having -chatted pleasantly enough with her at afternoon tea, he casually alluded -to Ralph’s departure. - -“What!” said Lady Mactavish, “Is he going out to India, do you mean.” - -“Not that I know of,” said Sir Matthew with a laugh. -“He has failed ignominiously in his examination, and has been most -insufferably impertinent to me. I have given him his _congé_, and he -will trouble us no more.” - -“The ungrateful boy!” said Lady Mactavish indignantly, “after all that -you have done for him too.” - -“He has behaved very badly,” said Sir Matthew; “and I think, my dear, we -are well quit of him. I shall not see him again, but you had better just -say good-bye to him, and by-the-by, I think you might give him a couple -of five-pound notes; I should be sorry to launch him into the world -without a penny in his pockets. It might make people think that I had -been harsh with him.” Ralph had gone straight up to the schoolroom in -search of Evereld, but something had delayed her and he found the place -deserted. Throwing himself down on the window-seat, he let the soft west -wind cool his flushed face and tried to think calmly over the interview -with Sir Matthew. The attack on his father had angered him as nothing -else could have done, and it was over this rather than over his own -future that he mused. The sound of Evereld’s voice singing in the -passage roused him, but before she had reached the schoolroom, the -red baize door leading from the other part of the house creaked on its -hinges, and Lady Mactavish appeared upon the scene. - -“I was looking for you, Ralph,” she said, entering the room in front of -Evereld. “I learn, to my great annoyance, that you have failed in your -examination, failed ignominiously. It is quite clear to us all that you -have not been working properly.” - -“But every one says that the Indian Civil is such a dreadfully stiff -exam,” said Evereld, “and he did work very hard in Germany; they all -said so.” - -“Don’t interrupt me, my dear,” said Lady Mactavish. “It is not a matter -you can understand. After all that Sir Matthew has done for you. Ralph, -I think at least you might have behaved properly to him. He tells me -that you were so impertinent that he has been forced to order you out of -the house.” - -“I had no intention of being rude,” said Ralph, standing before her with -much the same expression of impatience, curbed by a sense of obligation -with which he had always taken her fault-finding. - -“I am quite aware that your intentions are always, according to your -own account, immaculate,” she said scathingly, “but, unfortunately, -your words and actions don’t correspond with them. You have behaved -abominably to the man who has fed, and clothed, and housed you all these -years, a man who has wasted hundreds of pounds on your schooling.” - -“Believe me, I do not forget what he has done for me,” said Ralph -eagerly. “I am grateful for it. But he used words of my father which -were cruel, words which no son could patiently have listened to.” - -“Nothing can excuse the way you have behaved,” said Lady Mactavish, “so -say no more about it. What are your plans?” - -“I have made none,” said Ralph, “except to go by the six o’clock train.” - -“Where are you going?” - -“To London,” he replied. - -Lady Mactavish glanced at him a little uneasily. She could not without -prickings of conscience think of turning this boy adrift. - -“Sir Matthew, with his usual kindness and generosity, asked me to give -you these,” she said, holding out the bank notes. “Though you have -so much disappointed and pained him, he will not let you be sent away -without money.” - -But Ralph drew back; there was a look in his eyes which half frightened -Evereld. - -“Thank you,” he said, “but I cannot take them; after what passed just -now in the library it is out of the question.” - -Lady Mactavish looked uncomfortable. “You have been so shielded and -cared for that you don’t realise what the world is. You will certainly -be getting into trouble. I desire you to take these.” - -“I am sorry to refuse you anything,” he said with studied politeness. -“But you ask what is impossible.” - -“Your pride is perfectly ridiculous,” she said, turning away with a look -of annoyance. “However, I shall retain these notes for you, and when you -have realised your foolishness, you can write and ask me for them.” - -Something in her tone, touched Ralph. It seemed to him that perhaps -after all she had taken some little thought for his well-being, and that -behind her grumbling, ungracious manner, there was more real heart than -he had dreamed. - -“Will you not let me say good-bye to you?” he said. “You must not think -I am ungrateful for the home you have given me all these years.” - -She took leave of him more kindly than he had expected, after which -he turned thoughtfully back into the schoolroom, where he found poor -Evereld sobbing her heart out. - -“Oh, don’t cry,” he said as if the sight of her tears had added the last -straw to his burden. “It can’t be helped, Evereld, and after all, had -I got through my exam. I should have been going abroad before so very -long. And you are going to school for a year. There will be no end of -friends for you there.” - -“They won’t be like you,” sobbed Evereld, “You are just like my brother -now. Oh, how I wish we were really brother and sister, then they -couldn’t turn you out like this.” - -“I wish we were,” said Ralph with a sigh, as he realised how utterly -he had now cut himself off from intercourse with her. - -“All we can do, I suppose, is to hear of each other through the -Professor and Frau Rosenwald. They will never let me write to you at -school. It’s not as if I were your brother really or even your cousin. -They’re awfully strict at schools about that.” - -“Well,” said Evereld, resolutely drying her eyes, “We can write in the -holidays, and in a little more than three years’ time I can do just -exactly what I like. Promise, Ralph, that you will come to me when I am -one and twenty. Promise me faithfully.” - -“I promise,” he said. But as he spoke it seemed to him that by that -time a thousand things might have happened to divide them. He had -a perception somehow that, once broken, that brotherly and sisterly -intimacy could never again be the same thing. Later on, Evereld knew -that it was indeed at an end, but for the moment his promise cheered -her, and she set herself to work to make the most of the present. -“Come,” she said, “tea is getting cold, and you must eat all you can, -for who knows where you will dine. Oh, Ralph! what do you mean to do? -Where shall you go in London?” - -“I think I shall go first to my father’s solicitor, old Mr. Marriott. He -was kind to me when I left Whinhaven, and he will know the whole truth -about things, and will perhaps advise me.” - -“Shall you go in for the Indian Civil again?” - -“I don’t think so, for most likely all that part is true enough. I must -have failed badly; I never was any good at exams. No, I have a great -idea of trying my luck on the stage. That was always my wish since the -day when my father took me to see Washington. We often laughed over the -plan and discussed it, and he had none of that horror of the stage which -so many parsons profess to have.” - -“That would be delightful,--a thousand times better than going to India! -And perhaps we shall go to see you act. And oh! perhaps you’ll get to -know Macneillie!” - -“I have no idea where Macneillie has gone to,” said Ralph. “He has not -played in London for the last six years; somebody told me he had started -a Company of his own in the provinces. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to find -out, and write to him. Unless our hero-worship threw a very deceptive -halo round him, he must be an awfully kind-hearted man. Come! drink -to my good fortune, and then like an angel just help me to sort out my -things. Tea, and this notion of yours about Macneillie make me feel like -a giant refreshed. After all, it will be jolly enough to be on one’s own -hook after eating the bitter bread of charity all this time.” - -“Yet I rather wish you had taken those hank notes,” said Evereld. “How -much money have you, Ralph, to start with?” - -He felt in one pocket and produced a florin. “That will take me to -London,” he said. He felt in another and produced half a sovereign, “on -that I can live for a week,” he remarked. - -“And after that?” said Evereld. - -He shrugged his shoulders. - -“There are night refuges I believe, where for a penny one can lie in a -box and warm oneself with a leather coverlet. And failing these, there -is always the Park, where you can enjoy part of a bench without any -charge at all.” - -“Ralph, I’m not going to allow it,” said Evereld, her firm little mouth -assuming its most resolute expression. “Do you think I should have -let Dick go away to starve upon twelve shillings while I was lapped in -luxury? I took you for my brother, the very first night you came, and -I’m not going to give you up, whatever you say.” She unlocked her desk -and took out four sovereigns. “This is all I have left of my allowance; -I wish it were bank notes like the ones you refused. But you can’t -refuse mine, Ralph.” - -He hesitated. “I don’t think I ought to take them,” he said. - -“Why not?” - -“The world would be shocked. What right have I to your money?” - -“Every right, since we belong to each other. And as to the world it has -nothing whatever to do with the matter. Don’t waste time, Ralph. Please -take it for my sake.” - -He could not resist the blue eyes brimming with tears, but let her place -the money in his hand and gave her a brotherly hug. Then they hastily -began to collect his possessions, talking bravely of the future, and -many times alluding to their old hero Macneillie. - -In the meantime in Geraghty’s pantry two other friends were colloguing; -Bridget having learnt the fate that was to befall her young gentleman -was opening her heart to her elderly _fiancé_. - -“It’s turnin’ of him out that they’re after,” she said indignantly, -“And him a fine handsome boy and knowin’ just nothin’ of the world. -Sure thin, Geraghty, it’s a sin, it’s just a mortal sin, and him without -connictions, let alone relations.” - -“Where will he be goin’?” asked Geraghty thoughtfully. - -“I heard them say he was goin’ to London, and you know what that will -be meanin’ when a boy’s got neither money nor friends to keep him in the -right way. It breaks me heart to think of it.” - -“Well, maybe I’d better be tellin’ him of Dan Doolan’s house at -Vauxhall. He’d be with good dacent folk there and they’d not be askin’ a -high rint. Here, give me that tray. I’ll fetch down the schoolroom cups -for ye, and that’ll give me a chance to speak with him.” - -Geraghty had always been a favourite in the schoolroom, and Ralph -turned to the old fellow now with a hearty appreciation of his kindly -thoughtfulness. - -“We shall all miss you, Mr. Ralph,” he said. “And if I might make so -bold as to be giving you the ricommindation of some rooms in London, -where they tell me you’re going, I think you’d find them respectable, -which is more than can be said for many places. The house belongs to -Dan Doolan, that’s my sister’s husband’s uncle, he and his wife are very -dacent folk and they would do their utmost for you and give you a warm -welcome.” - -“Trust the Irish for that,” said Ralph, “I’m very much obliged to -you, Geraghty, for I hadn’t an idea where to look for lodgings. Come, -Evereld, now you will feel much happier about me.” - -He took down the address, and then, with the help of -Geraghty and Bridget and Evereld, the packing was finished and the -moment of leave-taking arrived. The butler had carried down the last -portmanteau, Bridget had invoked blessings on his head and gone away -wiping her eyes with her apron, and the two friends were left in the -quiet schoolroom. - -“Remember your promise,” said Evereld earnestly. - -“I will remember,” said Ralph. “And after all it is likely enough that -we shall meet before that. Courage, dear! Don’t fret. The time will soon -pass.” - -“Here is a book for you to read in the train,” she added, afraid to say -much, lest she should break down. “You must have a Dickens to comfort -you, and this will be the best, for the wind is very much in the east -to-day, as dear old Mr. Jarndyce would have said.” - -She gave him her own copy of “Bleak House” and Ralph, with a choking -sensation in his throat, bent down and kissed the sweet rosy face that -was still so childlike. After that, without another word, he left the -house, and Evereld, running to her bedroom, watched him until he had -disappeared in the distance, then, throwing herself on the bed, cried as -though her heart would break. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -“_Is our age an age of genuine pity? I have my doubts. It is -pre-eminently an age of bustle, and fuss, and fidget; but I think we are -lacking in tenderness._”--Dr. Jessop. - -|After the pain of his farewells had begun to wear off a little, Ralph, -being naturally of a hopeful temperament, turned not without some -pleasurable feelings to the thought of the future that lay before him. -More and more his old dreams of becoming an actor filled his mind, and -in the sudden change which had befallen his fortunes he saw something -not unlike a distinct call to return to his first ideal. He clung all -the more to the thought because of the uprooting he had just undergone, -and as he travelled through the Surrey hills on that summer evening, -found comfort in the anchorage of a firm resolve to do all that was in -his power to fit himself for his new vocation. That one did not climb -the ladder at a bound he of course knew well enough, and he had sense to -guess that it would be a difficult matter to get room even on the lowest -step of the ladder. A hard struggle lay before him, but he was full of -vigorous young life and did not shrink from the prospect. Then, too, -he was keenly conscious of the relief of no longer depending upon the -Mactavishes. He could exactly sympathise with Esther in “Bleak -House,” who was always sensible of filling a place in her godmother’s -establishment which ought to have been empty. It was something after all -to be free, even though not precisely knowing how he was to keep body -and soul together. - -With the exception of old Mr. Marriott there seemed few to whom he could -apply for advice. His late master at Winchester was away in Switzerland; -the Professor and Frau Rosenwald were in Dresden and were little likely -to be able to help him, while of friends of his own age he had scarcely -any, owing to Lady Mactavish’s dislike to his accepting invitations for -the holidays which would have made return invitations necessary. - -On reaching Charing Cross he went straight to Sir Matthew’s house in -Queen Anne’s Gate, left his luggage there, arranged to come the next -day and pack the few things he had in his room, and then walked to Ebury -Street to inquire whether Mr. Marriott were at home. London had such a -deserted air that he began to fear that the solicitor would have joined -in the general exodus. But fortune favoured him, Mr. Marriott was in -town still and had just returned from the City. He was ushered into a -comfortable library, where, in a few moments, the old lawyer joined him, -receiving him in such a kindly and courteous way that the friendless -feeling which had taken possession of him on his arrival in London quite -left him. - -“I hope you will excuse my coming at such an hour and to your private -house, but I half feared you might be away and I was very anxious for -your advice,” he said, when the old man’s greetings were ended. - -“I’m heartily glad you did come to-night,” said Mr. Marriott. “For -to-morrow I go to Switzerland with my sister and my daughter. Is Sir -Matthew still in town? Are you staying with him?” - -“He has this very day turned me out of his house,” said Ralph, and he -briefly told the lawyer what had passed. - -“This seems a serious matter,” said Mr. Marriott. “We must talk it over -together, but in the meantime, I will send round for your things, and -you will, I hope, spend the night here. After dinner, we will put our -heads together, and see what can be done.” - -Ralph could only gratefully accept the hospitality, and it proved to be -just the genuine old-fashioned hospitality that does the heart good, and -is as unlike its forced counterfeit as real fruit is unlike its waxen -imitation. - -Old Mr. Marriott’s sister proved to be one of those eternally young -people who at seventy have more capacity for enjoying life than many -girls of eighteen. Her vivacious face, with its ever varying expression, -her kindly human interest in all things and all people, did more to -drive bitter recollections from Ralph’s mind than anything else could -have done. Moreover, he lost his heart to pretty Katharine Marriott, -though she was many years his senior. Her large, serious, brown eyes, -and her air of gentle dignity seemed to him perfection; he could have -imagined her to be some stately Spanish lady in her black, lace -dress, and though she said little to him, her whole manner was full -of sympathetic charm. When the ladies had left the table, Mr. Marriott -began to make further inquiries as to what had passed that afternoon. - -“Is it not possible,” he suggested, “that you too readily took Sir -Matthew at his word? He has been kind to you all these years, has he -not?” - -“He has carried out what he undertook,” said Ralph, “and twice, -no--three times--I remember that he really spoke kindly to me. For the -rest of the six years he has never noticed me at all except to find -fault.” - -“Do you mean that you got into trouble? That your school reports were -bad or anything of that sort?” - -“No, they were decent enough, and I was never exactly in any scrape, -but somehow, in little ways I always managed to displease him; spoke -too much, or too little, or too loud, or not distinctly. If one made the -least noise in coming into a room or closing a door he couldn’t endure -it, or if one stole in with elaborate care and quietness, he would start -and say a stealthy step was intolerable to him. As to breakfast, the -only meal we ever had with him as children, it used to be a time of -torture, for if you held your knife or fork in a way which did not -exactly meet his ideal way of holding a knife and fork, he made you feel -that you had committed a crime.” - -“So there was never much love lost between you,” said Mr. Marriott, with -a smile. “Well it is what I feared would happen when I last saw you. Did -he often mention your father’s name?” - -“Hardly ever, except when some guest was there who was likely to be -impressed with his kindness in having adopted a poor clergyman’s son,” - said Ralph, flushing hotly at certain galling recollections. “It was -never until this afternoon, though, that he dared to speak of my father -as an unpractical fool who had left me a beggar, and to taunt me with -the high ideals which would never have kept me from starving.” - -“And did this lead to your quarrel?” said the lawyer, his brows -contracting a little. - -“Yes,” said Ralph, “I replied that my father was at least an honest man, -and he seemed to take that as a sort of personal affront--I’m sure I -don’t know why. He went into a towering rage and ordered me out of his -sight.” - -“He is morbidly sensitive as to his reputation,” said Mr. Marriott, “and -no doubt he thought you knew something to his disadvantage. Did it ever -occur to you as strange that he should have adopted you?” - -“At first I thought it was because he had really cared for my father -and because he was my godfather, but before long I began to think it was -chiefly as a sort of telling advertisement,” said Ralph, with a touch of -bitterness in his tone. - -“All three notions were probably right,” said the lawyer, “but there -was yet another reason of which I can tell you something. On the day we -reached Whinhaven and began to look through your father’s papers, one -of the very first things I came across in his blotting-book was the -rough draft of a letter with a blank for the name in the first line. -Seeing that it bore reference to the unlucky investment he had made, I -glanced through it. It bitterly reproached the man he was writing to, -for having recommended him to place his money in the company which had -just gone into liquidation, and alluded to assurances that had been -given him of this friend’s close knowledge of all the details, and -complete confidence in the safety of the company. I recollect that one -sentence referred to you, and your father said, ‘Should this illness of -mine prove fatal, I look to you, as Ralph’s godfather, to do what you -can for him, for it was in consequence of your advice that I made this -unfortunate speculation.’” - -Ralph started to his feet. “It was Sir Matthew then who ruined him!” - -“Well,” said the lawyer, “on reading that I looked up and casually asked -him if he knew who your godfathers were, he replied that he was one, -and that to the best of his recollection, the other had been a distant -kinsman of your father’s, a certain Sir Richard Denmead, who had died -a few years before. Then, without further comment, I handed him the -letter, remarking that of course, I had no idea on reading it that it -bore reference to himself. He was naturally annoyed and upset, but was -obliged to own that it was the draft of the letter he had received. He -was doing what he could to justify himself when you came into the room, -and what passed after that you no doubt remember.” - -“I remember,” said Ralph, “that he patronised me--he--my father’s -murderer. The word is not a bit too strong for him. He murdered my -father just as truly as if he had stabbed him to the heart. It was not -the cold that killed him, it was the misery and the depression and the -anxiety for the future. And this false friend of his is the man that -goes about opening bazaars, and posing as a profoundly religious man! -Faugh! It’s revolting!” - -“I have never liked Sir Matthew Mactavish,” said Mr. Marriott, quietly. -“It is wonderful to me how he impresses people; there must be some germ -of greatness in him or he couldn’t do it. I am quite aware that the -discovery of the truth must make you feel very bitterly towards him, -but if you will take an old man’s advice you will dwell upon the past as -little as possible. You can do no good by thinking of the injury he has -done you, and you will have to be very careful how you speak of him, -or in an angry moment you may make yourself liable to an action -for slander; legally you know a thing may be perfectly true, but if -maliciously uttered and in a way that injures another in his calling it -may be nevertheless slander. So you must not proclaim your wrongs -from the housetops. Now the question is what are you to do to support -yourself?” - -“I want to try my luck on the stage,” said Ralph. “It was my wish long -ago, and I believe that I might make something of it. I shall never be -much good at examinations.” - -“It seems rather the fashion for young fellows to try it nowadays,” said -the lawyer, “but I should think the life was a very hard one, and like -all other callings in this country it is much overcrowded. Still you -might do worse. I will give you a letter to Barry Sterne; he is a client -of mine and might possibly be able to help you. At any rate he would -give you his advice.” - -Ralph caught at the suggestion, and when the next morning the Marriotts -started for Switzerland they left him in excellent spirits. - -“Are you quite sure you have enough to live on until you get work,” - asked the old lawyer, drawing him aside at the last moment. “I will -gladly lend you something.” - -“Thank you,” replied Ralph. “But I have enough to live on till the end -of September.” - -“And by that time we shall be in London again,” said Mr. Marriott. “Be -sure you come to see us and let us know how you prosper.” - -It was not without some trepidation that later in the morning Ralph -presented himself at the house of Barry Sterne, the great actor. He sent -in Mr. Marriott’s letter of introduction and waited nervously in a -small back sitting-room, the window of which opened into one of those -miniature ferneries which one associates with the operating room of a -dentist. Three dejected gold-fish swam aimlessly up and down the narrow -tank, and the ferns looked as if they pined for country air. It was a -relief when at length he was summoned into the adjoining room. Here -the sun was shining, and there was a general sense of ease and comfort, -Barry Sterne himself harmonising very well with his setting, for he was -a good-natured looking giant with a most genial manner, and his broad, -expansive face beamed in a very kindly fashion on his visitor. - -“I’m afraid I can’t do anything for you,” he said, but the words carried -no sting because the tone was so delightful. “I have hundreds of these -applications, and it’s about the most disagreeable part of my life to be -for ever saying ‘no’ to people.” - -He put a few questions to him, all the while observing him attentively -with his keen eyes. - -“Well, you see,” he remarked, leaning back easily in his chair and -telling off the various items on his fingers as he proceeded. “Things -seem to me to stand like this. You have a good presence, a good voice, -a good manner; but you have no experience, you have had no special -preparation, you have no money, and you have no friends or relatives -in the profession. There are three points for you and four against you. -That means that you will have a very hard struggle, and will have to -be content to take any mortal thing you can get. Are you prepared for -that?” - -“I am prepared to begin at the very bottom of the profession if only it -will give me a real chance of getting on,” said Ralph. - -“To make a fool of yourself in a pantomime, for instance,” said the -actor, eyeing him keenly. “Or to walk on and say nothing in a piece that -runs for a couple of hundred nights?” - -“Yes, I would do it,” said Ralph, thoughtfully. “If, in the meantime, I -was really learning and making some way.” - -“Right,” said Barry Sterne. “That’s the way to set to work. But as -a rule a gentleman thinks he must step into the first ranks of the -profession straight away, which is a confounded mistake. I’ll write you -a note of introduction to Costa, the agent. You may thoroughly trust -him, and he may perhaps be able sooner or later to put you in the way of -something. I wish I knew of any opening for you. But I’m off to America -next month with Miss Greville’s Company.” - -The name instantly recalled Macneillie to Ralph’s mind. - -“When I was a small boy,” he said, “Mr. Macneillie was once very good -to me. If he were in London still, I might have gone to him. Do you know -what has become of him.” - -“Hugh Macneillie? Why he would be precisely the man for you. He went to -America about six years ago, had a tremendous success over there, and -when he came back to England started a travelling company of his own. -Oh, Macneillie is a sterling fellow, you couldn’t do better than try to -get in with him. Costa will be able to tell you his whereabouts.” - -After that, with a few kindly words and good wishes, Ralph found himself -dismissed. - -The day was intensely hot; however, he set off at once for the agent’s, -handed in Barry Sterne’s letter, was sharply scrutinised by Costa’s keen -Jewish eyes, and had his name entered upon the books, after paying five -shillings. - -“You must not be too sanguine,” said the agent, his dark melancholy face -contrasting oddly with Ralph’s fresh colouring, and hopeful eyes. “I -have one thousand, nine hundred and ninety nine names down of members of -the profession who are out of employment, or of people who seek to enter -the profession. You bring up the total to two thousand.” - -Ralph turned a little pale. “Is it so bad as that,” he said. “Then I -have no chance at all it seems to me.” - -He asked for Macneillie’s present address and went off in very low -spirits to write his letter, pack up his worldly goods, and take up his -quarters in the rooms which Geraghty had recommended. - -People seldom do things well when they are in low spirits, and Ralph, -who detested giving trouble or asking favours, wrote a stiff, short -letter to Macneillie, asking his advice and inquiring whether he could -possibly give him a place in his company. It was precisely the sort of -letter which Macneillie received by the dozen from stage-struck youths -in all parts of the country. Had he spoken of his boyish hero-worship -of the actor, or of their encounter at Richmond, there would have been -a human touch about the letter which would at once have appealed to -the Scotsman; he would certainly have made a special effort for one so -closely connected with the most tragic day of his life. But Ralph after -floundering hopelessly in a sentence which alluded to the past, tore up -his sheet of paper and wrote the bald, curt note, which so ill conveyed -the real state of his case. - -Macneillie, wearily returning from a rehearsal of four hours’ length, -in which his temper had been severely tried, found the missive in his -dreary lodgings at a south-coast watering place, hastily glanced through -the contents and thrust the letter into his letter-clip among other -similar requests, about which there was no immediate hurry. A fortnight -later he wrote the following short reply: - -“Dear Sir, - -“I have no opening at present in my company, and if you really intend to -go into the profession, and have realised that it demands incessant -and most arduous work, I should strongly advise you to begin at the -beginning of all things. Try to get taken on as a super at one of the -leading theatres, where you will have opportunities for studying really -great actors. Costa is a trustworthy agent. - -“Yours truly, - -“Hugh Macneillie.” - -The letter chanced to arrive in Paradise Street on a foggy September -evening when Ralph was in particularly low spirits. He had expected much -from Macneillie and was proportionately disappointed. It seemed almost -as if an old friend had shut the door in his face, nor did he quite -realise that few men as busy, and as much tormented by importunate -scribblers as Macneillie, would have troubled to answer his appeal at -all. What was he to do? Where was he to turn for work? And how much -longer would Evereld’s money hold out? The question was more easily than -satisfactorily answered. It was clearly impossible that he could exist -much longer in Paradise Street, and though its dingy room and bare, -scanty furniture was far from inviting, yet he had grown fond of his -good-natured landlord and took a kindly interest in the whole family of -Doolans, with their easy, happy-go-lucky ways, and strong sense of -humour. Life was lonely enough now. What would it be if he were -altogether without a home in this great wilderness of London? - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -“_A man who habitually pleases himself will become continually more -selfish and sordid, even among the most noble and beautiful conditions -which nature, history, or art can furnish; and, on the other hand, any -one who will try each day to live for the sake of others, will grow more -and more gracious in thought and bearing, however dull and even squalid -may be the outward circumstances of his soul’s probation._”--Dean -Paget. - -|Ralph’s chief comfort at this time was in a certain free library at no -great distance from his lodgings. He made his way there now, and for a -time lost the sense of his troubles in the world of books. This evening -he had the good fortune to light upon Stanley Weyman’s “House of the -Wolf,” a story which gave him keener and more healthy enjoyment than he -had known for many a day. When he came back to the everyday world again -and set out for his return walk to Paradise Street, he found that the -fog had very much increased and it was with great difficulty that he -could make out his way. As he was groping cautiously along an almost -deserted street, he was startled by the sound of a shrill, childish -voice. - -“Let me go! Let me go!” it cried passionately. “How dare you stop me? -How dare you?” - -Ralph ran in the direction of the sound, until in the fog and darkness, -he cannoned against the form of a man who turned angrily upon him, -revealing as he did so, in the dim lamplight which struggled through the -murky air, the evil face of an old _roué_. Fighting to free herself from -him, like a little wild-cat, was the figure of a mere child; her vigour -and agility were wonderful to behold and it was a task of no great -difficulty for Ralph to help in freeing her from the clutches of the -two-legged brute. Spite of the imperfect light, the child had been -quickwitted enough to recognise the new comer as a protector, and she -clung firmly to his hand as they went down the foggy street, never -pausing until all fear of further molestation was over. Then, panting -for breath, she stopped for a minute beneath a lamp-post, and in the -little oasis of light, looked searchingly up into his face as though to -make quite sure what manner of man he was. He saw now that she must -be older than he had thought; from her height he had fancied her about -eleven but he realised both by her face and her expression, that she -must be at least fifteen. Her colouring was curiously like Evereld’s but -the face was sharper, and had a funny look of assurance and knowledge -of the world, which was, nevertheless, belied by the childish curves of -cheek and chin, and by the nervous pressure with which she still clasped -his hand. - -“I don’t know a bit what this street is,” she said, with tears in her -voice, “And if I don’t soon get home grandfather will be dreadfully -anxious about me.” - -“Where is your home?” asked Ralph, feeling curiously drawn to the -forlorn little mortal who had crossed his path so strangely. - -“It’s in Paradise Street, Vauxhall,” said the child. - -“Ah, that’s lucky!” said Ralph. “My rooms are there too. What takes you -out at this time of night? It’s not safe for you to be wandering about -London alone.” - -“I always do go alone,” said the child, a little indignantly. “And no -one ever dared to bother me before. One of the dressers always walks -with me as far as our roads lie together, but this bit I always do alone -ever since I went to the theatre.” - -“Oh you are on the stage,” said Ralph, his interest increasing; “Well, -you are lucky to have work; it’s more than I can get.” - -“I used only to dance,” said the child, eagerly. “But now I have a -little part of my own, but of course you won’t know my name yet, it’s -not much known. I am Miss Ivy Grant.” - -There was a comical touch of pride and dignity in the words. Ralph’s -lip twitched, but he bowed gravely and said he was delighted to make -her acquaintance. Then, having walked a little further, they suddenly -realised what road they were in and without much more difficulty groped -their way home to Paradise Street. - -“I want you to come in and see my grandfather,” said Ivy, pausing at her -door. “He will be very grateful to you for having helped me.” - -Ralph hesitated. “It is late for me to come in now,” he said. - -“It won’t be late for grandfather, he never settles in till after -midnight. He is half paralysed. Please come.” - -He couldn’t find it in his heart to resist the pleading little -voice, and Ivy took him through the narrow passage and into the front -sitting-room, where they found a fine looking old man whose flowing, -white beard and many coloured dressing-gown gave him a sort of Eastern -look. The small, grey, critical eyes, however, were not Eastern at all -and when he spoke Ralph fancied that he could detect a slight Scotch -accent, which together with the tone of voice made him think somehow of -Sir Matthew Mactavish. - -He looked searchingly at the new comer, but on Ivy’s hurried explanation -held out his hand cordially, thanking him for coming to the child’s aid -with a warmth which was evidently genuine. - -“She has to be breadwinner-in-chief to the establishment,” he said, -with a smile, “And being a wise-like little body seldom gets into -difficulties. Being a useless old log myself I should long ago have -been hewn down and cast into the Union had it not been for the Ivy that -supported me.” - -“You say those pretty things because you know it will make me come and -kiss you,” said Ivy, saucily, as she threw off her cloak and hat and -wreathed her arms about the old man’s neck. “And now while I get your -coffee ready you must talk to Mr. Denmead, for he wants work at the -theatre and can’t get it.” - -“Half a dozen years ago when I was dramatic critic for the _Pennon_ I -might have done something for you,” said the old man, wistfully. “But -now I am little but a burden as I told you. A few pupils come to me -still for lessons in elocution, and I have the training of Ivy who is -going to be a credit to me.” - -As he spoke he glanced towards the little housewife who with an air of -importance was preparing the supper. Ralph thought he had never before -seen any one move with such grace, and though her face was lacking -in the simplicity and peace which characterised Evereld, it was a -particularly winsome little face. - -“How did you get on to-night little one?” said the old man. - -“Very well,” said Ivy as she poured the coffee out of an ancient -percolator into three earthenware cups which had seen hard service. -Ralph observed that she kept the cup without a handle for herself, and -carefully selected him one which was without a chip on the drinking -side of the rim. “But I might easily have broken my leg,” she continued, -cheerfully; “for that stupid Jem had forgotten to shut one of the traps -properly, and Mr. Merrithorne stumbled and hurt his ankle badly.” - -“What part does he play?” said her grandfather. - -“Oh he hasn’t very much to do, he is a rather stupid footman and he was -bringing in the luncheon tray with the property pie and that old fowl -which wants painting again so badly, and when he tripped up, the pie -went bowling down the stage, and the fowl landed in Miss West’s lap and -every one roared with laughter. She was dreadfully angry, but afterwards -when it seemed that Mr. Merrithorne was really hurt she was rather sorry -for him.” - -“Who is his understudy?” - -“I don’t know. It is such a little part, perhaps he hasn’t one. But he -was limping dreadfully as he went away. I shouldn’t think he could act -to-morrow.” - -“It’s possible that might give you a chance,” said the professor of -elocution. “A stupid, countrified man-servant you say, Ivy? Are you -pretty good at dialect?” - -Ralph laughed, for he knew that he was an adept at a certain south -country dialect, and without more ado stood up and gave the Professor -a short and highly humourous dialogue between a ploughman and his boy, -with which he had often made Evereld and her governess laugh. - -“Good,” said the Professor, his grey eyes twinkling, “I think you’ll -do young man; but come to me to-morrow morning at nine o’clock and I’ll -give you a few hints about voice production.” - -Ralph coloured. “You are very good,” he said, “but to tell the truth -I am at my wit’s end for money and much as I would like lessons can’t -possibly afford them.” - -“Pshaw! nonsense,” said the Professor, knitting his brows. “I’m already -in your debt, for it might have fared ill with the child had you not -taken care of her tonight. If I can give you a helping hand, nothing -would please me better. And after the lesson you might go round with -Ivy, and I’ll give you an introduction to the manager. He’s a man I knew -well at one time.” - -Ralph’s face lighted up. “I should be very grateful,” he said, eagerly, -“for this waiting about for work is tedious enough, and I shall be -starved out before long.” - -He went home much cheered and with great expectations. The Professor -interested him; there was something half mysterious about the -white-haired old man which puzzled him and piqued his curiosity. He was -particularly benevolent and kindly and yet he seemed as unpractical as -a mere visionary, and was surely to blame in letting a child like Ivy go -to and from the theatre each night alone. - -Clearly the granddaughter was manager-in-chief as well as breadwinner, -and as he thought of her winsome little face with its shrewd, light-blue -eyes, slightly _retroussé_ nose, and small, firm mouth he felt a keen -desire to see more of her. She was so quaint in her brisk, housewifely -arrangements, so deft and clever in all her ways; a little conscious at -times, and quite capable of posing for effect, but lovable in spite of -that. - -“I could soon laugh her out of those little affectations,” he thought to -himself. “And there is such a look of Evereld about her that she must at -heart be good. She is very clever, possibly she is even cunning, and she -has extraordinary tact--almost too much for such a child.” - -He went to sleep and was haunted all night by that funny, pathetic, -little face of the child actress. Together they fled from a thousand -perils, and when next morning he saw her again face to face, it seemed -to him that they were quite old companions. - -“Good day,” said the Professor in his bland, pleasant voice as Ralph was -ushered into the dreary little room. “Sit down for a minute, I have not -yet finished with my other pupil. Now sir! don’t mumble like a bee in a -bottle. You know well enough how to get the clear shock of the glottis -and that’s the secret of voice production. You have the voice and the -lungs and the knowledge of the method, but you are lazy, incorrigibly -lazy!” - -The young man crimsoned and with an effort burst out with one of -Prospero’s speeches: - - “I pray thee, mark me. - - I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated - - To closeness and the bettering of my mind - - With that which, but by being so retired, - - O’er prized all popular rate, in my false brother - - Awaked an evil nature.” - -There he was arrested; for the Professor thundered on the floor with his -walking stick, looking as if he would much have enjoyed laying it about -the victim’s shoulders. - -His scathing sarcasms, his merciless interruptions, his sharp criticism, -would have tried the patience of Job himself, but his unfortunate -pupil struggled on and really improved marvellously, while Ralph sat an -observant spectator, learning not a little from all that went on. At the -close of the instruction the old man’s serenity of manner returned--he -even praised the youth he had so violently abused but a minute before. -The reason of this soon transpired; he needed his help with the next -pupil. “You are not pressed for time?” he asked, with a smile. “Then I -shall be much obliged if you will kindly help my new pupil, Mr. Denmead, -with the first exercise.” - -The victim glanced somewhat anxiously at the clock, but the Professor -was evidently an autocrat, and it would have been easier to refuse a -request made by the Czar himself. - -“You will lie at full length on the floor,” said the Professor, with a -lordly wave of the hand towards Ralph. “My pupil, Mr. Bourne, will then -kneel on your chest, and you will in this position practise the art of -breathing.” - -Ralph obeyed, not without a strong sense of the absurdity of the whole -scene. Could Sir Matthew Mactavish have seen him at that moment, lying -on the bare boards of a dingy lodging-house in Vauxhall, with a young -reciter of no mean weight kneeling on his chest, with a paralytic -and mysterious old sage roaring and shouting instructions and beating -impatient tattoos with his stick at intervals, while a pretty young girl -sat by the window covering stage shoes with cheap pink satin, how amazed -he would have been. - -This was certainly beginning at the beginning of all things. By eleven -o’clock that morning he was for the first time in his life entering the -stage door of a theatre,--it was one of the outlying suburban houses at -which there was a stock company and a frequent change of plays,--while -Ivy, with her funny little air of importance, showed him all that she -thought would interest him. - -The manager, a somewhat harassed looking man, took the Professor’s note, -read it hurriedly, and glanced keenly at Ralph. - -“Does Mr. Merrithorne act to-night?” asked Ivy, anxiously. - -“No, my dear; he won’t be fit to go on again for a month at least. I -understand, Mr. Denmead, that you are a pupil of Professor Grant.” - -“Yes,” said Ralph, “but I am quite a novice.” - -“H’m,” said the manager, taking a long look at him. “You’re positively -the first man that ever made that confession to me. I’ve a mind to try -you. Come with me, and I will give you the part. You can read it at -rehearsal if you haven’t time to learn it.” - -Ivy beamed with delight when he returned to her. - -“The manager was just in his very best temper,” she said, happily. “Come -to this quiet corner, and I’ll see that no one interrupts you.” - -The part was short and simple, and Ralph, who had an excellent memory, -learnt it easily enough. But when it came to rehearsing his scenes -in the dreary vastness of the empty theatre amid distant sounds of -hammering and scrubbing, and the perfectly audible comments of his -fellow actors, he felt in despair; there was no getting inside the -character, he could only feel himself Ralph Denmead, in uncomfortable -circumstances, and breathing a curious atmosphere of hostility. He went -home feeling nervous and miserable, but Ivy’s talk helped to amuse him, -and distract his attention. - -“They will like you when they get used to you,” she said, -philosophically. “But some of them think you are just a wealthy amateur, -and that you have paid for the chance of appearing in public. We all -hate that kind of man. Some others say you are an Oxonian wanting a -little amusement during the long vacation, and that you will be going -back to the University next month. And Miss West thinks you are a -disguised nobleman.” - -“Well, then, they’re all of them wrong,” said Ralph, obliged to laugh -in spite of himself. “I’m not a disguised duke, nor even a marquis, but -just plain Ralph Denmead, with very few coins in his pocket, and not a -single relation or rich friend to help him.” - -When the evening came, Ralph found that the flatness and coldness of the -morning had entirely passed; every one seemed in better spirits, and the -two men who shared his dressing-room were friendly enough directly they -found he was a genuine worker, not a mere _dilettante_. - -A youngster who was neither conceited nor grasping, but was content to -begin with a very small part, and a still smaller salary, was quite -a phenomenon, and, as usual, Ralph’s good humour and common-sense, -together with his readiness to see fun in everything, stood him in good -stead. - -When the last awful moment arrived, and he stood at the wings in -his gorgeous livery of drab and scarlet, with powdered hair and -knee-breeches, he found that the atmosphere of hostility which he had -felt so oppressive at rehearsal was entirely gone. - -“Good luck to you!” said the heavy man, laying a fatherly hand on his -shoulder. “Never fear; you’ll do well enough.” - -And with these words to hearten him, he took that first desperate plunge -into the icy-cold waters of publicity. - -Ivy’s face beamed upon him as he returned. - -“That applause was for you,” she said, rapturously, “and they don’t -generally laugh nearly as much after that blunder with the luncheon -table.” - -“But I see where I might improve it,” said Ralph, thoughtfully. And -truly enough he did improve each night he played the servant and other -small parts. - -Then, at the end of a month, Merrithorne’s ankle recovered, he returned -to the theatre, and Ralph once more found himself out of work. - -What was his next step to be? - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - - “If I were loved, as I desire to be, - - What is there in the great sphere of the earth, - - And range of evil between death and birth, - - That I shall fear, if I were loved by thee?” - - Tennyson. - -|If yer plase, yer honour, Mr. Geraghty is below, and would like to see -yer honour if its convaniant,” said little Nora Doolan, thrusting her -untidy head into the cheerless back room in Paradise Street. - -Ralph, who was pacing to and from learning a part in a Shakesperian play -which he was little likely to act as yet, glanced round with brightening -face. - -“What? Dear old Geraghty!” he exclaimed. “I’m glad he has looked me up. -Show him upstairs Nora, for I should like to have a talk with him.” - -The old man-servant responded with alacrity to the warm welcome he -received. - -“It’s delighted I am to see you again, Mr. Ralph,” he exclaimed, looking -him over with an air of satisfaction as though he had some share in his -well-being. “And it’s in good health that you are looking, sir, and no -mistake.” - -“Nothing like hard work, Geraghty, for keeping a man well,” said Ralph. -“And I hope I’m settled now for some time to come. You can tell Miss -Evereld that I’m at the very theatre we so often used to go to, and that -I have the pleasure of seeing Washington act every night.” - -“I’m glad to hear it, sir,” said Geraghty. “We all knew long ago, sir, -that you’d make a first-class actor; it took but a little small bit of -discrimination to see that much.” - -Ralph laughed. “Well, Geraghty, you mustn’t run away with the notion -that I’m a star, for, as a matter of fact, I am nothing but a super at -a pound a week. But it’s better to begin at the beginning in a good -theatre than to be cock-of-the-walk in a fifth-rate one.” - -“To be sure, sir, it’s just what I was saying but now to my sister about -placing her eldest girl. ‘Never mind how little she earns the first -year or two,’ said I, ‘but for heaven’s sake place her in a gentleman’s -family, and don’t let her demean herself by takin’ service with them -that hasn’t an ounce of breeding to bless themselves with. Let her be -kitchen or scullery-maid or what you will, but have her with gentry.’” - -“Geraghty,” said Ralph, with a mischievous smile, “You have such a -respect for birth that it’s my firm conviction you’ll be the last and -most staunch supporter left to the House of Lords.” - -Geraghty laughed all over his face, and his broad shoulders shook. - -“I’ve seen just a little too much of the aristocracy to pin my faith to -them, sir. Handsome is as handsome does, and gentle is as gentle does. -But from the House of Lords and their marrin’ and muddlin’--Good Lord -deliver us!” - -Ralph who had purposely provoked this tirade from the Irishman, laughed -and changed the subject by an inquiry after Evereld. - -“Well, thank God, she’s getting on finely, sir. Seems as if there was a -special Providence over orphans, and Bridget she says why that’s natural -enough, that their parents can see better how to guide them bein’ higher -up so to speak. But, however that may be, at first we all thought she’d -fret her heart out with missin’ you, sir. But in September, Bridget -took her down to the school at Southbourne, and though she was a bit -faint-hearted at the notion, she’d no sooner set eyes on the place than -she was sure she’d be happy there. Bridget says it’s the most beautiful -house and garden you ever saw, and all so comfortable and homelike in -spite of the size. And Miss Evereld writes that she’s as happy as the -day is long, and that they’re teaching her how to nurse sick folks, and -that she’s learnt to darn her own stockin’s--a thing she never got a -chance o’ doin’ at home--and to dance the minuet, and to do algebra, and -I don’t know what beside. But, from what Bridget told me, I foregathered -that it wasn’t a school where they cram them like turkeys for Christmas -or geese for a Michaelmas fair, but just a home on a large scale for -turnin’ out well-mannered young gentlewomen who’ll have a very good -notion how to manage a home on a smaller scale.” - -When the old Butler had gone, Ralph fell into a reverie. The effect of -hearing all about Evereld had been to make him long very impatiently for -the end of their separation. It was true that when she returned to the -Mactavishes at Christmas he could write to her without any breach of -regulations, but there seemed no chance of their meeting, and he greatly -missed his old companion. He began to weave all manner of visions of -future success, and to imagine that in an incredibly short space of time -he had gained quite a high position at Washington’s theatre, that he met -Evereld in society, and that Sir Matthew, who always paid homage to the -successful, became quite friendly and cordial to him. How strange it -would be to be invited as a distinguished guest to the very house in -Queen Anne’s Gate where he had been snubbed and scolded as a boy. - -It was with something of a shock that he came back to the prosaic -present and found himself merely a super about to go through, for the -fiftieth time, the wearisome business which was his allotted share in a -play which was likely to run for many months more. - -It was just at Christmas that he was confronted by one of those -decisions that form the chief difficulty of an actor’s career. To seize -the right opportunity of promotion, yet to avoid “Raw haste, half-sister -to delay”; to have precisely that right judgment which often determines -the success or failure of a life, is hard to all mortals, but hardest -to those of the artistic temperament. The temptation to escape from -the monotony of his present work came to him through the Professor’s -granddaughter. - -To little Ivy Grant he had from the very first seemed a full fledged -hero. He was the first man she had ever looked up to, for although -devoted to her old grandfather it was not easy to respect the Professor. -He seemed, to shrewd little Ivy, a very weak old man, and she despised -the weak, not understanding at all that habit of making large allowance -for human infirmity which grows with the growing years. The old man was -a confirmed opium eater. The habit, begun in a time of physical pain and -great mental worry, had now bound him fast in its cruel chains, and the -kindly benevolence which had struck Ralph at first sight as so strange -a contrast with his blameworthy neglect of Ivy’s safety, was all due to -the influence of the drug. His will was now not in the least his own, -and though he had his moments of exquisite exaltation he had always -to pay for them by times of black depression and misery. Under these -circumstances the child’s life could hardly be a happy one; she was, -moreover, scarcely strong enough for the late hours and the exposure to -all sorts of weather which her work entailed, and in spite of her -brisk, managing ways she began to crave for something more strong and -trustworthy to support her than her grandfather whose simile of the -lifeless trunk of the tree kept up by the ivy supporting it, had been -singularly near the truth. - -When Ralph no longer played at the same theatre, and their meetings -became less frequent, the little girl flagged and lost heart. She had -good impulses but she was easily led, and her friendship with Ralph had -filled her with a sense of dissatisfaction with her own life, and the -lives that most nearly touched her own. Her busy little brain began -to form eager plans for the future, and at last fate put in her way a -chance which revived her drooping spirits, and lighted up her blue -eyes with hope. Her good news arrived on Christmas day, otherwise the -festival would have been cheerless enough, for the old Professor had -slept in his invalid chair the whole of the morning, and Ivy, sitting -in solitary state beside the fire, had eaten a sober little Christmas -dinner consisting of a slice of cold meat and a mince-pie kindly given -to her by the landlady. Then having tidied the bare little room, and -stuck a solitary piece of holly in the window that people might see -she was “keeping Christmas” properly, she returned to her place on the -hearthrug, and tried to become interested in a penny novelette which -should have been exciting, but somehow failed to touch her. - -“Stupid thing!” she exclaimed presently, throwing the book to the -further end of the room with a little petulant gesture. “I can’t even -cry when the heroine dies. What is the good of a book if you can’t cry -over it?” - -Just then there came a tap at the door, and in walked Ralph with his -cheerful face, and in his hands was a great bunch of ivy and mistletoe. - -“A happy Christmas to you,” he said, taking her cold little hand in his. -“How’s the Professor? Not worse I hope?” - -“He is no worse,” said Ivy, “but he has been asleep all day, and it’s -dreadfully dull. Where did you get such lovely evergreens?” - -“Walked out into the country this morning, right away beyond Hampstead. -As for the mistletoe, that’s a particular present from Dan Doolan, and -I’ve just had to kiss seven small Doolans beneath it before they would -let me out of the house. Now your turn has come.” - -Ivy laughed and protested, but was thrilled through and through by the -kiss, though it was just as matter-of-fact as that which he had bestowed -on Tim Doolan, aged three. Her little, pale face lighted up radiantly, -but unobservant Ralph saw nothing of that, he was bestowing all his -energies on the decoration of the dreary, little room, and crowning with -ivy the portraits of sundry great actors and actresses. - -“Do you think Mrs. Siddons ever looked as stiff and forbidding as this?” - he said, glancing round with a smile, as Ivy held him a laurel branch to -put above the frame. - -“Yes,” she replied, saucily. “She must have looked like that when she -said in awful tones, ‘Will it wash?’ to the poor frightened shopman who -was serving her.” - -“Ah, perhaps. Well, Ivy, there is no fear that you will ever strike -terror into any one’s heart.” - -“Who cares for striking terror into people?” she replied, merrily, -and as she spoke she began to float dreamily away into an exquisitely -graceful skirt-dance; her little, childish face growing more and more -sweet and tranquil as she proceeded. - -Clearly dancing was her vocation. Ralph stood with his back to the fire -watching her perfect grace: it seemed to him the very poetry of motion. -And Ivy was at her very best when she was dancing; at other times her -ways occasionally jarred on him, her acting left much to be desired, and -a certain vein of silliness in her now and then awoke his contempt, -but when dancing she seemed like one inspired; he could only wonder and -admire. - -“Some day you will be our greatest English dancer,” he said, as once -more she settled down into her nook beside the fire. - -“I don’t want to be that,” said Ivy, “English dancers are never made so -much of as foreigners, and besides, a dancer’s position is not so good. -I mean to be an actress.” - -“It’s a thousand pities,” said Ralph. “Why do people always want to do -things they can’t do well.” - -Ivy pouted. - -“Grandfather doesn’t wish me only to dance,” she said. “And besides I -have just heard of quite a fresh opening. What would you say to earning -two pounds a week?” - -“I should say I’m not likely to do that yet awhile,” said Ralph, -philosophically. - -“But you can! you can!” said Ivy, clapping her hands joyfully. “There’s -an opening for you as well as for me, for I specially asked. It’s a ‘fit -up’ company and we should be wanted in February when the pantomime is -over.” - -“Where?” asked Ralph, looking incredulous. - -“For a tour in Scotland. A ‘fit up’ company too, and nothing to provide -but just wigs and shoes and tights.” - -“Who is the manager?” - -“The husband of the leading lady. His name is Skoot.” - -“Don’t like the name,” said Ralph, laughing. - -“Why what’s in a name?” said Ivy. “The poor man didn’t choose it. For -my part I think it is better than assuming some grand name that doesn’t -belong to him. And then his Christian name is Theophilus.” - -But Ralph still laughed. - -“Worse and worse,” he said. “Theophilus Skoot is a detestable -combination. Dick, Tom, or Harry, would have been better. No, no, Ivy; I -think we had better stay where we are.” - -Ivy looked much disheartened, and to change the subject Ralph suggested -that they should go together to the Abbey. This pleased her, she forgot -the Scotch tour and only revelled in the bliss of the present. To -walk to church on Christmas day with her ideal man, to feel the subtle -influence of the beautiful Abbey, the lights, the music, the religious -atmosphere, seemed to her a sort of foretaste of heaven, a slightly -sensuous heaven perhaps, but the highest she was as yet capable of -imagining. Ralph was not sorry to have the child with him, for his -Christmas had been lonely enough. But his thoughts wandered far away -from her during the service. He was back again at Whinhaven listening to -his father’s voice, or he was with Evereld and her governess listening -to solemn old chorales at Dresden. - -Presently a very slight thing recalled him to his actual surroundings. -The sermon was about to begin and some one sitting in front of him rose -to go just as the text was given out: - -“And in the fulness of time God sent------” - -He heard no more for the vacant place had revealed to him, at a little -distance in front, a profile which arrested his whole attention. -Something in its earnest, absorbed expression, in its exquisite purity, -in the listening look of one who is eager to learn, appealed to him -strongly. Then suddenly his heart gave a bound, for it was borne in upon -him that he was looking at Evereld. Not the Evereld he had left on -that summer day as a playmate and comrade, but a new Evereld who had -developed into a woman--the one woman in all the world for him. He did -not wish the sermon ended, he could have been almost content to sit on -there for ever just watching her; that curious description of heaven as -a place - - “Where congregations ne’er break up, - - And Sabbaths never end,”-- - -a notion which has cast a gloom over so many children’s hearts, seemed -to him in his present mood after all not so impossible. - -When the service was really over, and the people began to disperse, he -was in a fever lest he should be unable to reach her, and it was not -until he had discovered that Bridget was her companion that he could -feel at all secure of any real talk with her. - -Ivy, quite unconscious of all this, wondered a little when he paused -in the nave; but she did not at all object to standing there with him, -looking into the dim beauty of the stately building, and with a proud -little consciousness that many people glanced at them as they passed by. -It was so nice, she reflected, to go to church with a man like Ralph, -a man wholly unlike any other she had yet come across in her short and -rather dreary life. - -Meanwhile, Evereld was drawing nearer. Ivy was just admiring her -dark-green jacket and toque with their beaver trimmings, and longing to -have just such a costume herself, when she saw a vivid colour suffuse -the wearer’s face, her blue eyes shone radiantly, her lips smiled such a -welcoming smile at Ralph that no words, no hand-clasp, seemed necessary. -Side by side they passed together out of the Abbey, while Ivy, in blank -surprise, followed in their wake. - -“To think that you were there all the time and that I never knew it,” - said Evereld, when the greetings were over. “Where is Bridget? How -surprised she will be. Look, Bridget, here is Mr. Ralph come back.” - -“An’ it’s glad I am to see you, sir. There’ll be no need, I’m thinkin’, -to wish you a happy Christmas, for I can see by your face that you’ve -got it.” - -Ralph did, indeed, seem to be in the seventh heaven of happiness, but -as he gave a cordial greeting to the old servant he happened to notice -Ivy’s wistful, little face, and, with a pang of reproach for having -altogether forgotten her, he took her hand in his and introduced her to -Evereld. - -“This is a little friend of mine,” he said. “The granddaughter of -Professor Grant, my elocution master.” Evereld liked the look of the -little fairylike figure, but she seemed to her the merest child, and -after a few kindly words she thought no more of her, being naturally -absorbed in Ralph and having so much to say to him after their long -separation. - -Ivy, with a sigh, dropped behind with Bridget, who, in her motherly -fashion, took her under her special protection as they crossed the wide -road near the Aquarium, little guessing that this small person was well -used to going about London quite alone at all hours. - -“And how are things going at Queen Anne’s Gate?” asked Ralph, when -Evereld had told him all about her life at Southbourne. - -“It’s so dull I hardly know how to bear it,” said Evereld. “You see, I’m -too big now for children’s parties, and, of course, I’m not out yet. I -miss you all day long, and no one so much as speaks of you, except now -and then Mr. Bruce Wylie, and he always did like you.” - -“Not he,” said Ralph. “He made believe, though, for the sake of pleasing -you.” - -“I see that you have not lost your way of thinking evil of people,” said -Evereld, reproachfully. “Mr. Wylie is the kindest man I know.” - -“But you don’t know him,” said Ralph. “You merely see him now and then -and like his pleasant way of talking, and find him a relief from the -Mactavish clan.” - -“And how much do you know him?” said Evereld, teasingly. - -“Not much, certainly,” he was constrained to own with a smile, “and -it may be jealousy that makes me decry him. Yet, if instinct goes for -anything, he is a man I should never trust.” - -“What! such a frank, straightforward sort of man as that?” she -exclaimed, in dismay. - -“I know he’s very plausible, I know he has many good points even, but -I fancy he could persuade himself that anything was right if only it -promoted his own ends.” - -“At any rate, he is the one person who ever troubles to inquire after -you, and I believe that is the chief reason I have for liking him.” - -Ralph was so well content with this speech that he let the subject drop, -and, as Evereld was eager to hear all that he had been doing since -they had been separated, he began to give her an amusing account of the -straits he had been in and the work he had obtained. Far too soon they -reached Sir Matthew’s house, and were obliged to part. - -“You will write when you can?” said Evereld, wistfully, as she lingered -for a moment on the steps with her hand in his. “I don’t think Sir -Matthew has any right to object, and I shall want to know what you -decide about Scotland.” - -“Yes, you shall hear directly it is decided,” said Ralph, trying to feel -hopeful. “I wish I knew what would be the wisest thing to do.” - -Then, with a lingering glance into the sweet eyes lifted to his, he bade -her good-bye and turned away. - -“How I wish I were the Professor’s little granddaughter,” she thought -to herself as she glanced down the dark road after them, with a sick -longing to be going too. And, had she but known it, Ivy was at that -very time thinking enviously of Ralph’s old friend and of her many -advantages. - -Meanwhile Geraghty threw open the front door, and in the cheerful light -that streamed through the hall Evereld caught a vision of Sir Matthew -coming down the stairs, and, taking her courage in both hands, she -entered the house and went straight up to him. - - - - -CHAPTER X - - - “Savage at heart, and false of tongue, - - Subtle with age, and smooth to the young, - - Like a snake in his coiling and curling.” - - T. Hood. - -|So you have been to the Abbey?” he said, smiling benevolently upon her. - -“Yes,” she replied, her blue eyes looking straight into his. “And we -have seen Ralph. He was there, too, just behind us. He walked back with -us.” - -Sir Matthew frowned slightly. Then, recollecting the presence of the -servants, he beckoned Evereld to his study. - -“Come in here, my dear,” he said, in his soft voice. “You are quite -right to tell me all so frankly, and it is natural enough that you -should be pleased to meet your old playfellow. But you must remember -that things are not now as they once were.” - -“Ralph and I shall always be friends,” said Evereld, gently, but with a -firmness which startled her guardian. “Things are not altered between us -because we don’t live under the same roof now. How could that alter us?” - -“My dear, it is for Lady Mactavish and myself to decide who shall or who -shall not be your friends,” he said, with quiet decision. - -“That may be,” said Evereld, “as far as new friends are concerned, but -I cannot unmake a friend to order--no, not even if the Queen commanded -it.” - -They both smiled a little. Sir Matthew paced the room in silence. - -“I must not forbid her to hold any communication with him,” he -reflected, “or let her feel that I am a tyrant and they a couple of -martyrs. After all, she is so young and simple and innocent; no mischief -will come of it.” - -“Has Ralph found work?” he inquired, not unkindly. - -“Yes,” she said, “at Washington’s theatre; and perhaps he is going on a -Scotch tour.” - -“Good!” said Sir Matthew, approvingly. “After all, he has talent, and -will make himself a name in time. His best chance would be to marry some -experienced actress older than himself. That has answered very well in -one or two cases. His birth and education would go for something, and if -he plays his cards well the stage may make his fortune. By-the-by, Bruce -Wylie is to dine with us to-night. You like him, do you not?” - -“Oh, yes,” said Evereld, “I like him very much.” - -And Sir Matthew, satisfied with the warmth of her tone, dismissed her -with a paternal kiss, and an injunction to put on her prettiest gown in -honour of the festival. - -Bruce Wylie was certainly the most attractive and amusing of the men -who visited the Mactavishes. He had the easy, comfortable air of an -old friend, and he came and went at all hours, yet never seemed to be -present when he was not wanted. His fair hair and short, fair beard -contrasted rather curiously with his dark, keen eyes. He had a brisk, -kindly, pleasant manner, and a particularly winning voice. There -was about him, too, a saving sense of humour, and the rather heavy -atmosphere of Sir Matthew’s household always seemed less oppressive when -he was present. He was a first-rate _raconteur_, and Evereld was never -tired of listening to his stories. - -It was all in vain that she tried to see him with Ralph’s eyes. She -decided in her own mind that his hard experience of the world had made -Ralph somewhat cynical and distrustful. He had convinced her with regard -to Sir Matthew, but to belief in Bruce Wylie she still clung with all -the loyalty of her fresh, innocent youth. - -And yet the ladies had only left the dining-room a few moments when -Bruce Wylie revealed a very different side of himself. - -“Ewart’s little girl is looking prettier than usual tonight,” he -remarked, as he picked out the preserved apricots from a small dish -in front of him, leaving only bitter oranges and citrons for those who -might come after. - -“Yes,” said Sir Matthew, “Southbourne has done wonders for her. She had -better have another six months there.” - -“Was she not eighteen in the autumn? She will want to come out next -season.” - -“I don’t think it,” said Sir Matthew. “She is happy enough there, and -we shall do well to keep her from the heiress-hunters till she is safely -betrothed to you.” - -“Poor little soul!” said Bruce Wylie, reflectively. “There would be no -danger in letting her see a little of the world first.” - -“We won’t risk that,” said his companion. “What’s to prevent her falling -in love with some young fellow and refusing to look at you. If she ever -lost her heart, she would be the veriest little shrew to manage--there -would be no taming her. We might prevent her marrying till she was of -age, but you know what revelations would come about when her affairs -were looked into. No, no; she must be safely married to her worthy -solicitor, Bruce Wylie, as soon as possible after she leaves school.” - -Bruce Wylie seemed lost in thought. Sir Matthew watched him, -half-suspiciously. They were friends and confederates, but the company -promoter trusted no one in the world implicitly. - -“You are thinking that it is a risky venture,” he said, quietly, “but -under the circumstances it’s far the best thing that can be done. If the -South African affair goes on as well as it promises, her money will be -safe enough in the long run; and if a smash comes, why her money will be -gone, but our names and reputations will be safe, and no great harm will -come of it.” - -“I was not thinking of that,” said Bruce Wylie. “There’s another side -to the business, and one can’t altogether overlook it. I am fond of the -little thing, and I honestly believe she likes me, but if anything of -this should ever leak out, if, after we were married, her suspicions -were roused, why then, as you say, I can imagine that the taming process -might be difficult. Spite of her china-blue eyes, there’s a pretty spice -of determination in Ewart’s little girl.” - -“My dear fellow, you astonish me,” said Sir Matthew, impatiently. “With -enough on your mind to burden most men heavily, you can yet find time to -worry over the matrimonial squabbles that may ruffle your future peace. -When once she’s your wife you’ll be able to do what you please with -her.” - -“I’m not so sure of that,” said Bruce Wylie. “It’s just those little, -gentle women with hardly a word to say for themselves who are always -astonishing people by hidden stores of force and courage and daring at -some critical moment.” - -“The only possible difficulty with Evereld would be her friendship for -Ralph Donmead,” said Sir Matthew, “and, as ill luck will have it, the -fellow turned up again to-day.” - -“D------ him!” exclaimed Bruce Wylie. “How was that?” - -“Saw her at the Abbey, and had the audacity to walk home with her. She -told me all about it with the utmost frankness, and without so much as a -change of colour. I don’t think there is any mischief done yet, but the -less she sees of him the better. It seems that he is doing pretty well -on the stage; at least, I gathered so.” - -“Well,” said Bruce Wylie, reflectively, “it is always easy to set a -scandal afloat about an actor, and if she seems losing her heart to him -that is the line we must take.” - -And therewith the two friends fell to talking of other business -arrangements. - -***** - -When Ralph turned away from the house in Queen Anne’s Gate, the -happy excitement of the past hour suddenly gave place to a sobering -realisation of things as they were. He, Ralph Denmead, a super at a -pound a week, had had the audacity to fall in love with a girl of -whose fortune he had, indeed, very vague ideas, but who had always been -considered an heiress. That was a situation he liked very little, but -it was characteristic of him that he did not sink into any very great -depths of depression. He was not easily depressed, having been born with -one of those equable tempers which are as delightful as they are rare. -Then, too, his very indifference to money for its own sake, the habit -he had inherited from his unworldly father of a positive dislike of all -display and a contempt for all but the simplest tastes, came now to -his aid. Extremes meet. And the marriage, which would have seemed a -perfectly simple and desirable arrangement to a selfish fortune-hunter, -seemed also perfectly possible to Ralph with his unconventional way of -looking at things. He disliked her fortune, would gladly have foregone -it altogether, but saw no reason in the world why it should stand as a -barrier between them. If she loved him all would be well. He hoped she -did love him, but was not certain. Only in that last quiet good-bye -of hers something in its very self-control had given him hope; for the -first time she seemed to shrink a little from showing how much she felt -the parting. She was wholly unlike the little girl he had left sobbing -in the schoolroom at Sir Matthew’s country cottage a few months before. - -As he thought of this, a sort of wild desire to succeed in his -profession, and to succeed quickly, took possession of him. His present -position at the foot of the ladder seemed no longer tolerable. Patient -plodding had been well enough earlier in the day, but now the fiery -impatience of youth began to get the better of him. He turned eagerly -to Ivy. They had by this time reached Westminster Bridge, and the cold, -fresh wind from the river and the wider view seemed in harmony with -his eager longing for a fuller, freer life, for an escape from the dull -routine of his present work. - -“Tell me more about this Scotch tour” he said, eagerly. “Do you think -there is really a chance of our getting into the company? Does your -grandfather think Skoot a decent sort of fellow?” - -“Oh yes,” said Ivy, her face lighting up radiantly. “Come and talk to -him about it. He has seen both the manager and his wife: he used to know -them long ago. Oh, do think it over again. Just fancy how beautiful it -would be to see Scotland! We would go to Ellen’s Isle together and see -the Trossachs!” - -Ralph laughed. “I fear there are no theatres on the shores of Loch -Katrine,” he said. - -“Well,” said Ivy, looking disappointed, “we should at any rate see -mountains, and the travelling would be such fun. I have never been -on tour in my life, hardly ever out of London even. Come in and see -grandfather and talk about it.” - -Ralph was persuaded to follow her into the dreary, little house, and -much to Ivy’s satisfaction her grandfather was awake and seemed in -excellent spirits. He was inclined to see everything in the world -through rose-coloured spectacles, and was about as fit to advise any one -as a baby of three years old. But his venerable aspect and his smiling -benevolent face were, nevertheless, impressive and Ralph listened -eagerly to all that he said. It was quite true that he had known this -manager and his wife many years ago: they were most estimable people. -Skoot himself had real talent, his wife not much more than a pretty -face, but they were thoroughly worthy people; she was a woman with whom -he could trust Ivy, he had never heard a word against her. He should -miss Ivy, but the landlady would take care of him and the experience -and even the change of air would be very good for the child. He strongly -advised Ralph to try and get into the Company, it was a chance which did -not occur every day. He would give him a letter of introduction and he -could see the manager to-morrow. - -At any other time Ralph would have perceived that the old man’s advice -while he was under the influence of the opium was worth nothing at all. -But now the bland, comfortable voice and hopeful auguries weighed with -him. He accepted the offer of the introduction, and the Professor, urged -by Ivy, who brought him ink and paper and put the pen between his limp, -lazy fingers, actually wrote the letter. After that Ralph bade them -good-bye, went home to dress for the evening, and then set out for the -Marriotts’ house where he had been kindly invited to dine; while Ivy -went to the dress rehearsal of the pantomime. In the evening he talked -over his prospects with Miss Marriott and her niece, giving a very -roseate description of the Scotch proposal. The ladies both advised him -to close with so good an offer; Mr. Marriott would not commit himself, -only counselling him to be sure to have his agreement drawn up in a -legal way, and suggesting that he might take the advice of Washington. -But this, as Ralph knew, would not be so easy; for Washington was a busy -man and though greatly beloved by all his employés had little to do with -them personally. Moreover in his heart of hearts Ralph knew that the -great actor would counsel him to plod on patiently, and every moment he -felt that this had become less possible to him. - -The end of it was that he seized the very first opportunity of seeing -Theophilus Skoot, and finding him a very decent-looking man, exceedingly -hopeful as to the business they would do in Scotland, and quite willing -to come to terms, he signed the agreement for a six months’ provincial -tour for which he was to receive a salary of two pounds a week, and -went back to Paradise Street in excellent spirits to receive Ivy’s -congratulations. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -“_We ought all to count the cost before we enter upon any line -of conduct, and I would most strongly warn any one against the -self-deception of fancying that he who wishes to be an ambassador of -peace can do otherwise than weep bitterly_.”--Frederick Denison Maurice. - -|During the weeks that followed, the only thing which marred Ivy’s -complete happiness was a certain jealousy of the bright-faced girl they -had met at Westminster Abbey on Christmas Day. She was constantly asking -Ralph questions about Evereld Ewart; at times he seemed pleased to talk -of her, at other times his face would grow grave and he would answer -only in monosyllables in a way which perplexed his small devotee not a -little. However, she gathered that he did not see any more of his old -friend and consoled herself by hurrying off to Whiteley’s sale to buy a -jacket and hat as much like Evereld’s as her purse would afford. - -She wore them for the first time on the foggy February morning when -Ralph called for her at her grandfather’s rooms to take her to King’s -Cross. For it had been arranged that she should travel with him to -Dumfries where he was to place her under the special care of the -manager’s wife. The old Professor seemed much depressed when the parting -actually came; he kept looking at the child with wistful eyes and slowly -counting out money for the journey with a small, a very small surplus, -in case of accidents as he said. - -“Have you kept enough for yourself?” asked Ivy, throwing her arms round -his neck. “I shall be away six months you know.” - -“I have enough to last me a couple of months,” said the old man, “with -what my pupils will bring in. And by that time you will be able to send -me a little. You are to have a good salary--a very good salary and no -travelling expenses when once you’re in Scotland.” - -“Yes, yes,” said Ivy, gaily. “I shall be as rich as a queen when I come -back.” - -The old man’s eyes filled with tears. - -“Yes, when you come back,” he said, huskily, “When you come back. You -will do what you can for her if she needs help?” he added, shaking hands -tremulously with Ralph. - -“I will, indeed,” said Ralph, heartily; and there was something in his -look and tone which satisfied the Professor and robbed the parting of -its worst pain. - -Ivy, too much excited to feel the leave-taking, sprang into the cab with -a joyous sense that at last, like the heroine of a fairy tale, she was -setting out into the world to seek her fortune. It was scarcely right -that she should be starting with the fairy prince beside her, he ought -to have turned up later in the plot and just at some critical moment. -Still real life could not always be regulated by the rules of fiction -and she reflected that it was much nicer to have him at once. - -She leant back in her corner of the third-class carriage, and thought -what care he had taken of her, how much more gentle his manner was than -the manner of any one else she knew, and how blissful it would be to act -with him for six whole months. He did not talk to her very much, being -still busy with his parts, but she was quite content with the mere -pleasure of his presence and with the delightful novelty of her first -long journey. The Company were to play “Macbeth,” “East Lynne,” “Guy -Mannering,” “Rob Roy,” “The Man of the World,” “Jeannie Deans,” and -several short plays such as “Cramond Brig,” a great favourite in -Scotland. Ivy was not well pleased with her parts in “Macbeth,” being -cast for _Donal Bain, Fleance and Macduff’s_ boy. But she reflected that -in the first part she would always come on with Ralph since he was to -play _Malcolm_, as well as the part of second witch, while later on she -should have the pleasure of being killed by him in his character of -first murderer. Ralph seeing irrepressible mirth in her face asked what -was amusing her. - -“I have to call you ‘a shag-haired villain,’” she said, laughing till -the tears ran down her face, “and you have to stab me in the fourth -act.” - -“We will have a private rehearsal then, beforehand,” said Ralph, -smiling. “And you will find my red wig very awe-inspiring, I can tell -you.” - -Ivy looked pityingly at her fellow-travellers, wondering how they -endured their humdrum lives, and full of radiant hopes for her own -future. - -The fogs of London had soon given place to bright sunshine, and it -seemed to her that she had left behind all that was cheerless and was -going forth into a glorious world of possibilities. It was certainly a -red-letter day in her life’s calendar. - -The arrival in Scotland, however, was not so cheerful. The cold which -they had not greatly noticed in the railway carriage, seemed bitter -indeed when they left the train at Dumfries. - -It was nearly six o’clock and there was little light left. What there -was, revealed snowy roads and slippery pavements. Ivy shivered and clung -fast hold of Ralph’s hand as they made their way to the manager’s -rooms, a red-headed porter, much resembling the shag-haired murderer -in “Macbeth,” going on before them with a luggage truck. He paused at -a high house in a particularly dingy street. The door was opened by a -shrewd, hard-featured woman who, upon Ralph’s inquiry, told them that -Mrs. Skoot was in, and ushered them upstairs to a room where the remains -of dinner still lingered on the table, and a large, portly lady, with -blonde hair and big cow-like eyes, sat with her feet in the fender -reading a novel. - -“So there you are, dear,” she said, greeting Ivy affectionately, but -retaining a greasy thumb in the book to keep her place. “I’m glad -you’ve come, for Mr. Skoot has just arranged to have an extra rehearsal -to-night.” - -“Is this Mr. Denmead?” she inquired, extending her hand graciously and -taking a rapid survey of him from head to foot. “Have you found rooms -yet?” - -“No, I have not,” said Ralph, his low-toned voice and quiet manner -contrasting most curiously with her loud accents. “I was going to ask -you if there is any list of lodgings.” - -“To be sure,” she said. “Here it is; you’ll find those all very good and -reasonable. I’ve known most of them myself in past years.” - -Ralph thanked her and turned to go, glancing with some compassion at -Ivy. “I shall see you again at rehearsal,” he said. “Mind you have -something to eat first.” - -“Oh, yes, I’ll see to her,” said Mrs. Skoot, vociferously. “She’s to -board with me you know, her grandfather made me promise that. Half-past -seven for the rehearsal, don’t forget. Your landlady will be able to -direct you to the theatre.” - -“What an awful woman!” thought Ralph to himself. “The Professor must be -out of his mind to let Ivy be with her for six whole months. She may be -all that’s virtuous--but as a constant companion! Poor Ivy! I wonder how -such a decent little fellow as Skoot comes to have such a wife!” - -At this point in his reflections they reached the first house on his -list, but found the rooms already secured by other members of the -company. The same result followed the next application, and yet again -the next. He began to grow tired of wandering about the snowy streets, -and catching sight of a card in a window announcing that rooms were to -be had, he paused at a neat but unpretentious house and once more made -his inquiry. - -A very prim-looking widow appeared in answer to his knock; she seemed -favourably impressed with his appearance and mentioned her terms. - -“That will do very well. I want the rooms for a week,” said Ralph, -longing to get into a house, for he was half-frozen and very hungry. - -“I don’t take lodgers that keep late hours,” said the widow, cautiously. -“I like to lock up by half-past ten, sir.” - -Ralph made an ejaculation of dismay. “I’m afraid I can’t promise that,” - he said. “I’m an actor, you see, and am not likely to be in by that -time.” - -The woman’s whole face stiffened, her very cap seemed to grow as rigid -as buckram, her upper lip lengthened. “We only take _Christians_ here,” - she said in a severe way, and then without another word she closed the -door. - -It was the first time he had ever been made to feel himself an outcast -on account of his profession, and for a minute the words, by their -injustice, stung him. Then his sense of fun conquered and he laughed to -himself as he walked on with bent head in the teeth of the bitter, east -wind. - -Referring once again to the list of professional lodgings, he consulted -the porter who told him which was the nearest house, and here he at last -got taken in, by a dishevelled but smiling landlady. - -“There’s Mr. Dudley, one of Mr. Skoot’s company, in my house now,” she -said. “Maybe you could share the sitting-room.” - -Ralph hesitated, but without more ado the woman stepped into her front -parlour and put the case to the present occupant. - -“Oh, by all means,” said a hearty voice; and the door was thrown back -and into the narrow passage stepped a tall, powerful-looking man of -about forty, his large, clean-shaven face, twinkling eyes, and broad -mouth full of good humour. Ralph knew at a glance that it was not at all -a face of high type, but it was genial and attractive and it contrasted -most singularly with the forbidding face of the widow who only housed -Christians. - -“Come in, my boy,” said the hearty voice; “you look half frozen.” - -“It was the landlady’s proposal,” said Ralph. “You are sure you don’t -mind?” - -“To be sure not! ‘Mine enemy’s dog, though he had bit me, should stand -this night against my fire.’ Skoot was telling me about you. The little -brute has called a special rehearsal; you had better look sharp and get -something to eat for there’s no knowing how long they will keep us at -it. The Skoots were always great hands at rehearsing.” - -“You have travelled with them before?” - -“Yes, many years ago, and there’s not much love lost between us. -Shouldn’t have taken this berth now, if I hadn’t been out of an -engagement for some time. I have my doubts if the tour will be a -success. Skoot is awfully hampered, you see, by having to run his wife -as leading lady.” - -Ralph prudently forbore to make any comment, but the thought of acting -with Mrs. Skoot was a sort of nightmare to him. - -“Have the rest of the company all arrived?” he asked. - -“Yes, I think so. There’s little Ivy Grant--she’s coming on very well -indeed, devilish pretty girl into the bargain. Then there’s Miss Myra -Kay, a brunette, rather prudish, used to be in Macneillie’s company, -but lost her health, and is now only just starting afresh. As for the -men--well, you’ll see for yourself by-and-by--half of them in my opinion -are sticks, and the other half roaring ranters. Hulloa, you’ll find that -a bad speculation. Never order coffee in Great Britain, for they don’t -know how to make it. Take to whisky, my boy. It’s the only thing for -strolling players.” - -“Thanks, I detest it,” said Ralph, “and if professional landladies don’t -understand coffee-making, why I’ll brew it myself as we used to do at -Winchester.” - -“I thought you had been at a public school. What made you take up with -the stage? Didn’t your people object?” - -“I am alone in the world,” said Ralph. “My guardian wanted me to be a -parson, but I couldn’t go in for that, and so, being turned out of his -house, I thought I would try to realise an old dream of mine and be an -actor.” - -Dudley had watched him keenly during this speech. He was a man who had -led a notoriously evil life, but he had a good deal of kindliness in his -nature, and there was something in Ralph’s transparent honesty, in his -evident purity of heart and life that appealed to him. Bad as his own -record had been he was wholly without the fiendish desire to drag other -men down with him. - -“Your dreams were probably very unlike the reality.” he said, with a -smile. “Are you prepared to rough it?” Ralph laughed, and gave him -the account of the straits he had been reduced to, and Dudley having -described the merits and drawbacks of a provincial tour under Skoot’s -management, suggested that they had better be setting off for the -rehearsal. - -They had scarcely opened the stage door when Mrs. Skoot’s shrill voice -made itself heard. She was vehemently complaining about some mistake -made by the baggage man, and the poor harassed culprit stood meekly to -receive her angry threats of dismissal, not daring to proffer excuse or -explanation. Ivy looking scared and cold, stood not far off; her whole -face lighted up when she caught sight of Ralph, and she stole over to -whisper in his ear, “Isn’t Mrs. Skoot dreadful?” - -“Suggests the queen in ‘Alice in Wonderland,’” he replied, smiling. “Off -with his head!” - -Ivy was obliged to laugh a little. - -“That is Miss Myra Kay,” she said, indicating a pale, slim girl, who was -pacing to and fro, book in hand. “I think she is very selfish; they -say she hardly speaks to any one, but just takes care of herself and is -quite wrapped up in her own affairs.” - -“Take care,” said Ralph, warningly; “you may be overheard.” - -Dudley now introduced him to one or two of the actors, and before long -the manager himself arrived. He seemed in good spirits, greeted Ralph -pleasantly, pacified his wife, and promptly set them all to work. - -Only too soon, however, they realised that the length of the rehearsal -depended on Mrs. Skoot and not on her husband. Although it was no -business of hers she seemed unable to refrain from constant interruption -and fault-finding, and before the evening was over she had reduced Miss -Kay to tears, had tormented poor Ivy into the worst of tempers and had -goaded most of the men into a state of sullen wrath. - -At last, after four hours of this, Mr. Skoot looked at his watch and -announced that it was half-past eleven. Time was the only thing which -had ever been known to conquer Mrs. Skoot; she wisely bowed to the -inevitable, and having reminded Miss Kay that the call was for eleven on -the following morning, she allowed herself to be helped into a handsome -fur cloak, and telling Ivy to follow her, quitted the theatre. - -Ralph went back to his rooms in low spirits and the next morning did -not much mend matters, for they were kept rehearsing from eleven in -the morning till five in the afternoon. Had it not been for Dudley’s -unfailing good humour, his flashes of fun, and his genial kindliness, -Ralph thought he could not have endured so great a contrast to the whole -atmosphere of Washington’s theatre. - -He began to feel a sort of angry contempt for the manager who seemed -but a tool in the hands of his wife and was quite indifferent to the -annoyance she gave to others. - -But in the evening when “Macbeth” was given, when, for the first time in -his life, he had one of Shakspere’s characters to portray, he forgot all -the previous misery. Into the comparatively small part of _Malcolm_ he -had put an amount of thought and study and imagination which surprised -Dudley, and the elder man, as they walked home together, spoke words of -hearty commendation and encouragement which cheered the novice’s heart -as nothing else could have done. - -On the day before they were to leave Dumfries for Ayr, it chanced that, -being released earlier than usual from rehearsal, Ralph suggested a walk -to Ivy. It was the first chance they had had for any sort of relaxation, -and Ivy listened with delight to the proposal of a visit to the grave of -Burns and to Lincluden Abbey. - -She was not at all pleased when as they drew near to the Burns’ -mausoleum they caught sight of Myra Kay. As yet Ralph had made no way at -all with this pale, dark-eyed girl, they had scarcely exchanged a dozen -words, and her manner was very reserved and distant. All that he knew -about her was the little he had gleaned from the men of the company. It -was reported that her marriage was to take place in the summer, and that -she was engaged to an actor named Brinton who was now in Macneillie’s -Company. She had the reputation of being cold, cautious, and -conventional, but in comparison with Mrs. Skoot she was so delightful -that Ralph felt drawn to her and was chafed by a perfectly clear -consciousness that for some reason she disapproved of him. He was -pleased when she volunteered a few tepid remarks about Turnerelli’s -sculpture, and to Ivy’s disgust he asked her if she would not join them -in their walk to Lincluden Abbey. - -She hesitated for a moment, then with a glance at his open, boyish face -seemed suddenly to arrive at some determination more important than that -of the mere decision to take a walk. - -“I will come part of the way with you,” she said. “But since my illness -I am not much of a walker. It is one of the few grudges I harbour -against Mr. Macneillie.” - -“You were in his Company?” - -“Yes, and at Oxford, while playing in an outdoor representation of -‘Midsummer Night’s Dream,’ got soaked to the skin and had to wear the -wet clothes. The rest of them escaped with colds but I was laid up for -six months. The manager was extremely good to me I must say, and in -August I hope to be back again in his Company.” - -“You like him then as a manager?” - -“Yes, indeed, there couldn’t be a better. I don’t know how I shall -ever endure all these months with the Skoots, and had I known that that -scoundrel Dudley was to be in the Company I should never have accepted -the engagement.” - -Ralph raised his eyebrows. “That’s a severe word,” he said. - -“It’s no more than he deserves,” said Myra Kay, frowning. “I am -astonished that you can share rooms with him and make him your friend.” - -“He is very likely no worse than many others,” said Ralph, nettled by -her tone. - -“No worse!” she said, scornfully. “Is it possible you do not know that -he is the wretch who figured in the Houston case? You must remember -it--the stir was so great and it is not eighteen months ago.” - -“I was at school eighteen months ago and never troubled my head with -_causes célèbres_.” - -Myra Kay walked on in silence for a few moments; then she briefly told -him the facts of the case and was pleased to see him wince. - -“The man has been properly punished,” she continued, with satisfaction, -“and now no decent manager wall have him--at any rate, till the details -of the case are forgotten. He is desperately hard up for money, and -every one cuts him. I hope, now that you know all this, you will have no -more to say to him.” - -“Perhaps he has turned over a new leaf,” said Ralph, looking up from -the discoloured track where they were walking to the pure white fields -beyond. - -Myra Kay gave a sarcastic little laugh. - -“You are far too innocent, Mr. Denmead,” she said; and Ralph thought -there was an unpleasant touch of patronage in her tone. “Does he look as -if he were repenting?” - -“Men can’t go about in sackcloth and ashes,” said Ralph; “and you surely -wouldn’t have him cultivate a face a yard long? It’s his nature to be -full of fun, and, for my part, I would far rather have to do with a -man who has been openly punished than with a hypocrite who sins with -impunity and goes about posing as a philanthropist.” - -He thought resentfully of Sir Matthew. - -“I can’t think how you can speak to him,” said Myra Kay bitterly, “For -your own sake, and for the sake of the profession, you ought to have -nothing to do with him. It was not just a common case of wrongdoing--it -was a specially atrocious affair throughout. They say you are the son -of a clergyman. I should have thought you would have had better judgment -than to mix yourself up with such a man.” - -“He is precisely the sort of man my father would have befriended,” said -Ralph, warmly. “There was nothing of the Pharisee about him. I remember -how when all the village cut a man who had been in prison for some -bad offence, he found out the fellow’s one vulnerable point--a love -of flowers--and had him up with us at the Rectory the whole of one -Bank-holiday, pottering about the garden and greenhouse, and as happy as -a king in exchanging plants with us, and helping to bud roses.” - -“That may be well enough for a clergyman, but for you--a mere boy, -knowing so little of the world--it is different. You ought not to have -chosen such a man as your companion.” - -“I didn’t choose him,” said Ralph, with some warmth. “An ‘unco guid’ -widow shut the door in my face, because I was an actor, and said she -only took in Christians. Then at the next place I went to they gave me -shelter and kind words, and Dudley was goodness itself to me. If I cut -him now I should be a contemptible cad.” - -“Well,” said his companion, with a shrug of her shoulders, “you must -‘gang your own gait.’ But remember that I have warned you.” - -She turned back soon after this, and Ivy, who had thought the whole -discussion very tiresome, skipped for joy when a bend in the road hid -her from view. - -But Ralph seemed unusually silent, and as they looked at the ruins of -the old abbey, Ivy could not at all understand the shadow that seemed to -have come over his face. - -Not a word ever passed Dudley’s lips about his previous life, but there -were not lacking people who promptly told him that Ralph Denmead had -just learnt all about it; and when they moved on to Ayr, he said in his -blunt way: - -“You’ll not care that we should pig together any longer, I daresay?” - -“I had much rather share diggings with you than with any of the others,” - said Ralph, heartily. “If I’m not in your way, that is? You are the only -man who has shown me the least kindness.” - -Dudley made an inarticulate exclamation. He was more touched than he -would have cared to own. - -“You are thankful for small mercies,” he said, “and gratitude is a rare -thing in the profession. But I like you, lad, and am glad to have you as -a chum. You shall not have cause to be ashamed of me.” - -And so throughout the strange vicissitudes of the Scotch tour these two -oddly-contrasting characters bore each other company, and for some time -Myra Kay kept aloof from them both. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -“_All these anxieties will be good for you. They all go to the making -of a man--calling out that God-dependence in him which is the only true -self-dependence, the only true strength_.”--Letters of Charles Kingsley. - -|During the first month Theophilus Skoot’s Company prospered as well as -could be expected. A week at Glasgow and a week at Edinburgh, with full -houses, cheered every one; but after that, as they went northward, the -days of dearth began. It was now past the middle of March, and the old -proverb, - - “As the light lengthens - - The cold strengthens,” - -was fulfilling itself in very bitter fashion. Perhaps people were -disinclined to turn out of their comfortable homes on such bleak -evenings; at any rate, the week at Stirling proved a dead failure, and -Perth was wrestling with the influenza demon, and had little leisure to -bestow on strolling players. - -It was here that one evening Ralph, for the first time, learnt what it -is to work without a salary. - -He was sitting on a basket, waiting for his cue, with “Pendennis” to -cheer him into forgetfulness of fatigue and cold, when Dudley returned -to the dressing-room, with an odd look lurking about the corners of his -mouth. - -“The ghost walks,” he said, in sepulchral tones. - -“What do you mean?” said Ralph, laughing. - -“It’s all very well to laugh. You won’t be able to do that long. There’s -no treasury to-morrow, my boy. ‘The manager regrets,’ etc., etc.” - -“No treasury!” echoed Ralph, blankly. - -“I’m not surprised,” said Dudley; “I was always doubtful whether Skoot -would hold out long. But we may have better luck at Dundee.” - -“And if not, how are we to live?” asked Ralph, recollecting how small a -sum he had to fall back upon. - -“Why, my dear boy, we must live like the birds of the air, who eat other -folk’s property, and then fly away.” Ralph looked gloomy. - -“Well, after all,” he said, “the debts will virtually be Skoot’s, not -ours. And, as you say, other places may not be so bad as Perth has -been.” - -This was exactly what the manager observed as they journeyed on from -town to town. He was always apologetic, always bland and pleasant; but -not another penny was ever forthcoming. In other respects, however, the -tour was less unpleasant than at first. The rehearsals were shorter, and -Mrs. Skoot did not venture to irritate them quite so much, but solaced -herself instead with whisky. Moreover, their common trouble formed a -sort of bond of union between the members of the Company; they grumbled -together, and cheered each other up; they were extraordinarily kind -in helping one another; all the little jealousies and quarrels were -forgotten in the general anxiety and distress. As to Myra Kay, she was -like another being altogether; she nursed Ivy through a long and -tedious cold, she forgave Ralph for his friendship with Dudley, and she -discussed ways and means in the most helpful fashion. Her experience -and good advice were of considerable use to Ralph, while, when their -prospects were at the darkest, Ivy managed to extract comfort from -dreams about the future, and would listen by the hour to Myra’s plans -for the summer, and to discussions about her wedding and her trousseau. - -And so the weary weeks dragged on, until at last, towards the end of -April, they found themselves at Inverness. By this time they were all -beginning to grow desperate for want of money, and Ralph, after a -hard struggle with himself, conquered his pride and wrote to old Mr. -Marriott, telling him of the plight he was in. It was not until the last -day of their engagement at Inverness that the reply, bearing the name -of the firm on the envelope, was placed in his hands. He tore it open -eagerly and turned pale as he read the contents: - -“Basinghall Street, E. C. - -“21th April. - -“Dear Sir, - -“With reference to your letter of the 25th inst., I beg to inform you -that Mr. Marriott has been very dangerously ill with influenza, and to -recruit his health he has been ordered to take a voyage to Australia. I -regret that in his absence I do not feel myself at liberty to make you -any advance. I am, dear sir, yours truly, - -“W. G. Maunder.” - -The next day they moved on to Elgin. The manager looked miserable -and depressed; Mrs. Skoot, though not quite sober, read novels more -assiduously than ever, and among the actors there were loud complaints, -and angry threatenings of a strike. At Elgin the audiences were better -than might have been expected, and the Skoots seemed to revive a little -as they moved on to the neighbouring town of Forres. But the luckless -Company still toiled unpaid. - -Ralph’s patience was now almost exhausted. Ivy had received piteous -letters telling of her grandfather’s difficulties, and every day it -seemed less and less probable that they would ever again receive their -salaries from the manager. - -Forres certainly did not look like a place where they would attract -large audiences, and an indescribable feeling of hopelessness stole over -him as he gazed at the old gabled houses and at the one long, irregular -street which formed the chief part of the town. How much longer could -he possibly endure the weary, distasteful life? The halls with their -miserable accommodation behind the scenes--for in few towns had they -found a proper theatre;--the cheap lodgings with their dirty rooms; the -daily marketing under difficulties; and the revolting spectacle of -Mrs. Skoot drowning her discomfiture in drink--all these had become -intolerable. - -“Let us go for a walk,” said Ivy, despairingly. “At any rate out of -doors we can have air and sunshine--we shall have enough of our wretched -rooms later on.” - -“Come and see the river,” said Myra Kay. “They say there are lovely -views by the Findhorn.” - -Ralph consented, and the three walked out together into the country, -and did their best to forget the troubles that hemmed them in, as -they wandered among the flowery fields, where Ivy gathered violets and -primroses to her heart’s content. Presently by the river, among the soft -early green of the bushes, they came to a fallen tree, and here they -established themselves while Ralph read to them. They had indulged in -two or three of Dickens’ novels at an old bookstall in Edinburgh in -their days of plenty, and when fortune frowned upon them these shabby -volumes had proved a perfect godsend. They had solaced many a cold -journey and brightened many a dreary lodging-house, and they helped now -to distract them from the thought of their daily increasing troubles. - -It seemed to Ivy when she looked back afterwards, that this afternoon by -the Findhorn was the last really happy day she was ever to know. She sat -cosily ensconced on the tree trunk with her lap full of flowers which -she delighted in arranging; and Ralph lay on the grass at her feet with -his head propped against the smooth surface of the fallen beech tree. -She noticed how the short waves of his crisp, brown hair contrasted with -the silver-grey of the bark, and how the careworn look which had grown -upon him during the tour was entirely banished now as flashes of mirth -passed over his face, caused by the sayings of Grip the Raven. - -Myra Kay sat just beyond him; she was knitting socks for her _fiancé_, -listening at times to the reading, but more often dreaming of her own -future. Everywhere there was that sense of hope and joyous expectation -that seems to belong to the spring-time: the birds sang as Ivy had never -heard them sing before; the lambs frisked delightfully in the soft, -green meadows near their somewhat uninteresting mothers; and into her -half-taught, eager mind there somehow floated new ideas of the meaning -of “green pastures and still waters,” and a firmer confidence in a -Shepherd who would not forget even the members of a travelling company -in grievous straits up in the north of Scotland. - -“Oh don’t let us go just yet!” she exclaimed, as Ralph closed the book. -“It can’t be time to go back to those stuffy rooms.” - -“I’m in no hurry,” said Ralph, stretching himself, and falling back into -a more comfortable attitude. - -He could not see Ivy’s face, but he could see her little, slender -fingers as they pulled the petals off a daisy. The result seemed to -displease her; she threw away the remains of the flower, and gathering -another diligently pulled off each pink-tipped petal, but again threw -the stalk from her with a little impatient gesture. Then she began upon -a third, and had become absorbed in her counting, when suddenly she felt -Ralph’s hand lay hold of hers. - -“Caught in the act,” he said, laughing. “Don’t you know that -fortune-telling is illegal?” - -“Not if you tell your own,” said Ivy. - -Something in her voice made him look at her, and for the first time -in her little childish face he detected an expression which made him -clearly understand that he was not dealing with a mere girl but with -a woman. Long ago he had realised that her hard experience of life had -robbed Ivy of the innocent ignorance which had kept Evereld so young; -but he had naturally fallen into the habit of treating her as he would -have treated any other girl of fifteen with whom he was brought into -constant companionship. Thinking it over now it suddenly occurred to him -that during the Scotch tour Ivy had lost her brisk, managing way, that -she was very different from the independent little being who ordered -the Professor’s affairs for him, that she had become unnaturally fond of -being helped and protected. An uncomfortable fear crossed his mind, but -he thought it best to laugh and try to change the subject. - -“Are you doing the old thing that Evereld and I used to be fond -of!--‘Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor?’ And have you always been fated -to wed the thief that you throw away one daisy after another?” - -“That’s a silly old rhyme,” said Ivy. “Of course I should never think of -marrying any one who wasn’t in the profession.” - -“Oh, that’s quite a mistake,” said Ralph, lightly, determined that he -must be cruel only to be kind. “Two of a trade seldom agree, you know. -You should marry a dreamy philosopher who needed waking up, and being -looked after.” - -Ivy blushed, and was silent, and Ralph was not sorry to be taken to task -by Myra Kay for his rash assertion that two of a trade never agreed. -They fell into a merry bantering discussion during which Ivy recovered -herself. - -After all, she reflected, why should she be unhappy because he had -teased her a little? His words no doubt meant nothing at all; she would -not spoil this happy afternoon by tormenting herself. - -“To-morrow’s my birthday,” she said, gaily, as they walked back to -Forres. “I’m going to be sixteen. There’s no rehearsal, and I vote that -we three have a real picnic.” - -“Carried unanimously,” said Ralph. “We might go as far as this Heronry -they speak of. The longer we are out of our dismal diggings the better.” - -The play that night was “Macbeth,” and anything more unlike the -arrangements at Washington’s theatre it would be impossible to conceive. -Mr. Skoot was apologetic, Mrs. Skoot endeavoured to be very affable, -and the Company with that readiness to perceive fun, and the real -good-nature which never failed them in an emergency, made the best of -the many discomforts. They dressed behind screens, they laughed and -joked, they had wild hunts for lost belongings, and they chattered -incessantly between the acts under cover of the noisiest piano-playing -which could be produced by one of the ladies, who, with a waterproof -cloak over her costume, did duty as the entire orchestra. - -A choice selection of Scotch airs was being hammered out at the close of -the Fourth Act, when Ralph, who was groping in a heap of miscellaneous -garments in hopes of rescuing the wig he had worn as first murderer, -and had hastily thrown off during a desperately hurried change into -_Malcolm’s_ attire, found himself close to Dudley. - -“The manager is positively enjoying himself,” said the comedian. “Skoot -is after all a wonderful man. I shouldn’t wonder if he was persuading -himself that this confounded tour will prove a success. That fellow -lives on dreams. His wife is the one for business.” - -At that moment Mrs. Skoot, in the most elegant of stage nightdresses, -and with her taper all ready to be lighted at the right moment, appeared -for the sleep-walking scene. Ralph often wondered what effect she had at -a distance; the near view of her was appalling. - -“I am afraid you have a great deal to put up with,” she said, in -unusually gracious tones, smiling in a ghastly way beneath her paint. -“But we must all learn to take the fortune of war. Our next place will -be comfortable enough.” - -They were joined just then by Myra Kay in the costume of the -_Gentlewoman-in-Waiting_. - -Mrs. Skoot, who, as a rule, was at daggers drawn with her, accosted her -now pleasantly enough. - -“I hear that you and Ivy have planned an excursion for to-morrow?” she -said. “Come and breakfast with us at nine o’clock before the start. And -you, too, Mr. Denmead.” - -They accepted the invitation in some surprise, and as the curtain was -rung up Mrs. Skoot requested Dudley to light her taper, and presently -sailed on to the stage for her great scene, leaving them in astonishment -at her unwonted good-humour. - -The next day Ralph went, as he had promised, to the manager’s rooms in -time for breakfast. He was within a few yards of the door when he came -upon the heavy man, and his son, a young and very indifferent actor who -usually played four or five small parts. - -“Have you heard the news?” they exclaimed. “The Company’s dried up.” - -“What?” said Ralph, in dismay. - -“The manager has absconded,” said the heavy man, pompously. “Went off by -the first train this morning. It seems that last night when we were all -safely out of the way the baggage man took everything to the station. -Then Skoot and his wife stole out of their lodgings early this morning -without rousing a soul, and here we are landed high and dry in the -north-east of Scotland. Pleasant prospect, isn’t it?” - -Ralph felt indeed that they were in a desperate plight. He moved on -mechanically to the open door of the manager’s rooms, and caught sight -of a little group in the entrance passage. - -The landlady, shrill-voiced and indignant, was telling the whole story -to Myra Kay; and Ivy, with an open letter in her hand, and traces of -tears on her little, piquant face stood close by. - -She was the first to catch sight of him, and hastened forward to greet -him. - -“Oh, Ralph, I’m so glad you have come!” she exclaimed, piteously. “What -am I to do? What can I do?” - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - - “Who bides his time--he tastes the sweet - - Of honey in the saltest tear; - - And though he fares with slowest feet, - - Joy runs to meet him, drawing near; - - The birds are heralds of his cause, - - And like a never-ending rhyme - - The roadsides bloom in his applause, - - Who bides his time.” - - J. W. Riley. - -|Have you had bad news from home?” asked Ralph, taking the letter which -Ivy held towards him. - -“Yes,” she said, in a broken voice. “They have had to move my -grandfather to the hospital.” - -It was but too clear, as Ralph at once perceived from the letter, that -the old Professor was never likely to recover, and that Ivy’s home had -ceased to exist. The landlady wrote to demand rent, and since it -was impossible to pay this, there would doubtless be a sale of the -Professor’s few belongings. - -And here was this pretty girl of sixteen, stranded, without a penny in -her possession, in a remote Scotch town, where it was impossible to meet -with an engagement. - -“What am I to do?” she said, lifting her piteous eyes to his with an -appeal that moved him more than he quite liked. He wished that he had -not guessed her secret on the previous day, and that he could treat her -once more in the matter-of-fact-elder-brotherly fashion which he had -once adopted. But this was no longer possible; nay, he felt an almost -irresistible longing to say to her: “I will take care of you. We will -set the world at defiance, and bear our troubles together.” - -Fortunately he thought of Evereld, and instantly tried to picture her -in the same plight. How would he have felt towards a man who had taken -advantage of her poverty and helplessness to place her in a position -which must, more or less, have compromised her? - -He folded the letter and gave it back. - -“Don’t worry yourself more than you can help,” he said, kindly. “I will -talk things over with the others, and we will manage somehow to get you -back to London.” - -But discussion threw very little light on the main difficulty of how to -raise the necessary money. Every member of the company was desperately -poor, and although Myra Kay offered to take charge of Ivy as far as -London, she had only just enough money to pay for her own railway -ticket. Some intended to go back to Inverness, others were setting -out for Edinburgh or Glasgow, and all were grumbling loudly, and -anathematising the Skoots who could scarcely have chosen a more -inconvenient place than Forres for their flight. - -He had counted a good deal on Dudley’s good nature; but the comedian -proved the most unsatisfactory adviser of all. - -“Oh don’t worry your head about Ivy Grant,” he said. “Depend upon it -such a pretty girl will win her way somehow or other. It’s much more to -the point what you and I are to do.” - -Ralph did not stay to argue the question. Myra Kay was to leave by the -next train for the south, and he was determined that somehow or -other Ivy must go with her. He went up to his room, threw most of his -possessions into a portmanteau, and went to try his fortune at the -pawnbrokers. It was broad daylight, but he had long ago ceased to feel -any shame at being reduced to such straits. He went to-day, however, -with a heavy heart; for he was only too well aware that he could not -hope to raise much money on the few shabby clothes, and the wigs, shoes, -and such like, which had supplemented the theatrical costumes provided -by Skoot. Many weeks before, his father’s watch and chain had been -parted with, so that he had nothing of much value, and his spirits sank -lower and lower as the pawnbroker checked off the garments one by one at -terribly small prices. - -In the very atmosphere of the shop there seemed something depressing; -tales of sordid misery seemed woven in with the shabby rugs and carpets, -the stacks of heterogeneous clothing; and tragedies seemed bound up with -the workmen’s tools, the musical instruments, the relics of household -furniture. - -“Twenty-five shillin’s and saxpence,” said the master of the shop, “Will -I be makin’ oot the teeckets?” - -“What’s the price of a third single to London?” asked Ralph. “I must -raise enough for that.” - -“Ye canna do it, sir, not with these, it’s juist beyon’ ony man’s -contrivin’. Why I’m thinkin’ the teecket to London will be a matter of -twa punds.” - -He appealed to his assistant. - -“It’s preceesely forty-two shillin’ and saxpence,” said the young man, -regarding the actor with some interest. - -“There’s still the portmanteau,” said Ralph. - -It was an old one of the rector’s, solid and good of its kind. - -“I’ll gie ye a couple o’ shillin’s for it,” said the pawnbroker. “But -ye’ll no be gettin’ to London, sir, upon twenty-seven and saxpence.” - -“It must be done,” said Ralph, with a determined look which took the -Scotchman’s fancy. “Make out those tickets, and I’ll be with you again -in five minutes.” - -“The laddie’s weel-bred,” said the old man to himself. “He’ll win his -way depend on it, there’s grit in him. Yon’s none of your false French -polishin’; it’s sound, good breedin’ and grit.” - -Ralph, true to his word, appeared again in a few minutes carrying a -Gladstone bag, an overcoat, and a mackintosh. The bag with the change of -linen in it which he had hoped to keep, went for a little more than -he had expected, and with the overcoat brought in enough money for -the journey, and ninepence to spare. He decided not to part with the -mackintosh, and gathering up his sheaf of tickets, bade the old Scotsman -good-day, and went at once to the manager’s deserted rooms. - -Ivy had grown tired of talking to the landlady, and being in spite of -her troubles exceedingly hungry, had taken her place at the forlorn -breakfast table, and was trying to find comfort in a cup of cold coffee. - -“Come, that’s a good idea,” said Ralph, cheerfully. “And now I think -of it, I, too, am hungry. Why should we not eat? After Mrs. Skoot’s -pressing invitation it’s a clear duty!” - -Ivy smiled, and began to fill his cup for him. - -“What do the rest of the company think I had better do?” she asked, -anxiously. - -“They all agree that you had better go back to London with Miss Kay. She -will not be able to take you home with her, but I’ve been thinking it -over, and I’m sure your best way will be to go to my old landlady Mrs. -Dan Doolan. She is the soul of good-nature and as long as they have a -crust in the house they will share it with you.” - -“But I don’t know them, and I can’t go and beg,” said Ivy, with an air -of distaste. - -“I will write a letter to them which will explain everything,” said -Ralph. “They are good, trustworthy people who will see that no harm -happens to you; they will, I daresay, house you while you look for -another engagement.” - -“How am I to get the money for my ticket?” - -“I will see to that for you.” - -“But you have no money?” - -“Are you so sure of that?” said Ralph, smiling as he rattled the coins -in his pocket cheerfully. - -The girl’s face brightened. “You have enough for both of us?” - -“I am going to stay in Scotland. I shall keep enough to get along with, -you needn’t be anxious.” - -But this was quite too much for Ivy, she hid her face and burst into -tears. - -“I can’t go alone,” she sobbed. “I won’t take your money, and leave you -behind in this horrid place. Oh, please, please let us stay together.” - -For a minute he wavered--the sight of her tears was almost more than he -could endure; the sunshine streaming in through the uncurtained window -turned her brown hair to gold, and revealed in a way that half-dazzled -him the wonderful grace of every line of her figure. With an effort, -he turned away, and began doggedly to pace the room till he recovered -himself, and, with that instinct for straightforward dealing which -always characterised him, frankly answered her suggestion. - -“That would never do: you will see if you think for a minute. You are no -longer a child, and people would say horrible things about you.” - -“But you always say we are not to trouble about slanders. You don’t like -conventional people, and yet here you would have me made miserable, for -fear unkind tongues should talk.” - -“We can’t throw aside all conventions,” said Ralph; “many of them are -good and useful in their way. Are you and I so superhuman that we can -afford to do without all safeguards? I know you think me hard-hearted, -but some day you’ll thank me for persuading you to go with Miss Kay.” - -Ivy shook her head. “It’s because you don’t really like me; you mean to -be kind, just kind and nothing more. I hate your kindness!” - -All the grief and love and passion that was pent up in her heart seemed -to break loose into this wild, little speech. - -Ralph began to pace the room again, he understood her only too well, and -he was sorely perplexed as to what he should do. At last he came to the -somewhat original determination to treat her as he would have liked in -her place to be treated. He sat down by her, and said quietly: - -“We are all of us unhinged this morning, but I want you, Ivy, to try and -see things as they really are. I’m going to tell you what not another -soul in the world knows, for it will help you to see how we stand. -I have a friend in England who is as yet only my friend, but I’m -presumptuous enough to dream--to hope that some day she will be my -wife.” - -“Then very naturally you can’t care much what happens to other girls,” - said Ivy, perversely. - -“I care a hundred times more,” said Ralph. “It is just through her that -I have learnt to reverence all women. Were she in your plight up here in -Forres should I not think any man a brute who risked her good name, who -didn’t do his utmost to shield her and help her unselfishly?” - -Ivy did not reply; her wistful blue eyes were fixed on his now with the -questioning look of a child who is trying to grasp some quite new idea. -She had seen all through her precocious childhood and girlhood a great -deal that called itself love, but was only selfishness and animal -passion, and now through her sorrow and disappointment she was beginning -faintly to perceive another kind of love altogether, a love that was -divine and ennobling. It was just a far-away glimpse such as she had -gained of the landscape one day, when, in spite of cloudy weather, they -had climbed Moncrieffe Hill, and as the mist every now and then cleared -off for a few minutes, they had seen the sun shining on lovely scenery -far far in the distance. She had the same sense now that the glimpse -of love she had gained was real and true, and that the mist was a mere -passing discomfort. - -“I am sorry I was angry,” she exclaimed. “I don’t mean what I said, -then. I like you to be my friend and to help me--at least if it’s right -for me to let you.” - -“Of course it’s right,” said Ralph. “Didn’t your grandfather trust me to -take you down to Scotland and place you with Mrs. Skoot? I owe it to him -since she has deserted you, to see you safely back in London, and I will -write a line at once to Mrs. Dan Doolan explaining things.” - -“Thank you,” she said, in a sad, meek little voice. And as he began -to write, her little, sensible, managing ways came back to her and she -began to cut thick slices of bread and butter and wrap them up for -the journey. She then consoled the landlady with her travelling trunk, -packed her few possessions into the smallest compass possible, and by -the time Myra Kay called for her, was waiting ready dressed, looking, -indeed, very pale, but with an air of determination about her firm -little mouth which Ralph could not help admiring. - -There was a great bustle of departure, but when he had posted his -letters and had taken Ivy’s ticket and stood alone outside the railway -carriage with nothing more to do, a sense of loneliness began to steal -over him. For the first time it occurred to any one to ask what plans he -had made for himself. - -“Where are you going, Mr. Denmead?” said Myra Kay. - -“I’m going to take a walking tour,” said Ralph, lightly; “probably I -shall work my way down to Glasgow, and try for an engagement there. -By-the-bye, where is Macneillie’s Company now?” - -“Just dispersed,” said Myra, cheerfully, as she reflected that her lover -would be in London to meet her. “Macneillie generally winds up soon -after Whitsuntide and starts again at the beginning of August. He has -promised to take me on again then.” - -“If he has an opening you might say a word for me,” said Ralph, “and -Ivy, let me have a line to say how you get on. I shall have to call for -letters at the Stirling post-office, for I hope to hear of an engagement -by that time.” - -Just at that moment he was hailed by a familiar voice from a smoking -carriage, and looking round he saw Dudley leaning out of the window. - -“So you are off to the south, too!” he said. “Lucky fellow, how did you -manage it?” - -The train had already begun to move, but the comedian with a beaming -face still leant out of the window describing to the last moment the -extraordinary run of luck he had had at billiards. - -“Go and play the same game,” he counselled; “it’s the only way to raise -the wind. Good-bye, my boy! Meet again in better times.” - -He waved his hand cheerfully and was borne away, but the thing which -lingered longest in Ralph’s sight was Ivy’s wistful, little face, as to -the very last she gazed back at him. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - - “And forth into the fields I went, - - And nature’s living motion lent - - The pulse of hope to discontent. - - “I wonder’d at the bounteous hours - - The slow results of winter showers; - - You scarce could see the grass for flowers. - - “I wonder’d while I paced along; - - The woods were fill’d so full with song, - - There seem’d no room for sense of wrong.” - - “The Two Voices,” Tennyson. - -|It was just ten minutes past eleven by the station clock when Ralph, -having parted with his companions, found himself outside in the -highroad. He felt horribly desolate, and stood for a minute or two -dismally contemplating a flaming red and yellow placard of a scene in -“Cramond Prig,” which they had invariably played after “East Lynne.” - Wretched as his experiences with the Company had been, they had at least -been less dreary than solitude. He sorely missed Ivy’s bright face, and -the comedian’s cheerful companionship. There was a certain bitterness -too in the reflection that no one had taken much thought of what was -to become of him, and that even Dudley, who had been kind and friendly -enough in the past, had never dreamt of foregoing his journey to London -and of taking two tickets to Glasgow. - -With a last look at Forres he turned his steps southward and somewhat -drearily set off on the first stage of his journey. He meant to reach -Grantown that evening, and Grantown appeared to be at least two and -twenty miles off. Fortunately the weather was all in his favour: it was -one of those mornings of early May when the sun is bright and warm and -the air deliciously fresh, and he had not gone far along the uphill road -before his spirits revived. After all he was young and in good -health, and there was something not altogether unpleasant in entire -independence. He reflected with a laugh that although a change of -clothes might be desirable, a knapsack would have been heavy to carry, -that the great coat though useful on a cold night would have been -unbearable at the present moment, and that the sixpence left to him -after stamping the letter to his landlady and letters to the managers of -an Edinburgh and a Glasgow theatre, would at any rate keep him for a few -days from actual starvation. Then for a while he forgot his difficulties -altogether in sheer enjoyment of the country. The lovely outline of the -Cluny hills, the glimpses of the river Findhorn, the beautiful parks -surrounding many stately houses, looked their very best on this perfect -spring morning. He caught the glowing sunlight through the young leaves -just unfolded and thought that the delicate tracery of dark boughs -seemed as though ablaze with emeralds. He had walked for about two hours -when he came to a little country church and burial ground, and paused -partly to rest, partly to look up at the beautiful viaduct which at a -great height spanned the river Divie. - -“Ay, ay,” said a voice, that seemed to rise from one of the graves. -“There are many tourists that stop to admire yonder seven-arched work of -man’s devising, but few--very few that pay much heed to the works of the -Almighty.” - -There was a strong northern accent about the words; and the careful, -precise English showed that the speaker was better used to reading than -to speaking the language. - -Ralph had started a little at the suddenness with which the silence had -been broken, and on turning round, he saw a venerable-looking old man -with bushy grey hair and beard, and shrewd yet kindly glance. Evidently -he was the minister of this place. Ralph raised his hat, and smiled a -little. - -“May not the skill of man be taken as one of God’s works?” he said. - -“No doubt, no doubt,” replied the minister. “When rightly applied that -is to say. But railways, sir, are the devil’s own weapon; they desolate -and mar the country they enter; they bring to the country folk all the -evil of the towns and cities. You have a prophet in your own land that -has told you this in plain words, but you will not heed him, but go on -multiplying the works of evil to your own undoing.” - -“On such a day as this I am all in favour of walking,” said Ralph, -amused at the minister’s earnestness. - -“Sir! it’s a grand exercise, you’ll not be finding a better; there are -your bicycles that bend a man’s back like an overstrung bow, and your -tricycles that are no light diversion to push up our Scottish hills, and -there are those works of the evil one which whirl you through creation -at such a pace that you are no wiser at the end of a journey than you -were at the beginning of it. But a man that walks, sir, must be blind -and deaf if he’s not a better man after his walk than he was before.” - -“Well, I shall be able to test your theory,” said Ralph. “For I am -walking as far as Glasgow.” - -“And which way will you be taking?” asked the minister. “You should -spend a few days among the Grampians, if you are anything of a -mountaineer.” - -“I must push on as fast as I can,” said Ralph; “and by the most direct -route. They told me at Forres that after Grantown I had better make for -Kingussie.” - -“If you’ll come into the Manse, I will show you on the map the very -route I have often travelled myself in past days,” said the minister. -And Ralph, nothing loth, followed him into his house, and was soon -poring over a big ordnance map, and receiving some very helpful -information from the old man. - -They were interrupted before long by a knock at the door, and the -appearance of an aged housekeeper with a large, well-fed, tabby cat in -her arms. - -“The feesh is on the table, sir, and it’s a sair temptation for puss, -puir wee thing, starving hungry as she is.” Ralph sprang up to take -leave, glancing humourously at the fat tabby, who was in such haste for -her food. The minister noted the glance; he noted, too, for the first -time, the extreme shabbiness of his guest’s clothes, and certain signs -of under-feeding about him. - -“We’ll no keep puss waiting, Tibbie,” he said. “But just lay another -place at the table, for I hope this gentleman has time to dine with -me.” Then as Ralph hesitated to accept the hospitality he overruled -all objections by adding: “You’ll be doing me a real kindness if you’ll -stay, for it is not very often that I get a visitor to talk with in this -country place.” - -He led the way as he spoke into the adjoining room, a plainly-furnished -parlour with nothing ornamental about it, but with a certain charm of -its own, nevertheless, from its pure cleanliness and simplicity. Puss -occupied a chair on her master’s right hand, and purred loudly through -the somewhat long grace, and Tibbie, having provided for the wants of -the visitor, left them to enjoy the meal in peace. For dinner at the -Manse was not an affair with many courses, but just freshly-caught fish -from the river, baps baked that morning by the housekeeper, a salad from -the garden, and the remains of a cheese which had been a present to the -minister on New Year’s day. - -“Now the majority of travellers, as I was saying,” continued the -minister, “are just hurried over the viaduct, causing us nothing but -distraction and annoyance, but a pedestrian like yourself really sees -the place, and cheers the day for us and brings us something to think -about.” - -“I spent the first thirteen years of my life in a country rectory,” said -Ralph. “And remember what a quiet time we had.” - -“And are you studying for the ministry?” asked the old man. - -“No,” said Ralph. “My guardian gave me the chance of doing that, but -I think you will agree that one can’t be a parson just for the sake of -earning a living.” - -“Certainly not, sir, certainly not. You are quite in the right. No man -should take up such work without a clear call; far better seek some -other profession.” - -“That is what I did,” said Ralph, colouring a little. “But I know very -well that you’ll not approve of my profession. I am an actor, and am on -my way now to Stirling where I hope to hear of a fresh engagement either -at Edinburgh or at Glasgow.” - -Surprise, consternation, regret, were plainly visible in the old man’s -face. He said nothing for a moment, it bewildered him to find that this -young fellow with his straightforward manner and ingenuous modesty, -should have anything to do with the stage. - -“I am thinking that you will be asking me as you did of the viaduct--may -not the skill of man be taken as one of God’s works?” he said, -thoughtfully. “And I’m fain to confess that I have ever considered -theatres as the highway to hell, and actors as so many servants of the -devil. May God forgive me if I have failed in charity and dealt out -harsh judgment to them.” - -So they fell into talk together, and Ralph told of the landlady who had -shut the door in his face, and assumed that he was no Christian. He told -of some of the arrangements at the two theatres in London with which he -was acquainted. He told more than one story which he had heard from -Myra Kay of the good that Hugh Macneillie had done. And the old minister -listened and pondered these strange sayings in his heart, looking all -the time with a sort of wistfulness at the fresh, hopeful face opposite -him--a face which somehow haunted him long after Ralph had left the -Manse. - -“He had been through a hard apprenticeship, and I doubt he had little -enough in his pockets,” reflected the old man as he paced the bare, -little parlour. - -“He’d been defrauded of his pay and had looked on the evil as well as on -the good, but still he pleaded like a born advocate for his calling--his -art; and spite of his troubles there was a blithe look in his face which -sore perplexes me.” - -He walked to and fro many times, finally he took a Bible from the shelf -and turned over the pages until he came to the words he sought. They -were these: “The joy of the Lord is your strength.” - -“It was _that_ his look kept bringing before me,” he said to himself, -and he sighed because he knew that there was too little of the element -of joy in his life, and that he plodded on from day to day, considering -religion a privilege and a duty, but somehow missing the gladness which -might have been his. Ralph meanwhile, much refreshed by the rest and -food and by his host’s kindly words, tramped on contentedly enough -through the wild, desolate country which led to Grantown. The sun was -just setting as he reached the village; workmen were making their way -homeward, some children with little, dusty, bare feet were playing -battledore and shuttlecock in the road, the ruddy light on their hair -looked like burnished copper. - -“Come awa bairns, it’s time ye were a’ in bed,” called a comely mother -standing in the open doorway of one of the houses. - -“Just a wee whilie,” pleaded the children. - -“Ah!” she replied, yielding under protest, “You’re an awfu’ care to me!” - -But there was love and pride in her eyes nevertheless, as she watched -their play. - -Ralph sighed a little as he tramped on. He was now both hungry and -tired, and began to consider his plans; it was quite clear that he could -not afford the price of a bed, and it was still too light to venture -upon such shelter as might be found in barns or under hedges. He turned -into a baker’s shop, secured a good-sized stale loaf, and then for want -of anything better to do, found his way to the railway station where he -amused himself by looking out trains which he had no money to travel by, -after which, having had the good fortune to find a _Glasgow Herald_ in -the waiting-room, left behind by some traveller, he read until it was -quite dusk. The quiet little place roused into a sort of activity about -a quarter past eight when two trains arrived, one from Perth, the other -from Elgin, and Ralph sauntered on to the platform with a faint hope -that he might see some face that he knew--he could almost in his -loneliness have welcomed the Skoots! But very few passengers alighted, -and directly they had been seen off the premises the porters began to -lock up for the night--no more trains were expected. - -“After all,” reflected Ralph, as he left the village behind him, and -tramped along the highroad in the gathering gloom, “if I had gone out to -the colonies I should think nothing of camping out for a night. There’s -no more disgrace in it here than there. And luckily there’s no law, as -there is in England, against sleeping under a hedge, I can’t be had up -as a vagrant in Scotland. How, if only I had not been forced to sell -Macneillie’s knife it would have been handy enough for cutting this loaf -which must certainly have come out of the Ark.” - -He wrenched off the top with difficulty and laughed to himself as he -thought how horrified Lady Mactavish would be, could she see him now in -the shabbiest of clothes, tramping a dusty road and munching stale bread -as he went. - -“Most certainly I should have Sir Matthew’s charitable dole of ten -pounds thrust into my hand,” he said, with an exulting sense that come -what would, he would never apply for that relief. “Rather than go to him -for help, I would willingly turn into that Refuge for destitute men at -Edinburgh, which we saw as we walked down the Canongate.” He shuddered -a little as the recollection came to him of the sort of man he had seen -seeking shelter there. At any rate out of doors he would have fresh air -and no companions in misery. - -He must have walked nearly five miles from the village, before he saw in -the faint starlight a large farmhouse with many outbuildings. “This is -the place for me,” he thought, making his way into the yard: but he had -yet to learn the difficulties before him. The doors of a hopeful-looking -barn were securely fastened, and, as he crossed the yard to some other -outbuildings, up sprang a huge dog from his kennel, with angry growls -and fierce barks. He walked up to the mastiff, with swift, light steps, -patted its head, fondled its ears, and explained to it the situation. -The dog was mollified, understood that the intruder’s intentions were -honourable, and even licked his hand, which Ralph took very kindly. - -Looking round searchingly, he made out, at last, a sort of open shed, -near the stables, and moving across to this, had the good fortune to -discover a cart with trusses of hay in it. - -“This will exactly suit me my friend,” he said, with a farewell pat to -the dog. “May you sleep as comfortably in that lordly kennel of yours!” - And, so saying, he climbed up into the cart, stowed the remains of his -loaf in a safe place, and with deft hands had soon made himself as warm -a bed as could be desired, out of the hay. - -He slept soundly, being healthily tired with his long walk--so soundly, -indeed, that though cocks and hens and ducks and turkeys, all began, -at an early hour, to blend their voices in a countrified, but scarcely -musical chorus, he heard nothing. In his dream, Miss Brompton, in a -waterproof, was thumping out “Scots wha hae,” between the acts; and -presently, when certain strange rumblings slightly disturbed him, he -dreamed that it was the thunder in the first scene of “Macbeth,” finally -waking himself up by laughing at the comical sight presented by Mrs. -Skoot as she vainly tried to drag him out of his witch’s cloak that he -might appear as Malcolm. Her angry, impatient face convulsed him with -mirth, and it was with no small bewilderment that he awoke to find -himself straggling out of a heap of hay, while from above, the amazed -face of a red-whiskered man gazed down upon him. The rustic’s round, -light-grey eyes had a scared look, and Ralph suddenly remembered where -he was, and began to apologise and explain. The cart no longer stood -in the shed, but had rumbled out into the highroad, and the driver had -evidently no intention of proceeding, while his uncanny visitant still -remained among the hay. - -“Gude preserve us!” he exclaimed, “I was thinkin’ the cart was bewitched -when I harkened to yon fearsome laughter.” - -Ralph shook off the hay and leapt lightly into the road; his agility -and grace seemed to strike still deeper awe into the heart of the -countryman, who stared like one fascinated. - -“A doot you hef brought luck with you to the farm, sir,” he said, -looking down into the comely face and laughing eyes of his astonishing -guest. “And there would hef ben a bowl o’ milk set for you had you -bin expeckit. But it will be a fery long time since the Brownies hef -veesited us, and there’s bin nae luck aboot the farm for mony a year.” - -“Great Scott! the man thinks I’m a ‘Robin Goodfellow’ or a warlock!” - thought Ralph, highly amused. “And he’s far too much afraid of me to -offer me a ride in his cart.” - -“I’m just a wayfaring man,” he tried to explain. “Very grateful for the -shelter of your hay-cart on a cold night.” - -“Oh, ay,” said the carter, still evidently holding to his own opinion. -“And it is fery glad we are to be seein’ you, sir. And a ken weel that -it’s na for human bein’s to come into our place at night. Lassie wad -bark till ilka soul in the hoose was wakened, and she will be flying at -the thrapple o’ ony mortal man. But dogs hef aye descreemination to tell -the Brownies when they see them. I will be wishin’ you gude day, sir.” - -And so saying, he drove off hastily, leaving Ralph to trudge along in -solitude, until catching sight of a stream at a little distance from the -road, he reflected that the best things in life were to be had free of -charge, and that a morning bath would freshen him for the day. - -As for the driver he chanced to look back from a distance, and catching -sight of his uncanny visitor just as he took a header into the water, -was for ever confirmed in his opinion that he had seen and spoken with a -Brownie. - -The second day’s walk proved even more enjoyable than the first had -done, except that there was no kindly old minister to provide a midday -meal. But the sense of freedom, the bracing air, and the loveliness of -the road beside the river Spey, with glimpses every now and then of the -Cairn Gorm range, were things to be remembered through a lifetime. With -Aviemore specially, he was delighted. He began to weave plans for the -future, and to dream of wandering with Evereld among those exquisite -hills with their craggy rocks cropping out here and there from between -dark pines and delicately fresh birches, while beyond there stretched -great pine woods, and mountains whose summits were still white with -snow. Kingussie furnished him with bread and with a somewhat draughty -sleeping apartment in the ruined castle which goes by the name of the -Ruthven Barracks; but the night air was keen, and many a time he longed -for the warmth and comfort of the hay-cart. There was something dreary, -too, in the desolate shell of the old residence of the Comyns, and he -awoke with a feeling of depression which was curiously foreign to him. -The morning was cloudy, and the waters of the Spey felt icy cold as he -plunged into them; however, the walk through Glen Tromie which the old -minister had specially recommended to him soon made him warm enough, and -the wild beauty of Loch Seilich, and its surrounding precipices fully -justified the praises which his guide had bestowed on them. He rested -for some little while by the loch, ate his last crust, and counted over, -as a miser counts his gold, the three pence which must somehow carry him -to Glasgow. - -“I must certainly eat less,” he reflected, ruefully, having only dared -the previous night to buy a pennyworth of bread. “The worst of it is -this mountain air makes one so confoundedly hungry. I shall soon -be reduced to eating birds’ eggs, or to singing in front of village -alehouses in the hope of earning money.” - -His reverie was interrupted by the falling of some heavy drops of -rain; he set out once more on his walk seeing plainly enough from the -threatening sky that a storm was at hand. It came indeed with a speed -which surprised him. Clouds, which blotted out the landscape, hemmed him -in; the rising wind roared through the wilds of Gaick, and the rain -came down in sheets, blinding and drenching him, for no mackintosh yet -invented could have stood the pitiless deluge which showed no sign of -abating, but rather increased in violence. Worst of all, he missed his -path so that there was not even the comfort of knowing that every step -was bringing him nearer his destination. On the contrary, he began to -fear that he had altogether lost himself. - -The further he went the more hopeless he grew; he was wet to the skin, -every bone in his body ached, and no sign of a track was to be found. -It seemed to him that he was the only living creature in this vast -solitude, and his delight was unbounded when at length, through the -driving rain and mist, he caught sight of a figure approaching him. A -collie sprang forward and barked, and was called back by its master, a -tall, manly figure with a crook in his hand, and under his arm an ugly -little black lamb, He seemed not unlike a picture of the Good Shepherd, -and Ralph instantly felt confidence in the clear, kindly eyes which -looked out at him in a friendly fashion from beneath the Scotch bonnet; -there was something noble and winning in this dark-bearded Highlander. - -“Can you put me into the track for Dalnacardoch?” asked Ralph, as he -returned the shepherd’s greeting. “I have lost my way in the mist.” - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - - “Through ways unlooked for, and through many lands, - - Far from the rich folds built with human hands, - - The gracious footprints of His love I trace.” - - Lowell. - -|Angus Linklater was in no danger of mistaking the traveller for a -Brownie; one of his long, keen glances told him much of the truth about -Ralph, for he had the rare gift of insight and his kindly heart warmed -to the tired wayfarer. - -He at once protested that it was out of the question to go on in such -weather to Dalnacardoch, and invited Ralph to take shelter in his -cottage, which was but a few minutes’ walk. - -Ralph hesitated for a moment. The rain streamed down his face and neck, -his boots felt like a couple of reservoirs, and the thought of shelter -was very tempting. - -“I will tell you just how it is with me,” he said; “I have but a few -pence left and must reach Stirling before I have a chance of getting my -letters and further supplies. I think I must press on, for there is no -time to be lost.” - -“Put ony thought o’ troublin’ us oot o’ your head, sir,” said Angus, -instantly reading his companion’s thoughts, and beginning to walk on -beside him. “The hame is just a but and a ben, and you’re kindly welcome -to a’ that we can gie you in the way o’ food and shelter for the night.” - -“You are very good,” said Ralph. “If you can conveniently take me in I -shall be thankful. But don’t be putting yourselves out for me. When -I tell you that I slept last night in the ruins of the old castle at -Kingussie, and in a hay-cart near Grantown the night before, you will -see that to be under a roof at all will be a luxury to me.” - -He laughed. The shepherd gave him another of those sympathetic, -discerning looks. - -“You have had trouble I see,” he said. “But I’m thinkin’ that you’re -meetin’ it in the right way.” - -“Oh,” said Ralph lightly, “I’m just an actor out of work. For several -weeks we have had plenty to do and no money; now we have neither money -nor work, and I am hoping to get into another company.” - -“It’s no right that ony man should work without wages,” said Angus; -“it’s clean against Scripture. But just for a wee while I’m thinkin’ -that it’s maybe no sic an ill thing for us to learn that a man’s life -consisteth not in the abundance o’ the things which he possesseth.” - -“Well, it’s not hard to agree to that now that I’m close to your house,” - said Ralph, “but I’ll confess to you that I was beginning to despair -before I met you.” - -“Ay,” said Angus, a smile crossing his face, “Ilka ane o’ us is apt to -be like this stray lamb that was tryin’ to mak’ its way hame and was -scairt almost to death with encounterin’ deefficulties. It might have -hed the sense to know that as the sayin’ goes, ‘Where twa are seekin’ -they’re sure to find.’” - -“Is that one of your Scottish proverbs?” said Ralph, struck by the -beauty of the thought. - -“Ay, it is, sir, and it often comes to my mind when I’m after the sheep. -Ye mauna despair though you’re oot o’ work. We are maist o’ us ready -to say ‘The Lord’s my shepherd,’ but at the first glint o’ trouble -we change the psalm and say ‘but I’m terrible feart that I’ll come to -want.’” - -There was a sort of dry humour in his manner of saying these last words, -and Ralph smiled. - -“I see you are a thought-reader,” he said, “as well as a thinker.” - -“Oh, as for that,” said the shepherd, “those that spend their lives -amang the mountains have aye mickle time for thinkin’. It’s a gran’ -preevilege to be set to mind the sheep.” - -They were now within sight of the cottage and Angus Linklater led the -way through a little garden; at the sound of their footsteps his wife -opened the door, it seemed almost as though she were expecting her -husband to bring some one back with him, but after one glance at the -visitor her eagerness died away; she was a grave woman with dark hair -parted plainly beneath her white mutch, and with a certain sadness in -her eyes and in her voice. Her welcome was, however, as hearty as the -shepherd’s and before long she had furnished Ralph with her husband’s -Sunday garments and was busily preparing tea. When the tired traveller -emerged again from the back room in dry clothes, he thought nothing had -ever looked more comfortable than that homely little kitchen with -its fire of logs, its old grandfather clock, and its quaint, corner -cupboard, black with age. Some lines of Stevenson’s came to his mind as -Mrs. Linklater made room for him by the hearth. - - “Noo is the soopit ingle sweet, - - An’ liltin’ kettle.” - -Delicious too was the tea and the oatcake after his monotonous bread -and water diet. Angus was still out attending to the lamb he had brought -home, and Ralph wondered whether the shepherd and his wife lived alone -in this quiet place. Among the few books on the shelf, he noticed, -however, sundry modern adventuring books which had been the delight -of his childhood. “I see you have some children,” he said, finding his -hostess not nearly so talkative as the shepherd had been. - -“We hae a son,” she replied, her eyes filling with tears, and crossing -the room she took down “The Dog Crusoe” and showed him the inscription -on the flyleaf. - -It was a prize for good conduct awarded to Dugald Linklater. Ralph -instantly felt that he had touched on a sore subject but whether the son -were dead or a source of trouble to the mother he could not guess. The -book was still in his hand when Angus returned. - -“Ah,” he said, with a sigh, “you’re lookin’ at puir Dugald’s prizes. -We’ve lost him, sir. But he’ll come hame yet. I’m no dootin’ that. He’ll -come hame.” - -Little by little Ralph gathered the facts of the case. It seemed that -Dugald had been a clever and promising lad, that Lord Ederline having -a fancy for him had taken him as his valet, and for a time all had gone -well. But London life had proved too full of temptation for the young -Scotsman, the betting mania had seized him, and had swiftly dragged him -down, until ruined and disgraced he had disappeared into those hidden -depths which are sought by the failures of all classes. It was now three -years since anything had been heard of him, but the father and mother -still lived in the belief that he would return, and Ralph understood now -the expectant look which he had noticed in the sad face of his hostess -as he walked up the garden path with her husband. - -The absent son seemed to dominate their thoughts and it was with -something almost like envy that Ralph, in his singularly desolate life, -thought of this apparent waste of love. Was it pride, or shame or sheer -wickedness that kept Dugald away from such a home, he wondered? - -The Linklaters kept very early hours, and after “taking the Book” and -“composing their minds to worship,” they bade their guest good-night. -A bed had been extemporised for him on a comfortable old settle where, -with the shepherd’s plaid to keep him warm, he thought himself in -luxurious quarters. But sleep would not come to him at that hour in -the evening and he lay for a long time watching the ruddy glow from the -dying fire on the hearth and musing over many things. He was glad -that the storm had overtaken him and that he had found shelter in this -Highland cottage, for in its atmosphere there was something curiously -peaceful and homelike. It was many, many years since he had felt so much -at one with any household--almost it seemed to him like a return to -his old home. For, perhaps, nothing has more effect on a sensitive, -receptive mind than moral atmosphere; while those sweet, subtle -associations, which are the aftermath of a happy childhood, are more -readily awakened by this native air of the soul than by things which can -be actually seen. - -He took leave the next morning with a sense that these people had become -his friends, and that somehow they would meet again. The shepherd would -fain have helped him on his way, but he knew better than to offer what -his guest would little like to receive; nor did he, of course, realise -how very few were the pence still remaining to him. They gave him the -best breakfast the house would furnish, and Mrs. Linklater insisted on -wrapping up a shepherd’s pasty, which she said would make a luncheon for -him; then, with kindly cordiality, they bade him farewell, begging him -to let them know how he prospered. - -Cheered by their friendliness, Ralph walked in very good spirits through -the Gaick Forest to Dalnacardoch, and thence, after a brief rest, made -his way southward to Tummel Bridge. The air felt fresh after the storm -and walking was delightful, but he found no friendly shepherd’s cottage -to shelter him, and passed a very cold and comfortless night under the -shelter of a rick, which proved distinctly uncomfortable as sleeping -quarters. Twice he was roused by mice running over his face, and in the -dead of night a groan and the falling of some heavy object at his very -feet made him start up. It proved to be a drunken and very dirty tramp, -whose neighbourhood was highly undesirable, and Ralph shifted his -quarters to the other side of the rick where the keen, north-east wind -was far from pleasant. He woke again in the grey dawn, feeling stiff -and miserable. The tramp still retained the leeward side of the rick, -so there was nothing for it but to resume his journey, and gradually -the morning mist cleared and the sun rose, revealing the fine outline of -Schiehallion and chasing away the chill discomfort of the night. Indeed, -by the time Ralph had reached the village of Fortingall, he was both hot -and sleepy, and finding the kirkyard deserted, he lay down on a sunny -patch of grass, with his head resting on one of the stone ledges that -flanked the railings round the famous yew tree of three thousand years -old. How long he slept he could not tell, but he awoke at length to the -consciousness of hunger. Having eaten all the bread he had saved from -the previous night, he wandered towards the kirk, and hearing the sound -of a voice through the open windows, realised for the first time that it -was Sunday. The preacher was giving out the One hundred and twenty-first -psalm, and pausing to listen, he heard, to the familiar tune of -“French,” the following quaint metrical version. - - “I to the hills will lift mine eyes. - - From whence doth come my aid? - - My safety cometh from the Lord, - - Who heav’n and earth hath made. - - Thy foot he’ll not let slide nor will - - He slumber that thee keeps. - - Behold he that keeps Israel - - He slumbers not nor sleeps. - - “The Lord thee keeps, the Lord thy shade - - On thy right hand doth stay; - - The moon by night thee shall not smite, - - Nor yet the sun by day. - - The Lord shall keep thy soul; he shall - - Preserve thee from all ill. - - Henceforth thy going out and in - - God keep for ever will.” - -As the last words were sung, Ralph made his way to the door and entered -the little building, just as the congregation stood up to pray. He felt, -as he had done in the shepherd’s cottage, that sense of fellowship -which was what he needed in his loneliness; nor could the length of -the sermon, with its bewildering array of heads, spoil for him that May -morning, and the strengthening influence of the calm worship hour, -which seemed to him more spiritual, more grand in its simplicity, than -elaborately ornate and showy ceremonials. - -He went on his way refreshed, and, taking the road to Fearnan, soon -reached the shores of Loch Tay. Away in the distance Ben Lawers rose -rugged and stern against the pale blue of the sky, and the walk left -nothing to be wished in the way of beauty. The only drawback was the -growing sense of fatigue that come over him. He wondered that a walk -of eighteen miles could so exhaust him. It was true he had been out of -training when he started from Forres, and had walked many miles each -day upon short rations, but he was dismayed to find that his powers of -endurance were not greater. - -It was evening by the time he reached the Bridge of Lochay, and learnt -that he was within a mile of Killin. Feeling now tired out, he resolved -to go no further; moreover, he had learnt from experience that it was -better to sleep at a little distance from towns or villages. He paused -to talk to an old labouring man who was leaning over the bridge. To the -left there was a lovely little wood closely shutting in the river; to -the right, the stream wound its way through green hayfields, and on -through the wild beauty of Glen Lochay to the distant hills which were -bathed now in a mellow, sunset light. Learning from his companion that -he could get food close at hand, Ralph made his way to the little white -old-fashioned inn just beyond the bridge. Its walls were covered -with creepers, its garden gay with flowers, and in the porch were -two comfortable chairs. The landlady seemed a little surprised at his -request for two penny worth of bread: she would have been yet more -surprised had she known that he gave her his very last coins in payment; -for the rest, she answered his questions about Killin, and the distance -from thence to Callander, and let him rest as long as he liked in the -porch, bidding him a friendly good-night when at dusk he once more -resumed his journey. Evidently the inn closed early on the Sabbath, for -Ralph heard the door shut and bolted behind him. - -He paused, and looked round in search of shelter. Not far off, the -ground sloped steeply up, and fir-trees were planted about it. Climbing -over the low stone wall, he made his way towards a fallen tree, the -wide-spreading roots of which pointed darkly up against the twilight -sky. It lay just as it had fallen in a wintry gale, its rough bark was -veiled here and there by clumps of brake fern, and the turf still grew -between the roots as it had grown when the tree was torn out of the -earth by the storm. It proved a good shelter from the cold night wind, -and Ralph crept closely down beneath it, and soon slept. His sleep, -however, was disturbed by horrible dreams, and when in the early morning -he awoke unrefreshed and with aching head, he felt no inclination to -stay longer in his lair. Stretching his stiff limbs, he stood for a -minute looking at the wonderful view before him. Beyond the river there -lay a grand panorama of mountains; here and there were large plantations -of fir, then came wild, bare tracks of heather, black and cheerless -now without its bloom, but relieved at intervals by grey boulders and -patches of grass, while little, white cottages were dotted, like rare -pearls, about the landscape. - -A good swim in the river revived him, after which he went on to Killin, -and, seeing little chance of selling his mackintosh there, hoped for -better luck that night at Callander; and learning that there was a short -cut to Glen Ogle, left the road and struck across the mountainside, -gaining, as he walked, fine views of Ben Vorlich. Toiling up in the sun -proved warm work, however, and by the time he reached the gloomy, narrow -glen he was thankful to wait and rest. He wondered whether it was the -effect of the place or merely his own fault that such deadly depression -began to creep over him. The stern, purple mountains seemed to frown -on him, the tiny stream down below in the middle of the glen looked -miserably insufficient for its wide, rocky bed, and the lingering mists -of early morning still hung about in weird wreaths. This was the sixth -day on which he had been a vagabond, and he began to wonder whether he -should ever reach Glasgow. With an effort he shook off for a time the -sense of impending evil, and forced himself to eat the remains of the -loaf he had bought on the previous night. - -“Now,” he thought to himself, as once more he tramped on, “I am bound, -whatever happens, to reach Callander this evening. I must walk or -starve; that will be a good sort of goad.” - -The road was mostly down hill, and he made a brave start, passed Loch -Earn, which lay far below in the valley, looking exquisitely lovely in -the May sunshine, and then toiled up again towards Strathyre, pausing -only to ask for some water at a grey, slate-roofed farm on the outskirts -of the village. Here he learned the comforting fact that it was but -“eight miles and a bittock” to Callander, and went on in better -spirits. Away to the right he caught beautiful glimpses of the Braes -of Balquhidder, and at last, to his relief, came down to the shores of -Loch Lubnaig. - -But the loch was nearly five miles long, and before he had gone half its -length such intolerable pain and weariness overpowered him that he could -hardly drag one foot after another. He was forced to rest for a while; -then once more blindly staggered on, wondering what was going to happen -to him and counting the milestones with the eagerness of despair. At -length the loch was passed, and the two railway bridges. He knew that he -must be in the Pass of Leny, and as he toiled up the hill could hear the -rushing sound of the river among the trees to the right. Then came the -moment when he could do no more, but sank down half-fainting by the -roadside, his head resting on a rough seat which had been placed against -the wall. How long he lay there he could not tell, but he was roused by -the sound of footsteps close at hand. Half opening his eyes he caught -sight of two hard-featured men, who glanced at him critically and -shrugged their shoulders. - -“Drunk,” he heard one of them say, “and as early in the afternoon as -this!” - -The words rankled in poor Ralph’s mind. - -“If I had not tried to be honest it would never have come to this,” he -reflected. “Because my clothes are shabby and my boots in holes they -judge me. Well, it’s what the poor always have to put up with!” - -He dragged himself to his feet, and, noticing for the first time some -steps in the wall and a path leading down to the river, thought he would -hide his misery and escape from further comments. He was parched with -thirst, too, but to reach the water proved hopeless. Though the river -was swollen with the recent storm, it went surging and foaming below -him among the rocks in a way which made him feel sick and giddy. He just -staggered on by the narrow, rocky track and the wooden gallery till he -reached the smoother path beyond, which led into a little wood, and here -once more his powers deserted him, and he again lost consciousness. - -When he came to himself he was lying uneasily across the path, his head -on the mossy bank and his feet hanging perilously over the water. It -just crossed his mind that he might easily enough have lost his life had -he fallen in the opposite direction, and he wondered dreamily whether -it would not have simplified matters, yet, wretched as he was, he felt -somehow glad to be alive. Away in the distance he could see Ben Ledi -rising in its tranquil beauty beyond the foaming river. There was a -rocky islet, too, in the centre of the flood, with a tall, stately -fir-tree growing upon it, the dark foliage strongly contrasting with the -white foam and the vivid green of the trees on the further bank. To his -fancy, the rushing river seemed to ring out the tune of - - “I to the hills will lift mine eyes,” - -as he had heard it sung on the previous day at Fortingall Kirk. - -All sorts of half-misty memories thronged his fevered brain. He thought -he was walking again with Angus Linklater as he carried the ugly -little black lamb; or he was out boating with his father; or he was at -rehearsal, and Mrs. Skoot was wrathfully haranguing him. Through all -these feverish fancies, there remained the ever-present consciousness of -physical misery, and the rankling recollection of the words he had heard -from the two men who had passed him on the road. Presently, yet another -fancy took possession of him. He was sitting with Evereld in a theatre, -and could distinctly hear the actual words of Shylock’s part: - - “What, what, what? ill luck, ill luck?” - - “I thank God, I thank God. Is’t true, is’t true?” - - “I thank thee good Tubal; good news! good news! ha, - - ha, where? In Genoa?” - -The voice was certainly not Washington’s. He was puzzled. - -“Thou stickest a dagger in me,” it resumed, then suddenly broke off, and -in the pause that followed he heard steps approaching. He opened his -eyes, but saw only the familiar view of Ben Ledi and the foaming river. -He had no notion that just behind him stood a tall, striking figure, and -that some one was keenly studying him, not with the critical harshness -of the passers-by in the road, but with the reverent sympathetic manner -of the artist. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -“_Every man’s task is his life-preserver. The conviction that his work -is dear to God and cannot be spared, defends him._”--Emerson. - -|Can I do anything for you?” asked a mellow, penetrating voice. - -Ralph shifted his position a little, and looking round, saw a man -bending over him with a curiously attractive face, chestnut-brown hair -fast turning white, large, well-shaped, blue-grey eyes, and that mobile -type of mouth which specially belongs to the actor. He had a strange -impression of having lived through this scene before, and in a moment -there flashed back into his mind a recollection of his first day at Sir -Matthew’s house, of his adventure in the park, and of how Macneillie had -pulled him out of the water. “Oh, is it you?” he cried, with a relief -that could hardly have been greater had he met an old friend. - -Macneillie in vain racked his memory: he could not in the least recall -the face. However, he was not going to betray this. “Glad I came across -you,” he said. “I often come down here by the river to study a part, -this path is little frequented till the tourist season begins. Let me -see, where did we last meet?” - -“You will hardly remember it,” said Ralph; “it was at Richmond. I was -quite a small boy and ran up to thank you for having pulled me out -of the water a few weeks before in St. James’ Park. You gave me your -knife.” - -A look of keen and sudden interest flashed over Macneillie’s face. - -“Of course!” he exclaimed; “I remember it all perfectly. I’m very glad -to have come across you again. What is the matter now? You look very -ill. Are you taking a walking tour?” - -Ralph smiled. “I set out from Forres last Wednesday morning with -sixpence in my pocket,” he said. “It has been a roughish time.” - -“I should think so, indeed,” said Macneillie, glancing from the -slightly-built figure to the thin, finely-shaped hands, and realising -in a moment how little fitted this lad was to endure hardships. “From -Forres you say? What was it I was hearing a day or two ago about Forres? -Oh, to be sure, Skoot’s Company came to grief there.” - -“Yes, I was in the company,” said Ralph. “Skoot left us in the lurch, -and it was a sort of _sauve qui peut_.” - -“So you belong to the profession,” said Macneillie. “That gives you -another claim upon me. Perhaps you are the very Mr. Denmead that Miss -Kay mentioned in her letter.” - -“Yes, I am Ralph Denmead. Miss Kay promised she would inquire if you had -any opening for me.” - -“We’ll see about that, but in the meantime, if I’m not much mistaken, -the influenza fiend means to work his will on you. By the look of you I -should say that you were in a high fever.” - -“I don’t know what is the matter with me,” said Ralph, miserably. “I -suppose I fainted just now in the road. I know that a priest and a -levite looked at me, said I was drunk, and passed by on the other side.” - -“Trust them to leap to the worst conclusions,” said Macneillie. “It’s -the way of the world. But come, I must somehow contrive to get you to my -house.” - -Ill and exhausted, Ralph for the life of him could not keep the tears -out of his eyes. - -“You are very kind,” he said, brokenly; “but I didn’t mean to thrust -the part of Good Samaritan on to you. I’m not fit to come to a decent -house.” - -He looked down at his travel-stained clothes, and at the holes in his -boots. - -“Did you mean to lie here all night?” said Macneillie. - - “No, I meant to -get on as far as Callander and to pawn this mackintosh. I am better. -I’ll push on now. Perhaps there may be a hospital.” - -“Well, there isn’t, as it happens,” said Macneillie, watching him -attentively as he struggled to his feet; “and it’s two miles to -Callander, and if you think I’m going to allow you to walk as far as -that you’re much mistaken. I’m a very indifferent Good Samaritan, having -no beast to set you on, but if you’ll try to come with me to the little -village of Kilmahog which is not far off we can rest at a cottage I know -of, have a cup of tea, and take the coach from the Trossachs which will -pass there in about an hour. As for your scruples in coming home with -me, you must just make away with them. My mother has often received me -in quite as bad a plight years ago when I was struggling to get my foot -on the ladder. We most of us have to go through it unless we happen to -belong to an old professional family.” - -As he talked he had slipped his arm within Ralph’s, and was guiding him -up the narrow path, which, after a steep climb landed them once more in -the road. Without waiting for much response he went on, telling story -after story of his own early days as an actor, and at length the tiny -village of Kilmahog came into sight, and they paused before a little, -low white cottage with a picturesque porch and tiny garden. The mistress -of the house seemed delighted to see her visitor, and responded most -hospitably to his request for a cup of tea while they waited for the -coach. She took them into a parlour hung round with sacred pictures, -and possessing a most curious bed made on a sort of shelf in a curtained -recess. Ralph looked longingly at it as he sank into a chair, but -Macneillie shook his head. - -“Yes, I see you want to be Mrs. Murdoch’s patient, but those ‘congealed -beds,’ as I always call them, are not well-suited to a fever.” - -“And when did ye come hame, sir,” inquired the landlady, returning with -the tea tray; “and hoo are ye likin’ your braw new hoose?” - -“I came home at the end of last week,” he replied; “and as for the house -it’s to my mother’s liking and that’s all I care for. We hear the trains -a trifle too plainly for my taste, but she likes that, says, you know, -that they are a sort of link with me when I’m away.” - -“Ah, but Mrs. Macneillie she’s main prood o’ her beautiful rooms, but -I’m thinkin’ it’s mair because it’s her son that’s made them a’ for her. -She was in Kilmahog last month settlin’ the account for the milk, and -she said to me that if a’ mithers were blessed with such a son as hers -there’d be a hantle less sorrow in the warld. Those were her verra -words, sir.” - -Macneillie laughed. “My mother was always prejudiced in my favour,” he -said. “It’s the one subject you can’t trust her upon.” - -The good woman bustled off to make the tea, and the actor turned again -to Ralph. - -“My mother is the best nurse in the world: she will soon have you well -again.” - -“Why not let me stay here?” said Ralph. “It would give you less trouble. -I shall only spoil your holiday, and perhaps bring the infection into -your house.” - -“Oh, we have most of us been down with this plague already,” said -Macneillie, cheerfully. “I know you covet that antique bed, but we -must have you in a more airy room than this. Perhaps it will make you -hesitate less if I tell you in strict confidence that the new house -would never have been built at all if it had not been for you.” Then, -seeing the bewilderment of his companion’s expression, “I’ll tell you -just how it was some day, it’s too long a story now, for I hear the -tea-things coming.” - -Ralph, utterly at a loss to see how Macneillie could be under any sort -of obligation to him, was obliged to leave the riddle unsolved for the -present. The tea revived him, and when the coach came into sight he -almost thought he could have walked that last mile. A dreamy sense of -relief began to steal over him as they drove on beside the river between -the wooded hills and through the pretty environs of Callander, until -at last they reached the main street itself, and turning sharply to the -left began to climb a steep road. Here, nestling cosily under Callander -crag, with fresh green woods behind it, stood the comfortable, squarely -built stone house that the actor had planned for his mother. The coach -paused at the iron gate, for it was out of the question that they -should drive up the steep approach to the front door; indeed, it was not -without difficulty that Ralph dragged himself up the pebbly incline; he -was panting for breath by the time they reached the house, and it was -with some anxiety that he looked up at the white-capped old lady who -stood to greet them in the porch. - -“Mother,” said Macneillie, “this is my friend, Mr. Denmead. He has -walked all the way from Forres, and is quite fagged out.” The keen, -shrewd eyes of the Scotchwoman had perceived from a distance the sorry -plight of the visitor, and she looked now not at his deplorable boots -and shabby coat, but at the honest, dark eyes lifted to hers; she saw -directly that they were full of dumb suffering. - -“I am glad to see any friend of my son’s,” she said, and there was -something curiously comforting in the homely sound of the Scottish -accent, but when she had shaken hands with her guest an almost motherly -tenderness stole into her voice. She begged him to come in and rest, -made minute inquiries as to the hour when the fever attacked him, and -having left him installed on a sofa in the dining-room, drew her son -into the hall. “Hugh,” she said, “the poor laddie is very ill. I will -go and make a room ready for him, and you had better be fetching the -doctor.” - -“I will by-and-bye, but first let us get him settled. Put him into my -room, it’s the most airy. I’ll tell you who he is, mother.” The two had -gone upstairs as they were speaking, and Macneillie closed the door of -his room behind them, and began helping in a deft, sailorlike way to -strip the sheets off his bed. “He is the boy I told you about years ago, -who saved me from making an end of myself on Christine’s wedding -day.” At the name, a sort of shudder of distaste passed through Mrs. -Macneillie; it was a name very rarely mentioned by either of them, and -the mother fondly hoped that at last her son had banished from his mind -all memory of that romance of his youth. But, dearly as they loved each -other, there was a good deal of reserve between them, and she could not -tell how it was with him. After his absence in America, he had come back -looking much older, but apparently in good health and spirits, and more -than ever engrossed by his work. Little as she liked his profession, -for she was full of old-fashioned prejudice and clung to all her old -traditions, she nevertheless often blessed it in her heart for she saw -that he lived for it, and, spite of herself, could not help taking some -interest in his efforts to raise the drama, to give only such plays as -were worth acting, and to manage his company in the best possible way. -Still it was undoubtedly the grief of her life that her son had chosen -the stage instead of the ministry, and he was quite aware of it, and -was obliged to get on without her entire sympathy. She was unable to see -that he was really doing quite as good work as any minister in the land, -nor did she understand that an actor in refusing to follow his clear -vocation, would be as blameworthy as a divine who put his hand to the -plough, and then looked back. She did not speak a word now until they -had the clean sheets spread and all things ready for the invalid. Then -she drew her son’s face down and kissed it. - -“I shall love to wait on him, Hugh, now that you have told me that.” - -“You’ll like it for his own sake too,” said Macneillie. “It takes -a fellow of good mettle to tramp more than a hundred miles on -six-pennyworth of bread, and wear the look he wore when I found him. -Oddly enough, too, I learnt something about him from Miss Kay’s letter -on Saturday; he belonged to that company that failed, and she told me -that she much feared he had spent almost all the money he had left, -on sending back to London a forlorn little child-actress who had been -deserted by the manager’s wife.” - -“A child? Poor wee thing! There are many perils and dangers in your -profession, Hugh, you can’t deny that.” - -“Yes there are,” he said, “but I am not sure that life in society, or in -other professions, or in shops and factories, isn’t even more risky. As -for this little Ivy Grant, you may be quite happy about her; he had the -good sense to send her to trustworthy friends.” - -No more was said, for it was time to fetch the invalid and to send for -the doctor. But later on, Mrs. Macneillie opened her heart to her son. - -“It’s all very well, Hugh,” she said, “to think that everything is made -right by the little girl being in good hands for the time; but you mark -my words, it will be the same story over again as your own. This poor -lad will be shielding and helping Ivy Grant, and when she has other -admirers, why she’ll throw him off like an old glove. It will be your -own story over again, Hugh.” - -“I hope not,” said Macneillie. “Let us believe he would have done as -much for any distressed damsel. He is a generous fellow, and every inch -a gentleman; why must we assume that he has fallen in love with the -lassie?” - - -“Didn’t I find him sobbing his heart out the moment he was left to -himself?” said Mrs. Macneillie. - -But at this her son would do nothing but laugh, “My dear mother,” he -said, “That is just the sure and certain sign that he has the influenza, -but as to that far worse malady no sign whatever.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - - “So, from the pinched soil of a churlish fate, - - True hearts compel the sap of sturdier growth, - - And between earth and heaven stand simply great, - - That these shall seem but their attendants both.” - - Lowell. - -|For some days Ralph gave his new friends a good deal of anxiety; no -doubt the worry and the underfeeding of the past nine months had told -upon him, and culminating in this week of hardship and exposure had left -him very ill-fitted to resist the modern plague which was scourging the -country. By the time he had turned the corner and was able to spend part -of each day in the adjoining room, he had wound himself very closely -about the hearts both of the mother and the son. For there was something -in his blithe cheerfulness which was very winning and which not even the -depression that always accompanies influenza could affect for very long, -any more than Sir Matthew Mactavish’s treatment could really embitter -his nature, though it occasionally made him speak a few cynical words. - -Macneillie had by this time heard the story of his life, and had set his -mind at rest by offering to have him in his company at the beginning of -August. He wrote, moreover, to a friend of his, the manager of one of -the Edinburgh theatres, and tried to obtain a temporary engagement for -him, to fill up the summer months. To this there was for some days no -response, and Ralph, who was beginning to chafe at the thought of his -penniless condition, grew depressed, and with the sensitiveness of a -convalescent feared that he was a burden to his kindly host. Macneillie -was quick to discern what was passing in his mind. - -“Pining for that hospital you were so anxious to find at Callander?” he -said one afternoon when he had found Ralph unusually depressed. - -The invalid smiled. - -“Not exactly. But I’m wishing I needn’t spoil your holiday.”. - -“Have you forgotten what I told you as we waited for the coach that day -at Kilmahog?” said Macneillie, bracing himself up as though for some -effort. “This house would never have been built if it had not been for -you. I saw you hardly took in what I was saying, but it’s as true as -that you and I sit here together smoking. I will try to tell you the -whole story.” - -“Years ago, when I was a young fellow playing juvenile lead in Castor’s -travelling company, there joined us a little, forlorn girl of sixteen, -fresh from school, and utterly innocent. She was very unhappy, and I, -naturally enough, fell into the sort of position that you fell into with -Ivy Grant. She badly wanted a protector, and I did what I could for her. -Well, little by little, this sort of friendship drifted into love, and -though our engagement was not made public and was never recognised by -her parents, they did not exactly forbid it or in any way hinder our -intercourse, being shrewd enough, I suppose, to see that had they done -so, their daughter would only have become more resolute and determined. -Things drifted on like this for ten years. For five of these years we -were acting in the same theatre in London, and I was fairly satisfied -to wait, and never once doubted her. But there came a time when she -felt hampered in her profession for want of money, and just then came -an offer of marriage from a man who, though old enough to be her father, -was immensely rich. He had a title moreover, and as far as I know, he -was not a bad fellow--had he not been of decent repute, I am sure she -would not have married him. Still I had seen enough of him to know that -they had not a taste in common, and the misery of it all unhinged me. -She was to be married at the close of the season, and every night--twice -on Saturdays--we had to act together. It all went on like some ghastly -dream”--he pushed back his chair and began to pace the room as though -the recollection were intolerable. “The play was invariably ‘Hamlet;’ I -have never been able to face the thought of acting the part again. The -only thing that carried me through was a sort of desperate resolve to -keep up appearances for her sake. There had been, naturally enough, -a certain amount of gossip about us, but few knew that we had been -actually engaged, and in the very worst of the time there was a sort -of odd sense of triumph, for I knew that I was acting behind the scenes -with a perfection which I was never likely to touch before the curtain. -It told on me, though. When the end of the season came I had been -for eight nights without sleep, and after saying good-bye to her, and -realising that there was no need to keep up any longer, all power of -rational thought seemed suddenly to go from me. I had acted my part so -well that she believed that I had become reconciled to the thought of -her marriage, and I suppose she thought that I should take that position -of friend, which she wished me to take. At any rate her last words were -a request that I would be present at the little country church where the -wedding was to take place. - -“I left it uncertain whether I would go or not, and went home debating -which would really be best for her, which would set her most at ease. -Could I for the time efface myself so completely as to play the part -of an old friend? If she had really cared for the man she was to marry, -that would have been possible; I could have rejoiced in her happiness. -But this, as things were, I thought out of the question. And then in the -darkness of the night, as I lay wondering stupidly which would be -the best for her, a wild notion that it would be best if I were dead -suddenly took possession of me. I was too worn out to think anything -at all about the right and wrong of the matter; it was just an -overmastering idea that crowded out every other consideration. I even -forgot my own mother,--that has always seemed to me the most incredible -part of the whole business. When morning came, I made my preparations -and walked out, with no notion at all as to place, but only a vague -wish to be away from bricks and mortar. After a time I found myself in -Richmond Park, and was making for a quiet glade I knew of, when there -came a sound of footsteps hurrying after me, a small boy was speaking to -me, telling me I had saved him once, and begging me to accept a silver -knife. Here it is you see--I have carried it ever since.” - -Ralph in amazement looked at his father’s old fruit knife; could such a -trifling thing have played so great a part in the life of his friend? - -“I only parted with yours the other day at Forres,” he said, “when -everything that could be spared had to go to the pawnbroker.” - -“Well, I’m glad it is gone,” said Macneillie. “This is the only souvenir -needed. I have had presentations both before that time and since, but -never one that touched me as yours did. Your emphatic assurance that -fruit-knives were of no use to you, since you always ate peel and all, -tickled my fancy and made me smile; that was the first step back to -life. And then your boyish praise was so real that it pleased me, and -your hero-worshipping face haunted me. It reminded me that I should be -missed at any rate by some, and when I reached the glade I was glad that -by a sudden impulse I had given you my knife in exchange. Being thus -disarmed there was nothing to do but to lie down and rest, and what with -the heat of the day and the long walk, I somehow fell asleep at last. -When I woke my brain was perfectly clear again, but there was this -little embossed knife to remind me of the narrow escape I had had. I -remember that in the distance the deer were feeding peacefully, and -within a few hundred yards of me rabbits were scampering to and fro. A -great longing for home seized me as I lay there watching them, the sort -of hunger that always comes over a Scotsman when he has been long away -from the mountains. So I hurried back to town, packed my portmanteau, -and took the night train to the north. There! that is all I have to tell -you; and perhaps now you’ll understand that you are no ordinary stranger -to me and to my mother, but that you belong to us.” - -“It is good of you to have told me,” said Ralph, “to have trusted me -with so much. But I, too, have a confession to make. That day, when we -were in St. James’ Park, Evereld and I knew who was talking with you as -you walked up and down, and once when you stopped close to the water we -could not help hearing what you both said. I think it was partly that -which made us look on you as our special hero.” - -Macneillie paced the room silently, seeing with all the vividness of a -powerful imagination that scene in the far past: the broad sunny path, -the calm expanse of water, with its little wooded island, the white -sails of the toy boat, the two children watching its progress, and -beyond the trees on the further side of the park the great gloomy pile -of Queen Anne’s Mansions looming up against the sky. Again he seemed -to stand in his misery beside the iron railing looking down into a face -which was deliberately hardening itself against him, yet was still the -face that haunted his dreams with its strange inexplicable fascination. - -Since her marriage he had never seen Christine; at first he had -purposely avoided her, and after his return from America had still -deemed it prudent to refuse a London engagement, and to enter on that -career as manager of a travelling company which had now for some years -absorbed his thoughts and his energies. He wondered often whether -their paths would ever again cross, and with a certain sturdy Scottish -resolution he held on his way, neither seeking nor avoiding a meeting. - -He was still talking to Ralph on this summer afternoon, when his mother -came into the room with the letters of the second post. - -“Ha, here is one from Edinburgh,” exclaimed Macneillie. “Now we shall -hear your fate. Well, it’s not much of an offer but better than nothing. -Middle of June to the end of July, that will fit in well enough. To -be walking gentleman after the parts you have been playing will be -uninteresting, but you will at any rate be secure of your salary, and -will be acting with better people. Here is the list of plays; let us see -who the stars are.” - -Glancing down the paper he gave a perceptible start. - -“That’s an odd coincidence after what we were just talking about,” he -said, handing the list to his companion; and Ralph saw that in the first -week of July, Christine Greville was to appear as _Ellen Douglas_. He -hardly knew whether he were glad or sorry. Naturally his affection for -Macneillie tended to make him a somewhat severe judge of the woman who, -after a ten years’ betrothal, had forsaken her lover and married for -money; but nevertheless he wanted to meet her, and Macneillie was not -ill pleased at the chance of thus learning indirectly how Christine -prospered in the life she had chosen. - -Somehow the news seemed to cheer them both. Macneillie stood gazing out -of the window, lost in thought. - -The rain had ceased, and though the sky was still in part overclouded -there were little rifts of blue, and in the west a bright gleam which -swept across the hills facing the window in a long level line of golden -brightness. Above, were the dark mountain tops, below, in deep shade, -the woods; and the points of the trees stood out sharply defined -along the broad intervening strip of sunlit grass. He could not have -explained his own feelings, but it seemed to him that some unexpected -gleam of brightness had come, too, into his overclouded life. - -During the days that followed something of the old hero-worship began to -reassert itself in Ralph’s heart as he learnt to understand more of his -friend’s character. To the genius and fervour and romance of the Kelt, -Macneillie united a singularly strong and virile nature, and although -he had shaken off some of the trammels of the school of theology to -which his mother still belonged, he was emphatically one whose life was -ruled by faith. This was indeed generally recognised, although he was -not given to many words; but the world agreed in describing him by that -unsatisfactory phrase, “a religious man,” and many in the profession -could testify that his religion was of that pure and undefiled kind -which is known not so much by words or outward observances, as by the -living of a good, manly life. - -There was, to Ralph’s mind, something very touching in the relations -between the actor and his mother. His care in avoiding all topics that -could pain her, his solicitude for her comfort, and the pleasure he took -in the restful home-life, which could only be his at long intervals, -formed but one side of the picture. There was the ineffable pride of the -old lady in her only son, her delight in his success being only modified -by the unconquerable scruples which she still felt as to the stage, -scruples which were, however, difficult to maintain in all their fulness -when she was every day confronted by so admirable a representative of -the actor’s profession. - -As soon as it was practicable, Macneillie made the convalescent spend -a great part of each day out of doors, at first in the garden or in -the wood at the back of the house, and later on, when walking became -possible, on the hill-side near the wishing-well, where far away from -houses and with a glorious panorama of lake and mountain they rested for -hours on the heather. - -It was at these times that Ralph received some of those lessons in his -art which were later on of the greatest service to him. - -By the middle of June he had shaken off the last effects of the -influenza, but although he was thankful to have secured an engagement, -he left Callander very reluctantly, only comforting himself with the -reflection that at the beginning of August he should once more be -with Macneillie, and able perhaps to do a little in return for all the -kindness that had been shown to him. - -His Good Samaritan started him on his way with sound advice, and all -things needful for a fresh beginning, and the weeks in Edinburgh passed -pleasantly enough. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - - “On the oppressor’s side was power; - - And yet I knew that every wrong, - - However old, however strong, - - But waited God’s avenging hour.” - - Whittier. - -|At length the day arrived when Christine Greville was to appear. A -rehearsal had been called for eleven, and it so happened that Ralph -reached the stage door just as the “star” with her maid in attendance -drove up. He had naturally been very anxious to see her, and was pleased -that their meeting should be in bright sunlight, not in the dreary gloom -of the empty theatre. He caught a vision of fair hair beneath a broad -black straw hat, and of blush roses that harmonised well with the -beautiful but rather grave face. Then it chanced that in alighting, Miss -Greville dropped her parasol, and Ralph of course promptly stooped to -pick it up for her. - -“Thank you,” she said, and her low voice thrilled him. “It was careless -of me.” As she spoke her lips smiled, but he thought the brown eyes that -for a moment met his fully were the saddest as well as the sweetest he -had ever seen. - -The doorkeeper having now perceived her hastened forward, and she passed -into the building. - -It was with some surprise that in glancing round she saw that Ralph also -had entered. Something in his manner had pleased her, and she presently -turned to the manager with a question. - -“Who is that young fellow behind us?” she inquired, lowering her voice. - -“He is a pupil of Macneillie’s,” said the manager, “and at present is -only ‘walking gentleman,’ but he has the makings of a good actor in -him.” - -“Introduce him to me,” said Miss Greville. - -So Ralph, to his no small delight, was presented to the great lady, who -gave him a cordial hand-shake. - -“They tell me you are Hugh Macneillie’s pupil,” she said. - -Ralph flushed a little. - -“He has taught me more than any one else,” he replied, “and it was -through him that I got this engagement. In August I am to join his -company.” - -“Ah!” she said, and Ralph fancied there was a sort of envy in her tone. -“You are very fortunate to have such a chance. He is one of a thousand. -Where did you come across him?” - -“At Callander, soon after Whitsuntide. He has built a house there for -his mother.” - -“She is still living? I am glad of that. She never liked me, having a -rooted aversion to the stage and all connected with it, still she was -kind to me in her way, though disapproving all the time.” - -“She still disapproves of the stage,” said Ralph. “But she is kindness -itself; if you could but have seen the plight I was in when Macneillie -found me, and took me home with him!” - -At that moment they were interrupted, but when the rehearsal was over, -Miss Greville again spoke to him. - -“We must finish our talk,” she said. “I like to hear all about my -old friends. To-morrow I am driving with my little invalid nephew to -Roslin--come and join us, we shall have plenty of room for you.” - -Ralph was delighted with the invitation; it was quite impossible to -remain a stern judge of Miss Greville now that he had seen her and -spoken with her. He had wondered how it could be that Macneillie, after -her faithlessness, still for her sake remained single. But he wondered -no longer, for it seemed to him, that quite apart from any beauty of -feature or form, she was the most inexplicably fascinating woman he had -ever met. Her every movement seemed to possess a subtle charm; there -was a refinement and delicacy about her manner, a delicious originality -about her way of talking, that made all others in comparison with her -seem tame and commonplace. There was, moreover, something that specially -appealed to Ralph, in the sadness of her face when in repose, and its -brilliant beauty when animated. - -There was no rehearsal the next day, and Ralph, punctual to the minute, -presented himself at the Windsor Hotel, at the time appointed for the -drive. He was shown into a private sitting-room where a little lame boy -of about nine years old sat by the open window. - -“Aunt Christine will be here directly,” he said, greeting the visitor -with great friendliness. “She was reading to me and forgot the time. Did -you ever hear her read?” - -“No,” said Ralph, “what book was it?” - -“Oh, only about Roslin, but it doesn’t matter what she reads, she makes -everything beautiful--it’s the way she says the words. Mother used to -read to me in Ceylon, but I never cared for it--it sounded so droney.” - -“Do you come from Ceylon?” - -“Yes, I came last year,” said the small invalid. “I live now with Aunt -Christine, she’s mother’s sister, and I like her next best to mother in -all the world. But Sir Roderick’s a beast. You mustn’t say I said so, -but I hate him because he always says horrid, cutting things to Auntie. -He’s to meet us here, when Auntie’s engagement is over, and we are to -go to the Highlands to stay at a big country house belonging to his -cousin.” - -It was impossible to check the confidences of this small child, who, -with his light brown hair, eager blue eyes and sunburnt face, was by no -means the typical invalid of romance, but just a restless, high-spirited -boy, brimming over with life and merriment. Perhaps it was as well that -at that moment his aunt came into the room. - -“So sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Denmead,” she said, greeting him in -her charming way. “I was always a sadly unpunctual mortal, but Charlie -has no doubt been entertaining you. Is the carriage at the door? Then we -will ring for one of the waiters, Charlie, to take you down.” - -“He carries so badly,” said the small invalid, querulously. “I wish -Dugald were here.” - -“Well, he will come with Sir Roderick on Saturday,” said the aunt. “What -does the waiter do?” - -“I don’t know, but he hurts,” said Charlie, wriggling in his big chair. - -“Will you let me carry you?” said Ralph. - -“Yes,” said the child, with the air of a monarch bestowing a favour. -“Your hands are so nice and long, not podgy little things like the -waiter’s.” - -The journey to the Stanhope having been safely accomplished, and the -child comfortably installed in the back seat, Christine gathered up the -reins, and with Ralph in the front seat beside her, drove off in the -direction of Roslin. - -“There is nothing I enjoy so much as driving,” she said. “It is the one -real pleasure of my life.” - -“Greater than such a triumph as you had last night,” said Ralph. - -She glanced at him with a sort of surprise. - -“Did you really think I cared for that?” she said. -“How young you are--how worn and _blasée_ you make me feel. I cared -nothing at all for that ovation--was thankful when the din ceased and I -could go home and be quiet. When one is miserable, there is at any rate -some comfort in being miserable alone--you can throw aside your smiling -mask, and so get something approaching to ease. It is off now, you see, -and I am treating you as if you were a trustworthy, old friend, but then -you are trustworthy, I could tell that the moment I saw you. Now tell me -candidly, did not Mrs. Macneillie tell you she detested me?” - -“No, but I heard something of your first acquaintance with them long -ago,” said Ralph; and then he coloured and hesitated, feeling that he -had perhaps said too much. - -And oddly enough Christine felt that he understood all, and knew that -he would soon find out how, having sacrificed everything to ambition, it -now profited her nothing. - -“Auntie,” cried a small voice from the back seat. - -She glanced round with love and tenderness in the face that a moment -before had been so sad. - -“What is it, darling?” - -“Why those two girls were so awfully delighted to see you. I saw one -catch hold of the other’s arm and say, ‘There she is!’ just as if you’d -been the Queen herself.” - -She laughed, but the child’s pride in her, and perhaps the remembrance -that the public really loved her, touched her heart for a moment, and -brought back a look of youth and gladness to her wistful eyes. She -turned again to Ralph. - -“Now take up our talk where it was interrupted yesterday. You were -telling me what a plight you were in when Hugh Macneillie found you. How -had you got into such difficulties? Couldn’t you get an engagement? Tell -me your story, for we two must be friends.” - -She was so _simpatica_ that it was impossible to resist her, and -Ralph told her his story; all about the old days at Whinhaven, and his -father’s death; all about his adoption by Sir Matthew Mactavish and his -final dismissal; all about his search for work, his first engagement, -and his experiences at Washington’s Theatre. Christine would have blamed -him more for his folly. In relinquishing his position there had she not, -with her womanly insight, guessed all that he left untold of his feeling -for Evereld, and understood why just at Christmas time he was in such -desperate haste to get on in his profession. - -With the keen interest of one who had lived the same wandering life, she -heard of the adventures of Skoots’ Company, and listened pityingly -to the account of what Ralph called his “sixpenny tramp” through the -Highlands. But when he told of the friendly shepherd who had met him in -the wilds of Gaiek, she made a sudden exclamation. - -“Did you say the name was Linklater? Why then I think I can help you to -find the lost son--my husband’s man is named Dugald Linklater. He has -been with us for a year, and would scarcely have endured it so long, I -think, had he not been very fond of Charlie, and anxious too to get a -good character. He had been valet to Lord Ederline, but had left him -under a cloud, and had been out of a situation for a long while. -My husband had had a succession of men, and really took this one in -despair.” - -“Then there can be no doubt about it,” said Ralph, his face lighting up. -“For I know the son was Lord Ederline’s servant. This will be good news -for the shepherd and his wife. How odd that one should come across him -in this way. The world is but a small place after all. What is he like?” - -“A dark-haired Kelt, very well-mannered, and a decidedly clever fellow. -I know something of his past life, for he is going to marry my maid as -soon as they have each of them saved a little money. Dugald is steady -enough now, but he was nearly ruined by betting. We have very little -notion, I fancy, of the sort of temptation our servants are often -exposed to.” - -“Will he be coming to Edinburgh? Can I see him?” - -“Certainly. I expect my husband on Saturday evening. Come and call on -Sunday afternoon, and I will make some excuse to send Dugald round to -your rooms afterwards. Then you can tell him all about his home people. -But now tell me about the rest of your journey.” - -Ralph told the whole tale, and there were tears in his companion’s eyes -as he described the dire struggle of the last day of his wanderings, and -his final collapse in the Pass of Leny. - -“And it was there Hugh Macneillie found you?” she said tremulously. - -“Yes, he is fond of going up and down that path by the river, he says -it is good practice to rehearse a part in that roar of many waters. -I dreamt I was back again in the theatre with Evereld, then I heard -footsteps, and looked up to see his face. You can’t think what a -contrast it was to the faces I had seen just before in the road, with -their cruel contemptuous stare; it was like looking up into the face of -the Christ.” - -By the time they had returned from Roslin, Christine had heard all that -there was to be heard, with the exception of course of the Richmond Park -incident, and she was able fully to realise the sort of life which her -old lover was living. She did not presume to pity Hugh Macneillie. She -knew indeed that, compared with her lot, his was one to be envied; but -she felt intuitively that he would never recover from the wound she had -dealt him, and knew that she had deliberately robbed him of all that a -man most values. Her heart was very sore that night, and Ralph, now that -he knew more of her, understood with how weary an effort she laughed and -talked in the green room. He longed to be able to serve her, but there -was of course little he could do, beyond showing Charlie the sort of -kindness which a small boy best appreciates. - -It was with some trepidation that, on the Sunday afternoon at the close -of her engagement, he called to take leave of her. Other visitors -were in the room. She just introduced him to Sir Roderick--a tall, -grey-haired, and decidedly good-looking man, and then left him to make -his way as usual to Charlie’s couch. - -The child greeted him with delight and eagerly showed him a Kodak which -Christine had just given him, and with which he was longing to take -snap-shots at the people in Prince’s Street. “But I mustn’t do it, Sir -Roderick says, because of the fourth commandment and the Scotch being -so particular. Now do you really think that the fourth commandment was -meant to forbid Kodaks on Sunday?” - -“Well no,” said Ralph smiling. “I don’t think it has much to do with -photography or with our Sunday.” - -“And you see,” continued the child eagerly, “even if we are not to -do any manner of work--and of course, every one really does a good -deal--you can’t possibly call it work to take a snap-shot. Why it says, -you know, in the advertisement, that it’s no labour at all. ‘_You_ press -the button, _we_ do all the rest,’ and one wouldn’t ask them to do the -developing to-day. It’s really not so bad as Sir Roderick’s ringing the -bell as he’s doing now, for when he rings twice like that, Dugald has to -come hurrying upstairs like lightning, and I know he has had hardly any -time for his dinner.” - -At that moment the servant entered in response to his master’s -peremptory summons. Ralph watched him keenly, and had no manner of -doubt that this man was the shepherd’s son, for the likeness to Angus -Linklater was marked. An expressive little bit of pantomime followed; -he could not hear the actual words spoken by Sir Roderick, but the -insufferable tone and manner of the master and the expression of -long-enduring but sorely tried patience on the face of the man, were -quite sufficient to reveal much of their characters. Soon after this the -visitors rose to go, and Sir Roderick having taken leave of them in a -pleasant and courteous fashion, turned round on his wife the moment the -door was closed, and apparently forgetting that they were not alone, -hurled at her a torrent of abuse and scathing sarcasm, which made Ralph -long to kick him down-stairs. It seemed to be about some salmon flies -which had been left behind in London, Dugald having failed to find -them in their right place, and imagining that they had been sent by his -master with the first instalment of luggage brought to Edinburgh by the -rest of the family some weeks ago. - -In Lady Fenchurch’s manner of receiving her husband’s anger there was -the calmness of long use, but her colour rose a little because of the -injustice of the attack, and from a sort of shame that Ralph Denmead -should witness the scene. - -“I am sorry the mistake was made, but you forget we are not alone,” she -said, seizing on a moment when for want of breath he ceased to swear. - -He glanced towards the window with annoyance, and with a malice which -his hearers perfectly understood, suddenly changed his line. - -“Well, if it is not your fault then it must be Dugald’s fault. The -d------d scoundrel shall leave the very day. I can get another man. I’m -sick of the sight of him. He shall see that I’m not to be imposed upon -by an idle fellow who doesn’t know his duties. He shall go, and with the -worst character I ever gave to a servant. He came to me with a bad one, -and I’ll add a telling bit to it.” - -“I only wonder he has endured the situation so long.” said Christine, -stung by the unfairness of this retaliation. “But you punish yourself -more than you punish him; think what trouble you had before he came. The -best servants must now and then make mistakes.” - -“The best mistresses are supposed to look to the ways of their -household,” he said maliciously, “and to have some regard for their -husbands’ comfort. D------ you, say no more. I tell you the man shall -go, and if he chooses to bring an action against me for giving him a -worse character than he brought with him, I’ll show up his whole past -life.” - -With that he sauntered out of the room and Ralph, with some presence of -mind, picked up the Kodak and began to talk to Charlie about the best -position for taking a photograph of the Scott memorial just opposite. -In a few minutes Christine slowly crossed the room and sat down in a low -chair beside Charlie’s couch. Her white taper fingers played with the -child’s light hair, but she was quite silent, sitting there listlessly, -with the exhausted look which people wear when they have been battling -with a strong wind. - -“And she might have been Macneillie’s wife!” thought Ralph. “How can she -endure this wretched existence!” - -He was made so miserable by the sight of that worst tragedy of life--a -mistaken marriage--and by the thought of the grievous pain and sorrow -it had entailed, that he was quite unable to perceive how immensely both -Christine and Macneillie had been developed by the consequences of that -very mistake. - -The woman who at seven-and-twenty had sacrificed the entire happiness -of another to her own ambition and the worldly arguments of her -parents, who had allowed the love in her heart to grow weak for lack -of nourishment, who had been capable of utterly deceiving herself and -stifling her conscience, had at four-and-thirty grown clear-eyed and -humble through much sorrow. And as for Macneillie, his years had been -spent to such good purpose that no one with deep insight could have -wished that he had married Christine Greville as she had been seven -years ago. There had, perhaps, been truth in her assertion in St. -James’s Park--she might have dragged him down to a lower level. -Undoubtedly, apart, they had each of them climbed a step higher, and she -was more worthy of him now than in the old days. - -“Auntie,” said the child, breaking the silence at last, “you won’t -really let Dugald go, will you?” - -She sighed. - -“Not if I can help it, dear, but of course he is Sir Roderick’s servant. -Say no more about it, though. I know you are fond of him and would be -sorry to lose him, but we can’t always have what we like.” - -“I should have thought you might,” said the child. “You who earn such -lots of money. _Can’t_ you have all you like?” - -She laughed, but there were tears in her eyes. - -“I can have you, dear, and you are my chief pleasure now,” she said -caressingly. Then, shaking off her cares for awhile, she began to talk -to Ralph, who at the end of the call felt more ready than ever to be her -devoted servant for the rest of his life. - -“How Evereld will like to hear all about her,” he reflected as he went -down the stairs, “there will be no end to tell her next time we meet.” - -He was unpleasantly roused from these reflections by encountering on the -staircase Sir Roderick Fenchurch, who paused to shake hands with him in -the most courteous and pleasant way imaginable, as though he had utterly -forgotten that Ralph had been a witness of the stormy scene in the -private sitting-room. As a matter of fact, it was so entirely his custom -to abuse and swear at his wife before the child, before the servants, -and before any one staying in the house, that he never for a moment -imagined that this young actor would have liked to horse-whip him for -daring so to treat a woman. - -All the world seemed out of joint to Ralph as he walked away from -the hotel through the beautiful city whose noble buildings and grand -situation made such an incongruously fair setting to the sad picture he -had just looked on. He chafed bitterly against the thought of such a man -as Sir Roderick ruining the happiness of his hero Macneillie, and went -back to his rooms with a heart full of indignation to write the letter -he felt bound to send to Callander after meeting Christine Greville. -Having written sundry details as to the play they had been giving -during the week, he turned to the subject which he knew would interest -Macneillie. - -“Miss Greville has been staying at the Windsor Hotel with her small -nephew, a boy of nine, to whom she is devoted. I have been there several -times, as the child took a fancy to me. He is lame, but likely they say -to recover, and it is wonderful to see her care of him. Two or three -times we went out driving together. She spoke much of you and of the old -days. She looks as young as ever on the stage, but off it her face is -careworn and awfully sad. To-day, when I went to take leave of her, -Sir Roderick Fenchurch was there. He was decent enough till the other -visitors were gone, but then fell into a rage with her about some salmon -flies that had been forgotten; he has a tongue that cuts like a sharp -razor; there’s not a pin to choose between him and the ordinary, -wife-beating ‘pleb,’--in fact, I prefer the latter, for at any rate -he can be properly punished, while this polished scoundrel with his -sarcasms and his cruelties of the tongue can’t be touched. She was very -quiet and dignified all through this scene, but when at last he went out -she looked dead tired; this sort of thing at home, and the hard work -of professional life, must be more than any one could stand for long, -I should think. An odd thing has happened. I have found the son of -Linklater, the shepherd who housed me so kindly in the Gaick Forest. -He is now Sir Roderick Fenchurch’s man, but will not be with him much -longer as the brute has given him warning--chiefly to annoy his wife I -believe. Dugald Linklater has just been in to see me, and I told him I -had been to his home, and that they were always looking for him to -come back. He promises to write to his father at once. So there is -one pleasant thing in this day, which Sir Roderick Fenchurch has -overclouded. What can be the purpose in creation of such brutes? They -are enough to have staggered even your prophet Erskine of Linlathen.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - - -“_Nothing mars or misleads the influence that issues from a pure and -humble and unselfish character. A man’s gifts may lack opportunity, his -efforts may be misunderstood and resisted; but the spiritual power of a -consecrated will needs no opportunity and can enter where the doors are -shut._”--Dean Paget. - -|Macneillie read and re-read this letter with the awful craving of a man -whose love has for years been starved of all knowledge of the beloved, -except the mere knowledge that she was still in the world. He had, of -course, seen her name daily in the papers, and had known what plays she -was acting in, but of her real life he had known nothing. He had tried -to think that her marriage though necessarily falling below his ideal -of married life might at any rate be as happy as the average, might at -least be tranquil and not without a certain comfortable respectability. -But the brief account given in Ralph’s letter, and the many details -which he could so easily read between the lines--filled him with misery. -The post had brought him as usual a mass of correspondence; with a sigh -of impatience he ran through it, then pushing it aside caught up his hat -and hurriedly left the house. He was in no humour to climb the hill-side -to the wishing-well; instead, he passed through the village, over -Callander Bridge, and taking a little footpath across the meadows, -sought out a favourite nook of his beside the river Teith, which wound -its peaceful course through the hayfields. A tiny wood had sprung up -near this walk at one part, and Macneillie had a special affection for -a certain beech-tree which stood just at a bend in the river, and under -its shade many of his pleasantest holiday hours were spent. He -threw himself down now on the sloping bank beneath it. Everything -was curiously still and peaceful; Ben Ledi rose majestically in the -distance, framed by soft foliage in the foreground, and the river was -emphatically one of those which “glideth at his own sweet will,” a great -contrast to the Leny, which dashed and foamed through its rocky pass. -It was just this calm peacefulness he longed for in his inward struggle. -With all the vividness of one blessed or cursed with a powerful -imagination, he realised Christine as she now was. He knew instinctively -that her heart had awakened from its sleep, that, with the dead failure -of the _mariage de convenance_, her love which had only lain dormant -had returned--but had returned of course to torture her. Hitherto he -had been able to think of Sir Roderick Fenchurch with a sort of -impartiality. He knew so very little about him; and it was Macneillie’s -nature to think well of people until they disillusioned him; he had even -felt a sort of compassion for the man, because he knew that he could -never really possess Christine’s heart as he, for a time at any rate, -had possessed it. But Ralph’s picture of what the husband really was -behind his society mask had driven out all gentler thoughts, had filled -the Scotsman’s heart with loathing, had over-clouded his whole world. - -Macneillie was, however, before all things, an honest man. He had not -accepted conventionally the first religious truths put before him, he -had thought much, he had waited patiently, had learnt by degrees, and -the hard training of his life had borne its fruit--it was impossible -now, that he should remain for long in darkness. It flashed upon him -that his trouble came from having stepped out of the right order; for a -time he had lost that absolute trust in God’s education of every human -being, which had for many years been his stronghold. The words of -Ralph’s letter came back to him--“brutes like Sir Roderick are enough to -have staggered even your prophet Erskine of Linlathen.” - -The name of Thomas Erskine in itself awakened within him a whole train -of memories, for he was one of the many thousands who have been rescued -by the writings of that barrister, laird and saint from falling a prey -to the spirit of unbelief which is the reaction alike from Calvinism and -ceremonialism. - -Lying under the shade of the beech-tree, the fresh air from the hills -playing softly about his uncovered head, he tried to picture to himself -what Erskine would have thought of this mistaken marriage, with its -unhappy results, and there came back to his mind a passage in “The -Spiritual Order,” in which the writer spoke of the strange difficulty of -retaining faith in God’s loving purpose when confronted with the evils -of the lanes and closes of great towns which seem to be mere hot-beds of -vice and profligacy. How look on those and still believe that education -was God’s whole purpose in creation? “It would be impossible,” said -Erskine, “did we not also realise that _there is no haste with God_.” - -Clearly then it was the imperfection of his own nature, the -weakness--not the strength--of his love for Christine, which made him so -desperately impatient at the thought of her suffering; for her sake -he must learn to be “strong and patient,” learn to love with a diviner -love, to wait with a more perfect trust. The letter had come to him -like a call to arms, he was perfectly conscious that it marked a fresh -turning-point in his life; he had learnt more of Christine and her -difficulties than he had known for years, and the only way in which he -could interpret the meaning of it all was that he should pray for her in -her grievous need more unceasingly than he had yet done. - -And so the time passed by, and at the close of the six weeks’ engagement -Ralph returned to Callander for the few days that remained before -Macneillie’s company was to open at Southbourne with “The Winter’s Tale.” - -It felt more like a home-coming than he could have imagined possible. -His friend was delighted to have him back again; old Mrs. Macneillie -was scarcely less so, and the servants gave him a cordial welcome, for -though his illness had given a good deal of trouble in the house, he had -the gift of winning hearts, and the forlorn plight in which he had first -arrived had awakened all the best sympathies of the hospitable Scottish -household. He fancied that Macneillie’s deep-set grey eyes were somewhat -graver in expression than before, but his manner, with its touch of -quaint, dry humour, was exactly the same as usual, and it was not until -the Tuesday morning when they set off early to walk together to the -Trossachs, that any allusion was made to the contents of the letter. -Then, at last, as they walked along the shores of Loch Vennachar, -Macneillie put a direct question about Christine. - -“I am glad you got to know Lady Fenchurch,” he said. “Where did she go -after leaving Edinburgh?” - -“She went up to the Highlands a fortnight ago to a place called Mearn -Castle, which belongs to a Mrs. Strathavon-Haigh, a widowed cousin of -Sir Roderick’s--a very fast widow, if what I heard in Edinburgh is -true. Lady Fenchurch did not want to go there, but said her husband -particularly wished her to accept the invitation. So she had given up -her original plan of taking Charlie to the sea, and hoped the Highland -air would do him as much good.” - -“I suppose she was right to try to please her husband,” said Macneillie, -“but Mearn Castle is one of the most abominable country houses going.” - -“She seemed to know very little about it,” replied Ralph, “only disliked -this gay widow, and wanted to go to some quiet place where rest would -have been more possible. But she evidently tries to do what can be done -for her brute of a husband. Oh! if you could have seen her patience, her -dignity, while that scoundrel was abusing her! I wish I could horse-whip -him!” - -“No need,” said Macneillie, in a low voice, “for every brutal word he -will one day have to give account.” Something in his manner, with its -deep conviction that every wrong should in the future be righteously -avenged, silenced Ralph. He felt ashamed of his vehement impatience, and -was not sorry that, as they approached Loch Achray, Macneillie led away -from the subject by asking after the shepherd’s son. - -They had passed the Hotel, and were walking through the Trossachs, when -they overtook a gentleman’s servant laden with a soda-water syphon and -a great basket of fruit which he was evidently carrying down to Loch -Katrine. - -Glancing at the man, Ralph gave an exclamation of astonishment. - -“Why, Linklater! is it you? I was speaking to Mr. Macneillie about you -only just now.” - -The man’s face lighted up as he returned Ralph’s cordial greeting, and -he looked searchingly at Macneillie, having very often heard that the -actor was one of Lady Fenchurch’s oldest friends. - -“I little thought to see you here, sir,” he said, turning to Ralph. “We -came this morning from Stronachlachar, for there was a good wind for -sailing, and Master Charlie was wanting to set foot on Ellen’s Isle. -He’s there now, with her ladyship, and I came on to the Hotel to get -these things for lunch.” - -“They have left Mearn Castle then?” said Ralph in surprise. - -“Well, sir,” said Linklater, with a little hesitation in his manner, “if -you’ve not already heard, maybe I had better tell you the whole truth, -for all the world must know it as soon as her ladyship sues for a -divorce.” - -Macneillie made an inarticulate exclamation. Like one in a dream he -listened to the man’s brief account. It appeared that Sir Roderick -had seduced the young wife of one of the game-keepers on the Castle -estate--that the enraged husband discovering him had given him such a -castigation that it had been impossible to hush up the affair, and that -Lady Fenchurch, on learning the truth, had left Mearn Castle. - -There was a pause when the man had ended. Ralph waited for his companion -to ask some question, to make some comment, but Macneillie walked on in -absolute silence, evidently too deeply engrossed in his own reflections -to be even conscious that he was not alone. - -This, then, was the meaning of his inward perception of Christine’s -grievous need! In this fortnight, during which his whole soul had been -absorbed in prayer for her, she had lived through the most awful crisis -of her life, and now she was near to him in her forlorn, unprotected, -worse than widowed condition. He must at any rate, inquire if she would -see him, ask if he could in any way help her, and here in this quiet -spot there was fortunately no danger that idle talkers would comment on -their meeting. He pencilled a few words in German on one of his cards -and turned to Linklater. - -“Give this to your mistress,” he said, the title somehow sticking in his -throat. “I will take a boat and row out to the island in a few minutes, -and you can bring back the answer.” - -By this time they had walked through the glen and had reached the -picturesque landing-place. Linklater hailed the Stronachlachar boatman, -and set off for the island, and the others followed more leisurely, -Ralph taking both oars and Macneillie sitting in the stern, though -the far-away look in his eyes scarcely qualified him for the duties of -steersman. - -The story which Linklater had told them had been so entirely unexpected, -and was in itself so revolting, that neither of them felt inclined to -talk. To Macneillie, moreover, it was as though he had suddenly heard -of the death of the man who had saddened his life; to all intents and -purposes he considered Sir Roderick as dead to Christine, for he came -of a race which for more than three hundred years has always regarded -adultery as the dissolution of a marriage. To him there had never been -the least question as to the distinct teaching of Christ on this point, -he believed that His words clearly sanctioned divorce for infidelity to -the marriage bond and gave freedom to the innocent one. No _man_ could -rightly put asunder those who were married; sin only or death could part -them. But proved infidelity was as truly the divider as love was the -bond of union; the legal ceremonies, whether of marriage or of divorce, -were but the appointed and expedient symbols of spiritual facts--the -outward signs of the birth and death of married life. - -The seven years of his solitude had taught Macneillie a stern -self-control, and whatever he felt as they rowed across the lake was not -allowed to appear at all in his face. Ralph glanced at him from time to -time and marvelled, perhaps only now realising of what splendid stuff -his hero was made, and how nobly he held in check that difficult -temperament with which actors, artists and musicians are usually -endowed. - -“Which side is the best landing-place?” he asked as they drew near to -the lovely wooded island. - -“To the right in that bit of a creek,” said Macneillie, beginning to pay -heed to the steering. “There is the boat, I see, but the men are both -out of it.” - -As he spoke they glided into the little, rocky cleft with its -overhanging trees, its moss-grown boulders, its patches of crimson -heather and purple ling. Then came a few minutes of utter silence, as -they waited for Linklater’s return; Ralph felt anxious and restless, -each minute seemed to him an hour, and he feared that perhaps after all -Christine Greville would refuse to see any one. As for Macneillie he -just waited like one who is intently listening, but Ralph was not -sure that the listening was for Christine’s voice or for the servant’s -approaching footsteps, he had a suspicion that it was for something much -more inward. - -At length, to his great relief, there came a rustling among the boughs -and a trampling of feet, and in a minute Linklater was striding down -over the rocks towards the boat, bearing a note in his hand. Macneillie -thanked him as he took the missive, and unfolding it less deftly than -might have been expected of a seasoned actor, read the following words: - -“You are the only man I could bear to speak to yet; please come.” - -He promptly stepped on shore, but Ralph lingered. - -“I will stay in the boat,” he suggested, “and have a pipe.” - -“Master Charlie is very anxious you should come and help him with his -Kodak, sir,” said Linklater, respectfully. “He’s just up here at the -top, and her ladyship is at the further side of the island, sketching.” - -“Very well, then, I’ll come,” said Ralph, and he followed his friend up -the steep ascent. - -In a little clearing at the top they found the small boy, who gave a -war-whoop of delight as Ralph emerged from the brushwood. - -“If I hadn’t had such an awful longing for gooseberries, Dugald would -never have met you!” he said gleefully. “Auntie is over there making a -sketch, she’s hidden right away by the trees, but don’t go to her just -yet, do stay and help us lay the things out for lunch, Dugald is going -to make a fire and boil some water, he thinks Auntie will like some tea, -she’s been having such dreadful headaches the last few days.” Macneillie -heard no more, he left Ralph and the child, and Dugald Linklater, and -made his way straight through the tangle of shrubs, trees, and bushes, -in the direction that Charlie had indicated. There was a gleam of white -between the green leaves--it was the sun lighting up the sketching-block -on her easel; in another moment he had parted the thickly-growing -branches and had seen her once more. - -She was sitting on a fallen tree--not attempting to sketch, but with her -elbows propped on her knees and her face hidden by one of those shapely -white hands he had so often kissed; the sun made a dazzling glory of -her fair hair; her light grey dress and grey straw hat seemed exactly -to harmonise with the green trees and the patches of heather. She had -always had that instinct of fitness which makes some women know -exactly what to wear, and when to wear it. - -Macneillie stood for a minute watching intently the down-bent head, his -heart throbbing so fast that he felt half-choked. At last, putting -force upon himself, he moved forward. His step recalled her from her sad -reverie, and starting to her feet with the nervous alarm of one who has -lately undergone some great shock, she looked round as though in terror -of pursuit. That startled movement, and the momentary expression he had -seen in her pale face, strengthened Macneillie as nothing else could -have done; he forgot all about himself, realised only that she wanted -his protection. - -“You need not be afraid,” he said, taking her hand in his, “of what use -are old friends if not to help you in time of need?” - -She struggled hard to reply, but her eyes swam with tears, her lips -refused to frame a word. - -“Let us sit down here and talk things over quietly,” said Macneillie; -“as I wrote to you just now, Dugald Linklater told us what had passed at -Mearn Castle.” - -“He told you what he knew,” said Christine in a broken voice. “He -could not tell you of my interview with Sir Roderick.” She paused for a -minute, then the pent-up torrent of words broke forth. “I have heard -of women, yes, and of men, too, refusing to be separated from a guilty -partner; but there must at least be a genuine repentance to make such a -plan even moral. There was none with Sir Roderick. He was vexed at -the discovery, but he made light of the sin itself. In my presence he -laughed over the affair. The house seemed like hell. I could not have -stayed in it another hour!” - -The look of shrinking horror in her face tortured Macneillie, who could -so well understand how her whole being recoiled from the foul atmosphere -that had surrounded her. It was because he understood how she felt -herself degraded by all she had lived through that he intuitively -stretched out his hand for hers, and held it in a strong, firm clasp. - -“Do not dwell on all this,” he said, “but tell me how I can help you.” - -His quiet, tender voice, the reverence of his manner quickly soothed -her. She looked up into his face, and by that mere look seemed to draw -in endless stores of strength and comfort. - -“Do you know,” she exclaimed with seeming irrelevance, “what Ralph -Denmead said about the day you found him in the Pass of Leny, when he -was lying there ill and half-starved, and looked up to see you bending -over him? He said it was like looking up into the face of the Christ!” - -“Poor boy!” said Macneillie. “He was in an awful plight, no one with a -grain of kindliness in his nature could have passed him by. He has made -me his debtor for life now, though; it is through him that I have met -you to-day.” - -“We little thought,” said Christine, “that those two children in St. -James’s Park, playing with their boat, would have anything to do with -our future. How is it, though, that you are grateful to him for bringing -about this meeting? It is I who am grateful to him. But you who have so -much to forgive--you who have avoided me all these years----?” - -“I dared not seek you out,” said Macneillie, “our paths parted -naturally, and it was safer so. What could I have done for you then? But -now all is different. Are none of your people coming to be with you?” - -“There is no one to come. As you heard, I daresay, my father died four -years ago.” - -“Yes, I saw the notice in the papers,” said Macneillie. - -“He lived just long enough,” she resumed, “to see how miserably his -scheme had failed. I had married to please him and to help the family. -Well, my sister’s husband, with no help at all from me or my position, -got an excellent appointment in Ceylon, so there again the scheme proved -useless. Three years ago my mother went out to live with her there, she -could do nothing to make me less miserable, and it only pained her to -see my unhappiness. She realises things less at a distance, and now she -is too much of an invalid to bear the return voyage. A year ago they -sent me back Charlie, Clara’s little boy, and he has been a great -comfort. Except for him I am quite alone.” - -“I want you to understand,” said Macneillie, “that it is still my -highest happiness to serve you. It is quite possible that in the -difficult position you are in you may need the help of a friend.” - -“Do I deserve your friendship?” she said questioningly; “you stood -aloof all these years--you would not be my friend then, though I asked -you.” - -“If I had been a worse man I should have accepted the place you offered -in your company,” said Macneillie; “or perhaps if I had been a better -man, I could entirely have effaced myself and dared to take such a -perilous post. But as things were, it seemed best to go right away. Did -you not understand?” - -“Yes, yes,” she said in a choked voice. “I understood--and honoured you. -Is it only seven years since you and I acted together? It seems to me -a life-time. All that has gone between has been a sort of dreadful -nightmare. And the worst of it was the feeling that I had deserved the -misery, had deliberately chosen the low level and fought against you -when you tried to drag me up. Oh, it is so long since I had a real -friend to talk to--may I tell you all?” - -“Of course,” he said, gently. “Why not?” - -“After a year of it I had grown almost desperate,” she said, clenching -her hands tightly, like one in pain, “and the season’s work had tired -me out; it seemed no use to try any longer even to live an honest life. -There was only one thing that still held me back. I knew if I sank lower -still it would grieve you more than all, and the thought of the pain I -had already given you was always with me. Then one Sunday afternoon I -happened to be alone. Sir Roderick had gone to stay with some friends -for the Ascot week, and there came to me a little girl bringing a note -from Lucy Seymour--you remember how soon after you and I were engaged we -had been able to help her when she was in great trouble. Well, she wrote -that her husband had died abroad and that she had just returned with her -child, was herself dying and wanted to see me. I went to her at once -and found her in great poverty, and in terror of being turned out of her -lodgings before the end. Her life, she said, had been a very happy one, -thanks to you and me. Oh, if you could have heard her gratitude for -the past. Every word she said seemed to draw me back from the horrible -indifference that had paralysed me--she somehow stirred up all my best -memories. She had heard that you were in America, or she would have -appealed first to you, for the help had been chiefly your doing.” - -“Did she die?” asked Macneillie. - -“Yes, about ten days after that Sunday. I had promised to send her -little girl to school, and to befriend her, if, later on, she went into -the profession, and after that Lucy seemed actually to long for death, -young as she was. I saw her every day, and the last night they sent word -to the theatre that there was a sudden change for the worse. Directly my -part was over, I went to her; she died very happily and peacefully, just -as day was breaking. I had never seen any one die before, and on the -stage death is always made somehow to seem like an end, a grand sort of -finale. But Lucy’s death was not like an end at all, it was as quiet -and serene as if she had been merely turning a page in a book. I can’t -describe to you how it altered all my ideas. Afterwards there was her -little girl to care for, and that helped me too, and though I knew -everything must still be hard, I tried after that--tried my very best -to please Sir Roderick, and as far as I could to make our home life more -endurable. We had each of us been much to blame in marrying without any -real love, and I knew that I must ‘dree my weird,’ as you used to say. -Well, it is over now--over, and I can hardly yet realise things. Last -night I wrote to my solicitor.” - -“I hope he is a good one,” said Macneillie. - -“_Yes_, Mr. Marriott, of Basinghall Street; but I am half afraid whether -he himself is back yet from his voyage.” - -“Ralph Denmead may know, he is an old friend of his. I will inquire. But -in any case many months are sure to pass before all the legal forms are -gone through, and in the meantime you will have to live as quietly and -guardedly as possible. Have you realised that?” - -“Yes,” she said, with a little shiver. “A fortnight of country-house -life, in such a place as Mearn Castle, makes one realise evil more -keenly than years on the stage.” - -She remembered miserably the people she had met there--men and women so -utterly unprincipled that she loathed and despised them. She remembered -the callous indifference with which her husband had observed all the -annoyances to which she was subjected. She remembered the age-long -hours, unoccupied by professional work--barren of all that could be -called employment. - -And then, turning from the past as from some hideous dream, she thought -how restful it was to be here in this little island, with the man -whose heart had never faltered from its allegiance, the lover whose -self-sacrificing constancy was as untiring as the love of God. Never -from his lips would she have heard such words as had filled her with a -sense of degradation at Meam Castle. It was the depth of his love, -the fineness of his reverence, which kept him now from expressing the -passion which she knew filled his heart. He would wait till the law had -declared her freedom--would wait and think only of how she could best be -shielded from the strife of tongues. - -“If you are really at a loss for some quiet place, and for friends -who can rightly protect you, why should you not go for a time to the -Herefords’ house near Firdale?” said Macneillie. - -“I know them very slightly,” she objected. “Besides, is not that meant -for people who have no money?” - -“Monkton Verney is for all, I think, who are in need--it’s a Cave of -Adullam--and though you don’t know Mr. and Mrs. Hereford well, you know -Miss Claremont and she is the practical head of things.” - -“I will at any rate write to her, she is a wonderful woman for -understanding,” said Christine. “I am glad you reminded me of her.” - -Macneillie stood up, for he knew that it would be unwise to stay longer, -and that he must somehow tear himself away. - -“Write and let me know whether you go there,” he said; “and don’t forget -that if I can do anything for you in any way, I have at least the right -of an old friend. I see the steamer over yonder, and before long a host -of people will be at the landing-stage and some of them may be rowing -out to visit Ellen’s Isle. Even here, in this paradise, Satan walks you -see in the shape of the gossiping British tourist; and your face and -mine are public property. I might do harm by staying here.” - -“Not even here,” she sighed, “in this lonely place? And it’s so long -since I saw you!” - -He took her hand in his, and held it for a minute tenderly; looking into -his face, the beauty of its expression of strong patience startled her. - -“No, not even here,” he said with a quiet smile. “Your reputation is too -precious to me. But remember that in any difficulty or danger I have the -first right to help you.” - -His courage nerved her to face the parting and even to assume an air of -cheerfulness. - -“I must come back to Charlie,” she said. “He is sure to be hungry, and -there will be plenty of time for you to have lunch, too, before any -tourists molest us.” - -So together they walked to the little encampment, where they found the -photographers fraternising over the Kodak, while Dugald had the tea -just ready. And since laughter and tears are not far apart, and the very -people who have lived through a tragedy are happily the ones most -easily moved to see all that is humorous in daily life, there followed -a cheerful meal which might have surprised and even shocked a mere -superficial observer of life, but contained elements of comfort in it -for all who understood the griefs and trials of human-kind. - -Crowning it all was the unalloyed happiness of the child, whose beaming -face and ringing laughter soothed Christine’s sore heart as nothing else -could have done. - -“_Auf wiederschen!_” said Macneillie, when the last moment had come, -and Christine said nothing, but all her soul seemed in her eyes as she -lifted them to his. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - - - “Paint those eyes, so blue, so kind, - - Eager tell-tales of her mind; - - Paint with their impetuous stress - - Of inquiring tenderness; - - Those frank eyes, where deep doth lie - - An angelic gravity.” - - Matthew Arnold. - -|The last day of Evereld’s school life was drawing to a close, “packing -day” as they called it, and when it had been a mere question of the -beginning of the holidays it had always been a rather festive occasion. -But on this last evening, standing at the threshold of a new untried -life, there was a good deal of sadness about it, and her usually bright -face was a little clouded as she paced up and down a shady garden walk -with her special friend Bride O’Ryan. The merry voices of the younger -children, as they played hide and seek, and now and then a distant sound -of applause from those who were watching the tennis players, made her -feel melancholy, for to-morrow she would no longer have her nook in this -happy, busy hive of industry, would no longer have a share in the genial -life, but would be in a very different home, a home which was not her -own, which had never seemed in the least homelike, and to which she did -not at all want to return. A happy remembrance caused her cheerfulness -to return. - -“Oh, Bride!” she exclaimed, “perhaps, after all, Sir Matthew will let -me spend the next fortnight with you as we begged. He won’t let me go -to Ireland, he was quite set against that, but he may say yes to your -sister’s second letter.” - -“To be sure,” said Bride, with her most good-humoured smile. “Why should -he be saying no to such a sensible plan? He can’t wish to have you in -town for the first part of August. Doreen has plenty of room for you in -this house she has taken on the Parade, and we will bathe every day, and -have no end of fun.” - -“Here comes Aimee with a letter. Bride, I believe it will be from Sir -Matthew; things come just when one is talking about them.” - -A pretty dark-haired girl now approached them. - -“Fraulein asked me to give you this note,” she said, “I believe it is -from Cousin Doreen.” - -“Yes, that’s Doreen’s writing,” said Bride. “Read it quickly, do.” - -And Evereld read as follows: - -“My Dear Evereld, - -“We shall be delighted if you will spend the next fortnight with us here -at Southbourne. Sir Matthew is quite willing that you should do so, -though he cannot spare you to us after the 14th August, as he wishes you -to go with him to Switzerland. I would have liked you to see our Irish -mountains first; however, they can hold their own very well against any -Alp ever created, and you must come and stay with us next year instead. -Tell Bride to bring you as early to-morrow morning as you like. - -“Yours affectionately, - -“Doreen Hereford.” - -This note gave general satisfaction, and the three friends yielded to -the entreaties of some of the younger children and entered with spirit -into the game of hide and seek, Evereld feeling all the delight of a -reprieve as she realised that for a whole fortnight she should be able -to stay at Southbourne and to postpone the parting with Bride. - -The next morning when, somewhat saddened by all the partings they -had been through, the two girls were driving down to the Parade, they -suddenly caught sight of a huge poster announcing the advent on the -following Monday of Mr. Hugh Macneillie’s Company, and the performance -of “The Winter’s Tale” “The Rivals” and “The Lady of Lyons.” Evereld -knew nothing of Ralph’s movements; nothing had been heard from him since -the Easter holidays, when he had still been travelling in Scotland. She -looked, however, with no small interest at this poster, having always -remembered their childish worship of Macneillie. - -“I have never seen ‘The Winter’s Tale,’” said Bride. “We must certainly -go. Doreen is always delighted if we want to see one of Shakspere’s -plays.” - -By this time they had arrived at their destination and Evereld who -already knew her friend’s family very intimately found herself in -the midst of a lively babel of voices, warmly greeted by pretty Mrs. -Hereford, hugged by her three children, and speedily made to feel quite -at home. - -“How is Dermot?” asked Bride. - -“Much better,” replied her sister, “you will find him with Mollie in the -drawing-room. Let me see, Evereld has not yet met him. We must present -the family patriot to you. Poor boy he has always been unlucky, and -since his release a year ago from Clonmel gaol he has been desperately -ill.” - -Evereld felt a little in awe of the released victim of the Coercion Act, -but he proved to be the gentlest-mannered of mortals, and her womanly -heart went out at once to the hollow-cheeked, large-eyed invalid whose -humourous smile only seemed to add to the pathos of his face. - -She was sitting the next day beside his Bath-chair on the Parade while -Mrs. Hereford read to her children when, as she was watching the sedate -couples who passed by in their Sunday best, she suddenly perceived at a -little distance a figure that seemed strangely familiar. Surely no one -but Ralph had precisely that quick, light step? His face was turned -away from her, he was intent on the sea, watching the waves like one -who loved them and had no attention to bestow on anything else. He was -almost passing them with only the breadth of the Parade between when -a puff of wind suddenly whirled away a paper which Dermot had been -reading, and hastily glancing round he picked it up and crossed over -to restore it to its owner. “Ralph!” exclaimed Evereld springing to her -feet. - -“You are here still!” he cried, his whole face lighting up, “I thought -your holidays would certainly have begun. What good fortune to find you -so unexpectedly.” - -“I have left school and am staying with Mrs. Hereford for a fortnight. I -must introduce you to her.” - -Mrs. Hereford knew all about Ralph Denmead, and had always felt that he -had been harshly treated by Sir Matthew Mactavish. She looked at him now -searchingly and she liked him. He had one of those sensitive mouths that -droop a little at the corners in depression or fatigue, but smile as -other mouths cannot smile. The classical nose and well-moulded chin -added character to what was otherwise just a pleasant, boyish face, -bearing upon it the stamp--“good cricketer.” And the thick brown hair -not quite so closely cropped as the hideous prevailing fashion demanded, -and the absence of beard or moustache bespoke him an actor. What she -liked best about him, however, were his clear honest brown eyes, which -had the power of lighting up with a most refreshing mirthfulness. There -was something touching in the unfeigned delight of the friends in this -wholly unexpected meeting, and Mrs. Hereford was determined that they -should have the chance of an uninterrupted talk. - -“There is still an hour before tea-time,” she said, glancing at her -watch. “Take Mr. Denmead to see the view at the end of the Parade, -Evereld, and then let us all come home together.” - -The two fell in with this plan very readily. The only difference between -them and the couples Evereld had lately been watching was that they -walked much faster and talked a great deal more. For there was much -to tell and to hear, and Evereld wanted to learn every detail of the -unlucky Scotch tour, and was delighted above measure to think that their -hero Macneillie should have come to the rescue so opportunely. - -“We saw that his Company was here to-morrow for a week,” she said, -blithely. “How little I dreamed that you were with him, Ralph. Mrs. -Hereford is going to take us to see ‘The Winter’s Tale.’ I do hope you -have a nice part.” - -“Yes, I am Florizel. It’s a very nice part indeed,” said Ralph. “And -there is such a jolly country dance. You’ll like that. You can’t think -what a difference it is to be in a Company like this after travelling -with those awful Skoots.” - -“Which was the worst of the two, the husband or the wife?” - -“Oh the husband was a swindler, but Mrs. Skoot passes description. How -she did hate me, too! If I had had the money to do it I might easily -have brought an action against her for abusive language. Towards the end -of the time she was never quite sober and once at a railway station -she was so hopelessly drunk that she tumbled headlong down a flight of -steps, alighting exactly on the top of my bath, which she nearly knocked -into a cocked hat! We know now that all the weeks they were not paying -us a penny, so that many of us were half starved, she had money of -her own hoarded away, and no doubt they are living on it comfortably -enough.” - -“What became of that poor little Ivy Grant?” - -“She stayed for a week with my old landlady and then managed to get into -another travelling company, where she seems to be getting on well. The -Professor died just after her return. He was no protection to her, poor -old man, in fact it was quite the other way. She had to support him, -he was invalided and a confirmed opium-eater. Still it seems lonely for -Ivy. She is a very plucky little girl though, and will, I fancy, get on -well in the profession. Now tell me about yourself. How did you get to -know Mrs. Hereford? and who is she?” - -“She is the married sister of my great friend at school, Bride O’Ryan; -you will see Bride when we go back to tea, and I know you’ll like her. -Every one likes her, she is such fun and she is always so good-tempered. -Mrs. Hereford lives partly in Ireland, but most of the year in Grosvenor -Square because her husband is in Parliament. And Bride will live with -her now that she has left school. They were all left orphans, and Mrs. -Hereford, who was a good deal older than the others, brought them up. I -never knew anyone so good and delightful as she is.” - -“I can’t think where I heard the name of Hereford just lately,” said -Ralph musingly. - -“Perhaps it was from Mr. Macneillie, I think Mrs. Hereford has met him -once or twice.” - -“That was it,” said Ralph, “Macneillie was telling me how Mr. Hereford -gave up his property, Monkton Verney, and turned it into a sort of Cave -of Adullam.” - -He did not mention to Evereld that Christine Greville was now staying at -this very place. Sooner or later she was sure to hear the whole story, -but he shrank from telling her what had passed at Mearn Castle, and in -no other way could he explain the step Lady Fenchurch had taken. “What -is Mr. Hereford like?” he inquired. - -“I like him very much,” said Evereld; “he is down here until to-morrow, -so you will see him for yourself. Bride says that till he was married -he never seemed to settle down to anything, that he was the sort of -man everyone expected to do great things, and he never did them. But -afterwards it was quite different; he began to work very hard, and now -she says out in county Wicklow the peasants love him, and he makes such -a good landlord. Bride says he’s almost as Irish as they are.” - -“And you are here with them for a fortnight? Where after that?” - -“With the Mactavishs in Switzerland. We shall be a party of six -altogether. I am to go to keep Lady Mactavish company, for Minnie will -be a good deal taken up you see with Major Gillot; they are engaged, -the wedding is to be this autumn. Then there will be Sir Matthew and Mr. -Bruce Wylie.” - -“The inevitable Wylie!” said Ralph impatiently. “I hate that man.” - -“And I like him very much,” said Evereld perversely. “You always had a -most unfair prejudice against him. He will certainly be the life of the -party. I was delighted to hear that he was going.” - -Ralph’s face grew grave, there was an expression in it which startled -Evereld as he turned towards her. - -“Tell me in earnest,” he said anxiously. “Do you really like this man?” - -Her truthful eyes met his fully. - -“Only as I like an elderly man who used to give us chocolates and treats -when we were children,” she said quietly. - -Ralph in his relief laughed aloud. - -“He wouldn’t be flattered if he knew that you called him elderly. He -thinks himself just in his prime. How long shall you be abroad?” - -“Six weeks I think,” said Evereld. - -There was a silence. They had walked to the extreme end of the Parade -and had wandered down to the sea itself. “Let us sit here by this boat,” - she suggested. “It is so hot walking.” - -Ralph silently assented; she glanced at him in some perplexity. Why had -he so suddenly become quiet and troubled. - -“Something has vexed you,” she said gently, yet with a smile. “A penny -for your thoughts.” - -“I am thinking,” said Ralph, “how hard it is that every holiday-maker, -every idle lounger in Switzerland will have the chance of being with -you while I am altogether cut off from your set, and can only think how -other men will be making love to you.” - -“They won’t,” she said in low tones. “A girl can always stop that if she -chooses. I have heard Mrs. Hereford say so.” - -“If you were going to be with her it would be more bearable. But you -will be with Sir Matthew, whose one idea is how to make other people and -other people’s money serve his purposes. Don’t stop me Evereld--I can’t -help it--I distrust him and with very good cause. He and his hateful -speculations were the death of my father. I have proof of that, actual -proof.” - -“Then I am surprised at nothing,” said Evereld, understanding now all -the ill-concealed dislike and antagonism between Sir Matthew and Ralph -which had often puzzled her in past times. - -“He ruined my childhood,” said Ralph hotly, “and must I now stand calmly -by while he ruins the rest of my life? Evereld!”--there was a passionate -appeal in his voice which stirred the very depths of her heart, “I have -no right yet to ask you to be my wife--my career is only beginning--but -my darling, I love you--I love you!” - -He saw her flush and tremble, but she was quite silent. Her words about -a girl always being able to stop that sort of thing if she chose came -back to his mind. - -“Are you angry with me?” he said pleadingly. “I meant to have waited for -years before speaking, but I was carried away.” - -She lifted her blue eyes to his, they were bright and dewy, and in her -face there seemed to be the glow of sunrise. - -“I am glad you didn’t wait, Ralph,” she said softly. - -Whereupon Ralph had the audacity to kiss her in the full light of day -as they sat under the shelter of the boat; and no one was any the wiser -save an old fisherman who was blest with exceptionally long eyesight; -he, with a smile, fell to thinking of his own young days, and softly -sang as he filled his Sunday pipe the refrain of a sailor’s song: - - “Polly, my Polly, - - She is so jolly, - - The bonniest lass in the world!” - -The two were silently but rapturously happy, and it was some little time -before any thought of other people came to trouble Ralph. As for Evereld -her heart seemed to beat to the rhythm of his words, “I love you!” and -she was not at all disposed to consider the question which soon formed -itself in his mind. - -“I wonder whether I was wrong to speak,” he said. “You must remember -darling that you are free, altogether free. After all, you have seen -nothing of the world. You are not to let the thought of my love bind -you.” - -“Perhaps I ought not to make a promise while I am Sir Matthew’s ward,” - said Evereld. “That is the only thing which would make me wish to wait; -and now that we understand each other the waiting ought not to be too -hard.” - -“Suppose you tell Mrs. Hereford just the whole truth,” said Ralph, “and -see what she advises. I shall feel happier about it if you have someone -to turn to, and if she is what she seems to be one could trust her with -anything. I wish I could talk to her some day.” - -“Well that can easily be managed,” said Evereld. “I will tell her -to-night. I am sure you are right about that. Though Sir Matthew is -untrustworthy we can trust her, and as I am under her care here it seems -right somehow that she should know.” - -“She will certainly think me the most presumptuous fellow she ever met,” - said Ralph. “Looking at it from an outsider’s point of view it is as bad -as it can be. A fellow who is not quite one and twenty, and only earning -three pounds a week! Mrs. Hereford will call me ‘The first of the -Fortune Hunters,’ and will warn you against me.” - -“We shall see,” said Evereld laughing. “I shall be very much -disappointed in her if she doesn’t understand you better.” - -“Are you sure that you understand me?” he said wistfully. - -“Yes,” she said, her sweet eyes smiling into his. “I have summered and -wintered you a great many times, as Bridget would say, and I very well -know Ralph that you would much prefer it if my father had left me three -hundred instead of three thousand a year. I think it is a little foolish -of you, for as long as we share it what does it matter which side it -comes from?” - -A church clock striking four warned them that they must hasten back, and -when they rejoined the others they were chatting together so naturally -that no one dreamt what an important scene in their drama had been -played at the other end of the beach. - -Ralph found himself speedily made to feel at home in the delightful -atmosphere of the Irish household, with its mirth and good humour, its -cheerful babel of voices. It delighted him to think that Evereld who had -known nothing of real family life should have found such friends, and he -went back to his rooms later on in the highest spirits. - -The Herefords had guessed nothing of his story and the O’Ryans had been -too much taken up with their own merry discussions to be very observant, -but Macneillie saw at a glance the change that had come over his pupil. - -“Well?” he said in his genial voice. “What good fortune has befallen -you?” - -“I have found Evereld,” said Ralph blithely. “She is staying on the -Parade with the Max Herefords. Here’s a note for you, by the bye. They -want us to breakfast with them to-morrow at half past nine, it was the -only free time, for they lunch at one, as he has to go up to town, and I -knew rehearsal wouldn’t be over by then.” - -“No,” said Macneillie lighting a cigarette, “in your present mood you’re -about as likely to give your mind to Shakspere as that lover and his -lass,” glancing at a very demonstrative couple on the other side of the -road. - -“We shall have a long and wearing rehearsal to-morrow.” - -“I don’t understand you, Governor,” said Ralph, using the old stage -word for the Manager as he generally did now to Macneillie, and somehow -conveying by it just the reverence and affection which he felt for the -Scotsman. - -“I have an unfair advantage over you,” said Macneillie smiling. “I have -heard a great deal about Miss Evereld Ewart and know that she is likely -to distract you from your labours.” - -“You have heard of her? From whom?” - -“From you yourself, to be sure, in the feverish nights you had at -Callander. I have long been wishing for the opportunity of quoting Mrs. -Siddons to you, ‘Study, study, study, and don’t marry until you are -thirty.’ - -“Well we can’t even be engaged yet,” said Ralph; “but we understand each -other and that is something. Tomorrow you must see her.” - -“I will devote myself to her entirely,” said Macneillie with a mirthful -twinkle in his grey eyes. “And you in the meantime can be profitably -improving your Irish accent with Mrs. Hereford with a view to Sir Lucius -O’Trigger. Your brogue doesn’t quite satisfy me yet.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - - - “So, from her sky-like spirit, gentleness - - Dropt ever like a sunlit fall of rain, - - And his beneath drank in the bright caress - - As thirstily as would a parched plain, - - That long hath watched the showers of sloping grey - - For ever, ever, falling far away.”--Lowell. - -|After Ralph had left, a more sombre hue stole over Evereld’s glowing -sky. She began to think a little of the future, of the countless -partings in store for them, and the more she thought the more silent and -grave she became. - -“You look tired, my dear,” said Mrs. Hereford as they walked back from -church. “Come in with me and rest. The others have set their hearts on a -stroll by the sea, but you had a long walk this afternoon.” - -“Yes,” said Evereld, sitting down beside her hostess near the open -window and looking out into the calm summer evening. “I wanted to tell -you about our walk. And if ever you have time Ralph would so much like -to talk to you too.” - -The words were said with an effort and Mrs. Hereford glanced at the -sweet girlish face with its downcast eyes and understood in a moment -what was coming. - -“You two are very old friends,” she said. “Bride told me that you had -been brought up together and that a very nice German lady had done a -great deal for you.” - -“Yes,” said Evereld, falling naturally into all the old memories. “I -don’t know what we should have done without her. You see the Mactavishs -never really cared for us. But she cared, and dear old Bridget and -Geraghty the butler; and Ralph was just like my brother until the day -Sir Matthew turned him out of the house. He failed you know in the exam, -for the Indian Civil, and they had a quarrel and Ralph had to go. It -was only in that dreadful time after he had gone that I understood how I -cared for him.” - -“And had you not met him at all since then?” asked Mrs. Hereford. - -“Yes, we met once by accident in the Christmas holidays and then I -thought, I fancied, that he cared a little. But he said nothing till -to-day, and now we understand each other, only Ralph will not let me -bind myself in any way; he had not meant to speak yet at all, he said, -but oh, I am so glad he didn’t wait.” - -Mrs. Hereford took the girl’s hand in hers and stroked it silently. -Her thoughts had flown back to a day in her own life when just such an -understanding had been arrived at, she had been about the same age as -Evereld, and looking back now she felt sad as she realised how -much inevitable pain and suspense lay before this girl, what dire -possibilities of misunderstanding, what weary hours of separation. - -“That is just what I should have said,” she answered after that brief -pause. “But now, understanding all it involves, I confess I don’t want -Mollie and Bride to be in a hurry to follow your example. I want them to -have five or six years of free happy girlhood before all the deeper joys -and cares begin. Of course we can’t choose, and for you and Mr. Denmead, -who have no real home, no near relations, very likely it is the best and -happiest way. I am glad you told me about it, and you must promise -if ever you need anyone to help you, to come to me. I suppose you can -hardly make a confidant of Lady Mactavish?” - -“No,” said Evereld, half laughing, half crying. “They are all so horrid -about Ralph. When I am one and twenty and we can really be engaged of -course they must all know, but to tell them this could do no good and -might do great harm.” - -“Sir Matthew did not insist then on your altogether breaking with your -friend when he was sent away?” - -“No,” said Evereld, “I don’t think anyone troubled to think about it -until last Christmas. Then when I met him and told Sir Matthew about it, -he did say something of the sort, but I told him I couldn’t leave off -being Ralph’s friend, and he was very kind and did not forbid my writing -to him in the holidays. If Ralph succeeds on the stage I believe Sir -Matthew will be rather proud of him after all. He does so like people -who succeed. I suppose we may still write to each other now and then.” - -“Oh, I think as long as there is nothing underhand about it you may -continue to write,” said Mrs. Hereford. “You will write as friends, not -as lovers; you must deny yourselves that luxury until you come of age. -I am not preaching what I haven’t practised, dear, for we had four years -of that sort of thing before I was actually engaged. There are great -drawbacks but I think some advantages.” - -“Surely many advantages,” said Evereld. “And I am much more alone in the -world than you were. You had brothers and sisters.” - -“Yes, and a profession which was very absorbing,” said Mrs. Hereford, -suppressing a sigh. “Oh, I do think it is a very great gain for you, -only I want you to realise that it is the sort of life that needs no end -of patience and courage and strength. There will be days when all will -not be so bright as you fancy. But I won’t croak any more. You are -likely to be much better at waiting than I was, for impulsiveness is the -bane of all Irish folk.” - -“And you will talk to Ralph?” pleaded Evereld, knowing how much he would -value the sympathy and counsel of such a woman, and secretly longing -that Mrs. Hereford should know him and appreciate him better. - -“Yes, to be sure,” said her hostess, with the smile that had won so many -hearts. “We will collogue together after breakfast.” - -She was true to her promise and while Macneillie was amusing everyone -with stories of various _contretemps_ of stage life, she contrived to -carry off Ralph to see the invalided patriot; after which they had -a cosy little talk in the drawing-room with no one but Baby Donal, a -sturdy little man of three, to keep them company. - -“Evereld has told me about yesterday afternoon,” said Mrs. Hereford, who -was quite well aware that she must plunge boldly into the very heart of -the matter and not wait for him to beat about the bush. - -“I should never have spoken so soon if it had not been for the thought -of her Swiss tour with that knave and his solicitor,” said Ralph hotly. -“Forgive me for the expression, but it is not too strong for him.” - -Mrs. Hereford laughed a little. - -“You needn’t measure your words so carefully; a Kelt is accustomed to -much more fiery language than that. And you really think Sir Matthew -Mactavish a knave? I confess he is a man I intuitively dislike, but I -thought he was a great philanthropist and very much respected.” - -“So he is,” said Ralph, his face hardening, “but some day the world -will find him out. Some day when he has ruined and murdered others as he -ruined and murdered my father. What a mistake it is only to hang people -who are taken red-handed! They should rather hang the speculators whose -victims may be reckoned by hundreds. There are far more cruel ways of -murdering people than by poison, or knives, or guns.” - -She had watched him closely as he spoke and saw that his wrath and -indignation were genuine and deep. A great pity filled her heart, and -she understood how intolerable it must seem to Ralph that the girl -he loved should still be in the power of this despicable sham -philanthropist. - -“I think you were quite right to speak to Evereld,” she said warmly. -“And now that you have spoken, the worst of your anxiety ought to be -over. The knowledge that you belong to each other will be strength to -both of you.” - -All the bitterness died out of his face at her words, leaving it once -more frank and boyish, and ingenuous as it was meant to be. The rasping -sense of injustice had done some damage to his character, but the -goodness of Macneillie and the gift of Evereld’s love had already done -much to obliterate the traces of the evil influence. His heart went out -now to the brave noble-minded woman who so readily gave him her thought -and sympathy. - -“Evereld told me you would understand,” he said gratefully, “I don’t -think I could have kept silent, but of course evil-minded people are -sure to say that it is only her fortune I want.” - -“Evil be to him that evil thinks,” said Mrs. Hereford. “No one who -had talked with you for half an hour even could believe you a fortune -hunter. And when you have lived as many years as I have done in public -life, you will learn to trouble yourself very little indeed as to what -people say. We shall never be true to ourselves, or of much use to any -good cause, till the fear of public opinion has died in us.” - -“Does living in public life teach one that? I should have thought it -would have taught one to howl with the wolves, to be always on the -look-out for ways of pleasing the public and stroking people the right -way, to dread nothing so much as alienating or offending your audience.” - -“Many people would agree with that view, but I believe it is false for -all that. Why meddle with what does not concern you? Your work is to -live your own life, to be just and independent, to be true to your own -conscience, and to be a hard-working actor. You have nothing to do with -the result on other people, you can never tell what it may be; and even -if you pare down your actions till you fancy they will please everyone -you will end by forfeiting the esteem of all. It’s like the old fable of -the man who first rode his ass to market and finally carried it.” - -“Certainly Macneillie’s life is ruled in the way you approve,” said -Ralph thoughtfully. “There never was a manager who so sturdily refused -to bow down to the public. He will not humour the depraved taste for -morbid and dubious plays which has taken possession of the country -of late, but insists on giving only what is really good. The result, -however, is that while a manager who runs one of these risky modern -plays makes a fortune, Macneillie merely earns a competence.” - -“That may be,” said Mrs. Hereford, “but the result also is that the one -Manager is a curse to his country and the other a Godsend. Your habit of -mind isn’t so commercial that you measure success by the solid gold it -brings in.” - -“I hope not,” said Ralph laughing. “But to one who knows how hard and -wearing and anxious the life of such a man is bound to be, want of great -visible success seems rather rough. However, to return to the point we -started from, it is a great comfort to know that you don’t think I was -wrong to speak to Evereld yesterday. And a greater comfort still to know -that she has you for a friend; one never feels safe somehow with a man -like Sir Matthew Mactavish, but if she may turn to you in any difficulty -I shall not worry half so much.” - -“I will promise you to be to her just what I would try to be to one -of my own sisters,” said Mrs. Hereford. “And you, too, must promise to -treat us all as friends. Come in whenever you like, this week; you must -make the most of your chance of seeing Evereld.” - -Macneillie in the meantime had been learning to know Ralph’s future -wife. He had been a little surprised at first to find that she was a -decidedly reserved girl, not strikingly pretty, rather short, and wholly -unlike the being he would have expected Ralph to fall in love with. This -was, however, merely his first impression, he had not been two minutes -in the room with her before he observed how well her head was set on -her shoulders; how in spite of her want of height there was that -indescribable touch of dignity in her carriage which he had vainly tried -to impart to many a novice on the stage. Then she spoke to him during a -pause in the general talk, most of her talking he discovered was done -to fill up gaps, and when she spoke a sort of transformation scene took -place. Her face suddenly became lovely, the china-blue eyes seemed to -radiate light and sweetness, the colour deepened in the softly-rounded -cheeks and the most charming dimple made itself seen. - -“We are all so much looking forward to ‘The Winter’s Tale’ to night,” - she said. - -“You have not seen Ralph act before?” asked Macneillie, knowing quite -well what the answer would be but wishing for another variety of the -transformation scene. - -The blue eyes seemed to deepen in colour and an exquisite tenderness -softened the whole face. - -“Never on the stage,” she said. “Of course I have seen him just as an -amateur. Do you think he is getting on well?” - -Now this last question was one to enthrall the heart of any Manager. -Actually this girl did not leap to the conclusion that her lover was by -nature a full-fledged actor, but asked if he was getting on. - -“She is the most sensible little woman I ever came across,” thought -Macneillie to himself. “In such a case even Mrs. Siddons might have -qualified her advice as to marriage.” - -By and bye Evereld found herself keeping guard over Baby Donal in the -drawing-room and talking to Ralph, while Macneillie and Max Hereford -adjourned to the smoking-room. The two lovers were serenely happy and -saw the future opening before them in all the gorgeous hues of dawn. -But Macneillie received a stab from his unconscious companion which -was destined to rankle in his heart. They had been speaking of Monkton -Verney and not unnaturally Max Hereford, knowing that Christine Greville -was a friend but knowing nothing of the true state of affairs, referred -to her case. - -“I only hope she will be able to get her divorce,” he said casually, -“but of course there is a doubt.” - -“A doubt?” said Macneillie frowning. “Why Sir Roderick never attempted -to deny his guilt.” - -“Oh, yes, there is no doubt as to his guilt, and had she been married in -Scotland all would have been well, for Scotland has one and the same law -for men and women. Unluckily she was married in England.” - -“I don’t understand you. I know little of the law,” said Macneillie, -“but certainly in my country there would be no difficulty when it was a -clear case of the breach of the seventh commandment.” - -“There would be no difficulty in England for a man,” said Max Hereford, -“but a woman cannot get a divorce here unless she can prove cruelty -as well as adultery on the part of her husband. It is only one of the -instances of our scandalous habit of setting up different standards of -morality for men and women.” - -“How much longer are the English going to put up with such a grave -injustice?” said Macneillie. - -“Not long, I fancy, when once they realise it. But at present half of -them are ignorant of the true state of things, while the evil-minded -are of course unwilling to rob themselves of what they regard as a -prerogative. The law as it stands is not only unjust to women but to all -moral men. How easily one can picture a case where, because divorce was -not granted, it was impossible for the innocent woman to marry a man who -loved her.” - -Macneillie assented quietly. No one could have guessed how terribly this -suggestion moved him, how clearly he saw in his own mind the picture -of an innocent woman and an upright law-abiding man with their lives -wrecked by this double-standard of morality. - -“I think,” he said presently, “that at any rate in Miss Greville’s case -there will be little difficulty in proving Sir Roderick’s cruelty.” - -“I hope it may be so,” said Max Hereford, “but I understand from -her solicitor that different views prevail as to what does exactly -constitute legal cruelty. The case is not likely to come on yet for many -months and the suspense must be terribly trying for her, far worse of -course than for anyone in private life.” - -“Her decision to stay at Monkton Verney till the case is over seems to -me wise,” said Macneillie. “Your Cave of Adullam is a great Godsend. I -wonder what made you think of such a plan.” - -“Oh, the ‘cave’ was my wife’s doing,” said Max Hereford. “Miss Claremont -is delighted to have her old friend Miss Greville there, and since Barry -Sterne has undertaken the entire management of her theatre there is no -need for her to be troubled in any way about outside things. Why Flo, -Kittie,” he exclaimed breaking off as two pretty little girls darted -into the room, their sunburnt faces aglow with eagerness. - -“Daddy, there’s a man with the beautifullest voice you ever heard and we -want sixpence for him,” they cried in a breath, “do come and hear him.” - -And by sheer force of determination the two small elves dragged their -father from the depths of his easy chair. - -“The tyranny of daughters is a thing you have yet to learn, Mr. -Macneillie,” he said with a smile, as with one elf on his shoulder and -the other impetuously pulling at his hand he sauntered out to the front -door. - -Macneillie flung the end of his cigarette into the grate and began to -pace the room restlessly. The words so unconsciously spoken seemed -to put the finishing touch to his pain, the fatherly pride of his -companion’s face haunted him and filled him with envy, and over and -over in his mind he revolved the torturing doubt which had first been -suggested to him that morning. Would the law free Christine? - -Meanwhile through the open door there was wafted to him only too -distinctly the familiar song of the street tenor: - - “Love once again: Meet me once again: - - Old love is waking, shall it wake in vain?” - -Such a life as Macneillie’s may have two very different effects on the -man called upon to endure it. Either it will harden and embitter him, -and he will gradually become a mere cynical observer of others; or it -will deepen and widen his whole character, and he will become more and -more tender towards the lives of other people. Lynx-eyed to detect and -prompt to check as far as possible all that he deemed undesirable or in -the least risky among the members of his company, he was nevertheless -always kind-hearted with regard to any genuine attachment. He knew -Ralph now very intimately and was quite well aware that his feeling -for Evereld was no mere passing fancy. In his own grievous anxiety and -suspense there was comfort in throwing himself into the affairs of his -protégé, and a growing desire to see this love story happily worked -out took possession of him. He had, moreover, taken a great fancy to -Evereld, and began now to consider things from her point of view, trying -to picture to himself just how she would probably feel with regard to -Ralph’s profession. She had never seen him on the stage, had never -in fact seen him act at all since the time she had been of an age to -understand what love meant. He wondered how the play that night would -strike her. Would Florizel’s lovemaking possibly jar a little upon her -as she sat there watching it from her place in the stalls? Or would that -gracious womanly wisdom which he had noticed in her save her from all -petty jealousies, all thoughts unworthy of a great art? He thought it -would. Still a girl of nineteen in love with a man like Ralph Denmead -might perchance be excused if she were not entirely able to forget -herself and her own story in the contemplation of Shakspere’s play. - -“I know what I will do,” he thought to himself. “No one who understands -the training, the learning, the drilling, the matter of fact element of -sheer hard work that makes up the life of an actor is likely to think -stage lovemaking a dangerous pastime. I will persuade Mrs. Hereford to -bring her this morning to rehearsal.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -_“If art be devoted to the increase of men’s happiness, to the -redemption of the oppressed, or enlargement of our sympathies with each -other, or to such presentment of new and old truth about ourselves and -our relation to the world as may ennoble and fortify us in our sojourn -here, or immediately, as with Dante, to the glory of God, it will be -also great art.”--“Appreciations.”_ Walter Pater. - -|Mrs. Hereford who had readily divined Macneillie’s kindly intention -in suggesting that they should see at any rate part of the rehearsal, -wondered to herself whether his plan had been wise when about noon -she found herself with Evereld and Bride in the dim dreariness of the -theatre, which was quite empty save for a couple of charwomen who were -scrubbing the floor of the pit. A civil attendant took them to the -second row of the stalls where they had of course an excellent view -of that inexpressibly dingy and forlorn looking place--a stage without -scenery. - -Macneillie wearing a Glengarry cap was sitting on a chair with his back -to them directing the dialogue and criticising in his quiet voice the -shortcomings of Paulina and Emilia in the prison scene. At the back of -the stage, some pacing to and fro, some sitting on the floor, were the -rest of the company chatting comfortably together in low tones. - -“Do you think they are all Quakers?” observed Bride naughtily, “how -queer it does look to see men indoors with their hats on, every variety -too, bowlers, deerstalkers, sailors, and caps.” - -“Perhaps it’s draughty on the stage,” said Evereld. “I believe that tall -dark girl must be Miss Myra Kay. She was only married last month. See -Ralph is talking to her, that pretty girl in the blue and white blouse. -She is Hermione I think.” - -“Don’t distract me,” said Bride. “Paulina is handling the stage baby -very well, but it’s too small a doll, why Flo who was the tiniest of -babies was more respectable than that. Ah, Antigonous lifts it from the -floor. My good man you’ll break the child’s neck if you don’t support -its head better. Talk about kites and ravens being instructed to nurse -it, why he wants instruction himself. It’s as bad as seeing a young -curate at a christening.” - -Evereld was obliged to laugh a little, and her eyes were still bright -and mirthful when suddenly she perceived Ralph emerging through a side -door and approaching them. - -“I thought you might like a book to follow with,” he said. “Are you -getting thoroughly disillusioned? And shall you never be able to enjoy -seeing a play again, now that you know how it’s done?” - -“Indeed I shall enjoy it much more,” she said. “Oh there is still a good -deal I see, before you come in. Who is your Perdita?” - -“The fair-haired girl in blue serge, Miss Eva Carton. She is the -daughter of that Major Carton who was killed in the Soudan.” - -“I remember you had him in your gallery of heroes. Is she a nice girl?” - -“Very, I think, but I have not seen much of her yet. They were left -badly off and she has taken to the stage to help her mother. She has -only just joined this company, so we are in the same box.” - -After this Evereld watched with keen interest the progress of the play. -It seemed to her that Macneillie was almost an ideal instructor. His -patience was marvellous and his criticism though sometimes keen was -always kindly. When the sheep-shearing scene began and Florizel and -Perdita with no helpful accessories had to go through their love-making, -while the working of a sewing-machine and the hammering of carpenters -and the scrubbing of the charwomen could be plainly heard, Evereld -realised more than she had ever done before the prosaic nature of some -aspects of an actor’s life. Macneillie was as fidgetty as any dancing -master about the precise way in which his arm should encircle her waist. -Degville himself could not have laid more stress on the importance of -every attitude, and when it came to the part where Florizel claimed -Perdita as his bride in the presence of the disguised Polixenes he was -promptly pulled up in the utterance of the words: “I take thy hand, this -hand, as soft as dove’s down and as white as it.” - -“Don’t take her hand as if you were taking a jam tart at a -confectioner’s,” exclaimed Macneillie. - -And over and over again that particular bit had to be rehearsed until it -was precisely to the Manager’s mind. Finally a diversion was made by the -arrival, long after the time when they should have put in an appearance, -of a few members of the orchestra. In a leisurely way, as though they -were conferring a great favour on the actors, they began to tune up, the -pretty dance of shepherds and shepherdesses was rehearsed, and Bride and -Evereld found themselves longing to join in it. - -“I really wonder,” said Bride as they walked home, “that you dare to -take me to such a beguiling place, Doreen. Don’t you expect me to be -stage-struck?” - -“There might be some danger if you only saw the performances,” said Mrs. -Hereford laughing, “but I doubt if you would stand many rehearsals. You -would certainly be fined every day for unpunctuality.” - -“It must be a weary grind,” said Bride yawning. “One would have to love -one’s art very absorbingly to be able to endure such endless repetition. -I suppose that is the difference between an artist and an ordinary -mortal. An artist never grudges trouble, the dullest little touches here -and there all have an interest for him.” - -“Certainly, if he is worth his salt,” said Mrs. Hereford. -“That’s what Flo will have to learn if she is to develop as I hope into -a singer.” - -“Well,” said Bride good-humouredly, “I have only just enough energy for -ordinary life, so I will stick to being an ordinary mortal. And you keep -me company, Evereld. We will make the appreciative audiences for the -others. What is the fun of acting or singing if there is no one to -applaud.” - -In fact she applauded much more heartily than Evereld that evening. -Evereld’s appreciation was pretty plainly visible in her glowing face -and bright eyes, but she left the hand-clapping to her companion, and -sat in a sort of happy dream watching the play contentedly with the -blissful consciousness that every minute the time drew nearer when Ralph -would make his appearance. - -After the heavier portions of “The Winter’s Tale,” the pastoral scenes -always come as a relief, and Ralph could hardly have had a more taking -part. Evereld who at rehearsal had never been able to watch him except -as her friend and lover was now entirely absorbed by the play. He was -Florizel to her and Florizel only, he looked the part to perfection, and -there was a sincerity about his acting which carried all before it, and -gave great promise for his future. Macneillie standing at the wings felt -more than content with his pupil. - -“If the boy can do as well as this at one and twenty, he ought to have -a great career before him,” he thought to himself. “And perhaps like -Phelps he will be one of those who will owe everything to an early and a -happy marriage. That little girl is one of a thousand. It is to be hoped -that Sir Matthew Mactavish will not step in to spoil the game.” - -The rest of the week passed by only too swiftly. Almost every evening -they went to the theatre, and in the afternoon Ralph would often join -them at tennis. One day there was a cricket match between the members -of the company and a local eleven, on another day a picnic to a ruined -castle in the neighbourhood, and at length the doleful day arrived when -the parting must come. - -After all it proved to be the elders who were grave and anxious at the -thought of the unknown future which Ralph and Evereld went forth to meet -so confidently. Healthy youth is seldom troubled with forebodings, and -the lovers though saddened for the time by the coming separation could -not but reflect how much more propitious things were than at their last -leave-taking. - -“How I envied little Ivy Grant as she walked along Queen Anne’s Gate -with you that Christmas day,” said Evereld with a smile. “Where shall -you be this Christmas, Ralph?” - -“We shall be in Yorkshire,” he replied, “still giving the set of plays -you have seen here. What a good thing it is for me that you can take -such an interest in the work. It must be hard on an actor to do without -the sympathy of those nearest to him. Sometimes one does wish that old -Mrs. Macneillie had not such a feeling against the stage. His life is -hard and lonely enough without having that added to it. Still I think -they understand each other, and it is good to see her pride in him.” - -“Does she never see him act?” asked Evereld. - -“Never. She won’t set foot in a theatre; she is not even one of those -people who only object to the name of the thing, and will see a play at -the Crystal Palace or in a Hall. She’s too sensible to take that view.” - -“Why what is the special merit of a ‘Hall?’” asked Evereld laughing. - -“Goodness only knows. I often wish those worthy but illogical folk -could feel the discomforts and the woeful plight the company often find -themselves in behind the scenes, with perhaps a couple of dressing-rooms -for the whole lot of them, and no possible place in which to put their -clothes. They would soon realise the advantages of proper theatres.” - -“Have you seen your good notice in the Southbourne Weekly News?” said -Evereld, glancing at the paper with loving pride. - -“Yes. It’s rather decent, isn’t it? I always cut out and keep press -notices for Mr. Macneillie. Sharing his lodgings there are a good many -small things of that sort one can do for him.” - -“Who does the catering?” - -“Oh, he does all that. He is a first-rate hand at marketing, having had -so much practice.” - -“I shall have to come to him for lessons, some day,” said Evereld, -blushing vividly as she realised what the words involved. - -Whereupon Ralph forgot all about fortunes and guardians and time and -patience, and taking her in his arms kissed her passionately. - -That was their real parting, or rather the silent pledge that nothing -could really part them. Ralph lingered for some little time afterwards -in the next room talking with the others, and as usual there was -the cheerful Irish babel of many voices, for no one thought in that -household of talking one at a time. Then having received a kindly -invitation from Mrs. Hereford to come and see them either in London or -at Hollybrack, he took his departure, and with the memory of Evereld’s -love to cheer him on his way, rejoined Macneillie’s company at the -station. - -“That is a case I suppose,” said Max Hereford finding himself just then -alone with his wife. - -“I thought you would guess it,” she said smiling. - -“You were always a matchmaker at heart, Doreen,” he said teasingly. -“But how about this guardian in the background? He will be playing the -Assyrian and coming down on you like the wolf on the fold.” - -“I can’t help it if he does,” said Mrs. Hereford, laughter lurking -in her eyes. “Really and truly I have not been match-making. It’s -ridiculous for Sir Matthew Mactavish to allow his ward to be brought up -for six years with such a boy as that, and then to take me to task for -allowing the two old friends to meet in a rational way, and after all -if he is annoyed I believe I should rather like it, for you know Max I -always did detest that man.” - -“Yes, dear, we all know that you are the best hater in the world, and I -know that you are the best lover,” he said stooping to kiss her. - -“I don’t see how I could have done otherwise,” she said musingly. -“Evidently Mr. Macneillie sees exactly how things are. And what can you -do for a couple of homeless waifs like that but give them your help and -sympathy? A girl with no mother is in such a wretched plight as soon as -her love troubles begin. Don’t I know exactly how my own mistakes and -miseries came from that very cause? Tell me what you really think of -Ralph Denmead?” - -“I like him,” said Max Hereford. “He seems an honest, straight-forward, -clean-minded fellow, he has plenty of humour, too, in which perhaps -Evereld is a trifle lacking, and just because he has a touch of the -Welsh fire in him and is at times unreasonable and unpractical, as all -Kelts are----” - -“Now, now,” exclaimed Mrs. Hereford with her irresistible laugh. “No -dark hints about Kelts, we all know what that leads to.” - -“I was going to remark, if you won’t quite throttle me,” he continued -suavely, “that marriages between Kelts and Saxons, though barbarously -prohibited by the oppressive laws of the English conquerors when they -annexed Ireland, always turn out eminently successful. That in fact the -union of hearts is the thing to be aimed at.” - -“They are not actually betrothed yet, and won’t be until she is of age, -and until he has made his way a little. Then of course there will be a -battle royal with the Mactavish, but he will have no authority over -her, and you and I, Max, will stand by her. She shall be married from -Hollybrack quietly, and they will be able to live very comfortably for, -according to Bride, she will be rich.” - -“I only hope her guardian is really trustworthy,” said Max Hereford. -“I don’t altogether like what I heard of him the other day from -old Marriott. But, of course, Marriott is one of those steady going -old-fashioned solicitors who are excessively cautious, and it would -be almost impossible for him to approve of a Company Promoter like Sir -Matthew. He may be all right enough.” - -“We shall see,” said Mrs. Hereford with an expressive little gesture of -the hands, “For my part I wouldn’t trust him for a moment, but you -will say that is my Irish imagination, and of course I have no great -knowledge of the man.” - -Bride O’Ryan, who had been more or less taken up with her own people -during the past week, had guessed nothing at all as to what was going -on. The two friends had both hitherto been somewhat young for their age, -and they had never been the sort of girls given to premature talk as -to lovers and love-making. Their heroes were either the patriots of the -past or the great leaders of the present, and their school life had been -too full of work and well-organised amusement to leave much time -for desultory dreaming. Bride had of course heard of the life at the -Mactavishs, but it had never entered her head that Ralph Denmead could -ever be anything but Evereld’s adopted brother. - -It was not until he had actually gone that the truth began to dawn upon -her. She saw that Evereld was making an effort at cheerfulness, that her -face when in repose had a quite new expression of wistfulness, and that -all at once she had grown dreamy and absent. - -That night, when the mystic hour of “hair brushing” came round, she -could hold her tongue no longer. - -“I wish,” she said impetuously, “you wouldn’t shut me out of it all. I -know quite well you are unhappy, though you will play the ostrich and -bury your head in the sand in that English way, supposing that no one -will notice you.” - -Evereld laughed at the old mixture of the similes. - -“I never heard of an English ostrich,” she said merrily. “If there ever -was one it must long ago have become extinct like the Dodo.” - -“Ah, you laugh now,” said Bride, “but you have looked wretched all the -afternoon, and I saw you crying in church.” - -Evereld blushed guiltily. - -“It was very stupid of me, but I couldn’t help remembering how different -all had been last Sunday evening.” - -“When Mr. Denmead was here,” said Bride boldly. - -Evereld nodded. - -Bride looked straight into her soft blue eyes. - -“Well I’m sure I don’t wonder he lost his heart to you, but all the same -I wish he hadn’t.” - -“We are not engaged, you know,” said Evereld. - -“Oh, it’s just as bad as if you were,” said Bride despondently. - -“As bad? What an odd way you have of congratulating me.” - -“I don’t congratulate you. I’m very sorry,” said Bride vigorously -brushing her dark hair. “Why should he come disturbing us just when our -life is beginning and we were going to have such a good time. You’ll -never be at all the same to me again. It will be as the poem says: - - ‘One and one, with a shadowy third.’” - -“Nonsense,” said Evereld. “It has made me care for you fifty times more -than I did, Bride, and I need you now more than ever. Besides, can’t -you see how different things are for me. You have your home with your -sisters, and the children; and you have brothers often staying with you, -and you are all sure of each other and everything is so happy that I’m -sure I don’t know how you could leave it all just yet. But I have no -real home, and the only one of the Mactavishs I do really like is to be -married in November. Can’t you understand how beautiful it is to really -belong to someone at last?” - -“Yes,” said Bride. “It was selfish of me to think first of my own part -of it. And after all perhaps you are right, you may need me still. -Specially when the Mactavishs are horrid. They won’t like your -engagement a bit.” - -“No,” replied Evereld quietly. “That is very certain. There are storms -ahead. But I shall know where to turn to. You will always be my friend, -and Mrs. Hereford says I am to come to her in any trouble.” - -“Of course, Doreen mothers everybody, she always did, Michael says, even -when she was quite a little girl herself.” - -“And no one will ever be such a friend to me as you, Bride. You and -Aimée Magnay and I will always keep up with each other, whatever -happens.” - -“Talking of Aimée reminds me that I heard from her this morning,” said -Bride. “She says that in September they are all going to Auvergne; her -father has some commission for a picture. They will stay at Mabillon all -the autumn and perhaps even for Christmas. Cousin Espérance thinks I had -better come too for the sake of perfecting my French, but I’m not sure -that I could leave Dermot.” - -“Take him with you,” suggested Evereld. “The sunshine and the warmth -down there would exactly suit him.” - -“Why, I never thought of that. It would be a splendid idea, and the -Magnays are so kind-hearted. I know they have lots of room, too, in that -rambling old chateau. Don’t you remember the little picture of it that -Aimée had in our bedroom at school? Come, after all things are not so -dark. You will always be my friend in spite of Mr. Denmead, and perhaps -later on when you are engaged there will be a regular row and you will -have to come to us.” - -“You look as if you quite longed for the row,” said Evereld smiling -wistfully. “I wish I had a little of the love of fighting which you -Irish people seem to have such stores of. How would you face an angry -guardian under the circumstances, I wonder.” - -“I should listen patiently to all his objections. Then I should say, -‘Now hear my side of the case,’ and if he wasn’t convinced by my burning -eloquence why I should inevitably lose my temper and we should part on -the worst of terms. Oh, I should love to have a quarrel with Sir Matthew -Mactavish. It’s a pity we can’t change places just for that time.” - -“Well, don’t let us talk about it till it comes,” said Evereld with a -little shiver. “When I am quite my own mistress perhaps the mere fact -of being independent will make me dislike the thought of the discussion -less. After all, nothing will really matter when we are engaged; one -will be too busy thinking of the life that will so soon begin.” - -They were interrupted by a knock at the door. - -“I want that naughty little sister of mine,” said Mrs. Hereford, looking -in with a smiling face. “Mollie declares there is no getting her invalid -to sleep while you two chatterboxes are overhead.” - -“Evil take the Coercion Act that made him an invalid,” said Bride, -gathering up her belongings and bidding her friend good-night. - -Evereld, glancing at Mrs. Hereford, saw for the first time in her -face an expression which startled her. A look of long endured pain, of -heart-breaking disappointment and the wearily deferred hope which makes -the heart sick, such a look as a martyr might have borne, dying in the -darkest hour which heralded the sunrise of his cause. - -And then even as she gazed the look passed and there was once more in -the face nothing but cheerful, tender motherliness. - -“Good night, dear little woman,” said Mrs. Hereford. “Don’t lie awake -thinking too long. It is a shocking bad habit.” - -“Oh,” cried Evereld, clinging with girlish devotion to her hostess. “I -do so hope my love for Ralph will not make me grow narrow. I want to -care for other people and for outside things just as you do.” - -“You must manage much better than I did, dear,” said Mrs. Hereford, -“perhaps after my own mistakes I may be able to help you.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - - - “He spoke of beauty: that the dull - - Saw no divinity in grass, - - Life in dead stones, or spirit in air; - - Then looking as ’twere in a glass - - He smooth’d his chin and sleek’d his hair - - And said the earth was beautiful.” - - Tennyson. - -|The last week at Southbourne proved a very happy one and Evereld went -back to London feeling as though a veil had been lifted from before her -eyes. It was not only that love had revealed his face to her; but for -the first time since her childish days in India she had known what life -could mean in a thoroughly happy family. - -The Mactavishs had never encouraged her in making friends. For reasons -of his own Sir Matthew had never allowed her to become really intimate -with any one in town, though she had had the usual round of children’s -parties and had occasionally been allowed to give a children’s dance in -the house in Queen Anne’s Gate. At school, however, close friendships -had naturally been made, and the permission to stay with Bride O’Ryan at -Southbourne had been extorted from Sir Matthew rather reluctantly, -and chiefly because it happened to be a little inconvenient to Lady -Mactavish to have the charge of Evereld until they left for Switzerland. - -It so happened that the whole course of the girl’s life was affected by -the mere fact that Lady Mactavish and her elder daughter had accepted an -invitation to stay with friends in the country, and that Minnie had -been busy with her trousseau, and, having a particular friend of her own -staying with her, quite declined to be troubled with the society of a -little girl fresh from school. - -Sir Matthew not caring to vex his daughter when he was so soon to lose -her, answered Mrs. Hereford’s second request graciously, little guessing -that in so doing he was signing the death-warrant of his selfish hopes -and schemes. - -He beamed approvingly on Evereld when she appeared in the drawing-room -on the evening of her return. - -“Come, that is a refreshing sight for a jaded city man,” he said, -stroking her rosy cheek caressingly. “Never mind, Evereld, we are all -going holiday-making now, and will forget all cares and troubles. Have -you seen our route, my dear?” - -“No,” said Evereld, “I’m longing to see it.” - -She could not help reflecting that the months since the Easter holidays -had wrought a very decided change in Sir Matthew, he looked worn and -harassed, and as though he were longing for rest. He seemed, too, -more fussy and dictatorial than ever, and Evereld’s heart sank at the -prospect of travelling with him, for she knew that travelling is -the great test of character. After the merry talk and the bantering -discussions and the hot but always good-tempered arguments to which she -had grown accustomed during the last fortnight, the talk which prevailed -on various vexed questions, seemed highly distasteful. - -“I really think,” pleaded Lady Mactavish, in her grumbling voice, “that -considering how very soon Minnie’s marriage will be following our return -it would be most advisable to take at least one maid with us. There are -so many little things Greenway could be getting forward with if she were -at hand.” - -“Yes, Papa,” urged the bride-elect. “It will be a most awful nuisance if -we have no maid with us.” - -“If you think you will always have a maid, my dear, to dance attendance -on you when you are married, you will find you are mistaken. The wife -of an officer in a marching regiment has to learn to be independent, I -assure you. And as to taking a maid to Switzerland I shall not hear of -such a thing. You would find her a trouble in the hotels, useless on the -steamers, and upset by the long journeys. Why Evereld will be wanting to -take her old nurse next!” - -Evereld laughed, but in her heart she would fain have had Bridget with -her, for she loved her a great deal better than any other member of the -household. - -The question was thoroughly threshed out, and many disagreeable things -were said on both sides; then Sir Matthew laid down the law as to the -size and amount of the luggage. - -“No great trunks, mind you,” he said in the voice that meant obedience -at all costs: “a small portmanteau is all that can possibly be allowed. -You don’t go to Switzerland to air your fine clothes but to enjoy -yourself, and there is no enjoyment possible if you are burdened with -luggage.” - -A long wrangle followed upon this, and at the close of it, dinner being -over, Lady Mactavish rose with an air of relief and went away to discuss -the matter anew with her daughters, and to murmur over Sir Matthew’s -extraordinary fussiness. - -“The heat must be affecting his brain,” she said. “I never knew him so -vexatious. What does he know about the clothes we shall require? And -depend upon it he will be the first to complain if you look shabby. -Evereld my dear, Sir Matthew is calling you I think. Run down and see.” - -Evereld returned to the dining-room where Sir Matthew was sitting over -his wine. - -“In case I don’t see you to-morrow, my dear,” he said, “I will give -you this cheque now. Get it cashed in five pound notes, they will pass -anywhere.” - -“Is this for my journey?” asked Evereld, who had never received a cheque -for a hundred pounds in her life. - -“No, no, I will manage all your money for you until you come of age. -This is only for your dress and pocket money. I shall give you another -cheque to the same amount in six months’ time. It will be well for -you to learn the value of things and to get into the way of keeping -accounts. By the bye, though I say so much about its not mattering what -you wear in Switzerland you must be sure to take good strong boots. You -know Mr. Bruce Wylie is coming with us?” - -“Yes,” said Evereld, “I’m very glad.” - -“Well, good-night, my dear. God bless you,” said Sir Matthew. “Tell them -I shall not be in till late.” - -Evereld having delivered her message, went slowly upstairs to the -school-room, the most homelike place in the whole house. Here she found -Bridget sitting by the open window with her knitting. - -“My new life has begun, Bridget,” she said, taking her usual place on -her old nurse’s lap. “Look, here is money, a heap of it. I am to go -out and buy thick-soled boots to-morrow with it, and an account -book. Bridget, did you ever keep accounts? And do you ever think it’s -allowable to cook them?” - -“I can’t say, dearie, I never kept any at all, excepting it was the -savings bank book which the post office clerks keep for one.” - -“Sir Matthew says I must learn how to manage money and to understand the -value of things,” said Evereld. “So we will go out to-morrow morning, -Bridget, together, and I shall choose you a black silk dress by way of -learning.” - -“Why then, dearie, it’s for your own dress and not for mine that you -must be spending this upon,” protested Bridget. - -“It’s to do what I like with, Nursie, and I like to get you the very -nicest gown we can find,” said Evereld. - -“Well, well, dearie, you were always one to think of other folk first, -and if you will be getting me a dress, let it be a black poplin for the -sake of the old country.” - -So Bridget and her young mistress set forth the next morning and chose -the best Irish poplin, warranted to wear for a life-time, and Evereld -changed her cheque into twenty crisp five pound notes, eighteen of which -Bridget securely sewed up for her that evening in an inner pocket. - -“There’s many things you may be wanting to buy if you come back through -Paris,” she said, “let alone its being a bad plan to leave the money -behind you here.” - -Evereld sighed a little; it somehow hurt her to remember that she had -all this money for her personal wants and fancies, while Ralph thought -himself extremely lucky to be earning three pounds a week. She had, -however, a shrewd suspicion that he perhaps found more satisfaction out -of the money he had honestly worked for, and she eagerly looked forward -to the time when they could share her fortune and make it of real use. - -The next morning the whole house was in a bustle, and the atmosphere -seemed less oppressive than on the previous night. Sir Matthew, though -looking ill and harassed, brightened up when Evereld appeared ready -dressed for the journey in a trim little navy blue coat and skirt, a -light blue shirt and a dainty white sailor hat. She looked so fresh and -innocent and happy that for the time he quite forgot his schemes in the -pleasure of just looking at her. - -It was not until they were on the platform at Victoria, and he saw Bruce -Wylie approaching, that he remembered how necessary it was that by the -time Evereld returned to London she should be safely betrothed to her -solicitor. The thought made him glance critically at his friend. As it -happened Bruce Wylie never showed to more advantage than at such a time -as the present. His well cut grey travelling suit and knickerbockers -made him appear much younger than he really was, his fair hair and trim -beard, his merry grey eyes, his easy, pleasant manner were all in his -favour. - -“It will be right enough,” reflected Sir Matthew, -“The girl will be properly in love with him long before the end of the -tour.” - -He had no notion how differently people regard the same person when -one looks from the standpoint of five-and-fifty and the other from the -standpoint of nineteen. - -Evereld saw merely the lawyer who had brought her chocolates when she -was a little girl, she knew that he was at least nine-and-forty, and -that from her point of view was elderly; the thirty years between them -made a huge chasm which it would never have occurred to her to bridge -over in any way but that of friendship. Even the friendship could not -be the same sort of thing as that close friendship, that perfect -understanding which comes between two people of the same generation. -It would have had in it something of the position of master and pupil, -which might have been delightful enough with some men, but she had never -felt any desire to learn from Bruce Wylie. She liked him merely because -he passed the time, because he had a fund of good stories and an easy -natural way of telling them. - -So when Sir Matthew complacently noticed the way in which her face -lighted up as she greeted Bruce Wylie, he was wholly unable to guess -that the reception meant about as much as a child’s joyful greeting -of the appearance of the clown in a pantomime. “Now we shall have some -fun,” reflected Evereld, gladly finding the new comer beside her in the -railway carriage. - -“I need have no scruples,” reflected Sir Matthew. “She evidently likes -him and encourages him.” - -Bruce Wylie was not so sure in his own heart how matters stood, for -Evereld was almost too frank and open with him, it was perfectly -impossible to flirt with her, she liked him in the most unabashed -manner, just as she had done when she was a child of eleven. Her -enjoyment of his talk was what it had been then, and he was quite -without the power of kindling in her heart any deeper feeling. - -Being a shrewd man he laid his plans warily, and worked patiently, -never venturing to make actual love to her. At all costs he must avoid -startling her, or making her draw back from that frank friendliness -which was likely to prove so useful. But every day he was her special -companion, and she could not help feeling grateful to him for the care -he took of her, the pains he took to please her, and the real enjoyment -which he managed to impart to what would otherwise have been rather a -trying tour. - -“Why do you hesitate longer,” urged Sir Matthew, during their stay at -Zermatt, “September is nearly half gone, we have but another fortnight -abroad. Why not propose to the girl here?” - -“Not yet, not yet,” said Bruce Wylie, “I tell you, Mactavish, she has -not a thought of anything of the kind. She treats me as if I were her -grandfather.” - -“It seems to me that she is devoted to you,” said Sir Matthew. “She has -not a word to say to any of the young men in the hotel though they are -ready enough to admire her. She deliberately avoids them, I have noticed -her, and is hand and glove with you. What more would you have?” - -“Oh, I will arrange it all before the end of the tour,” said Bruce -Wylie, “by hook or crook it must be done. Let me see; to-morrow we go to -Glion for a fortnight. It is there that we must contrive the finale.” - -“If it were not such a serious matter,” said Sir Matthew with a grim -smile, “One could have a hearty laugh over the irony of fate. Here we -are with an unconscious little slip of a girl and she holds everything -in her hands. For if the difficulty as to her fortune becomes known, -then a dozen other things will collapse shortly after. God bless my -soul--it’s awful to think of!” - -“So much the more reason to play this part of the game warily,” said -Bruce Wylie. “It is like the story of the child’s hand thrust into the -leaking dam and saving the country from the deluge that would otherwise -have come about. I must capture Evereld’s hand and hold it fast to save -the general ruin; whether she likes it or not it will have to be done.” - -“And the girl cares for you, there will be no harm in it,” said Sir -Matthew suavely. “I tell you what, Wylie, at Glion we must gradually -let people see that you are in love with her. That will be easy enough -without alarming her. We will set some of the women folk clacking. -And if Evereld’s pride is once touched, if she feels that she has been -gossiped about, that people see that she has encouraged you, and that -she is a little compromised, why then we shall win easily enough. She -will very readily be persuaded into an engagement, and we will take good -care to have her married before the year is out.” - -“Very well,” said Bruce Wylie. “At Glion we will advance to the next -stage. It will be a more amusing one than the present, and will need -skilful management. I must think things over. By the bye, she never -mentions Ralph Denmead, her old playfellow. Have you lost sight of him?” - -“She told me last Christmas that he was going most likely on some tour -in Scotland. Here she comes, we will just ask her, but you need fear -nothing in that quarter. It was just a natural childish friendship -between the two. They know each other’s faults too well to fall in -love.” - -“I see that young Oxonian is persecuting her,” observed Bruce Wylie, -watching a sunburnt undergraduate who had taken to following Evereld -about on all occasions. She did not seem to be at all responsive, and -her face lighted up most satisfactorily when she perceived Sir Matthew, -while her companion was visibly chagrined. - -“Watching the afterglow?” said Sir Matthew, as they approached. - -“It’s hardly worth watching to-night,” said the Oxonian sulkily, as he -noticed the alacrity with which Evereld moved towards Bruce Wylie. What -the girl could see in this conceited fellow he could not imagine. - -“We were just speaking of Ralph Denmead, Evereld,” said Sir Matthew. -“Have you heard of him lately?” - -“Yes, I hear from him now and then, and I saw him not so very long ago,” - said Evereld. “He was with Macneillie’s Company when they were at -Southbourne.” By a strong effort of self-control she kept both voice and -manner perfectly calm and natural. - -“You saw him act?” - -“Yes, he seems getting on very well. The Herefords knew something of Mr. -Macneillie and they breakfasted with us sometimes. He has been very kind -to Ralph.” - -“Well I’m glad the boy has fallen on his feet,” said Sir Matthew. “I -suppose there was a touch of genius about him, but he was not the -least fit for the Indian Civil Service. Are you staying at Zermatt much -longer?” he added, turning to young Dick Lewisham who was still one of -the group. - -“I am leaving to-morrow,” he replied, “and shall get on as far as -Villeneuve, I think.” - -“Ah yes, a charming hotel there,” said Sir Matthew, “and the lake in -September is delightful.” - -Having comfortably disposed of Mr. Lewisham in this fashion he was -far from pleased when on the morning after their arrival at Glion he -encountered him in the garden of the Rigi Vaudois. - -“It was so abominably hot down below,” said Dick Lewisham cheerfully, “I -was obliged to come on here.” - -“I should advise you to go on still higher to Mont Caux,” said Sir -Matthew. “It is a magnificent hotel up there.” - -“Thanks, but this is more handy, and I like the look of the place.” - -“You’ll find it over-crowded,” said Sir Matthew, “we should not have got -rooms unless we had ordered them beforehand.” - -“You are a large party,” said the Oxonian, making his way round to the -main entrance. - -“How that old buffer does detest me,” he reflected. “I begin to think he -is bent on marrying his pretty ward to that beast Wylie, and is afraid -I shall spoil sport. A likely thing when she will give me nothing but -snubs the moment I show a spark of sentiment. Is it possible though that -such a girl can care for a regular man of the world thirty years older -than herself? I’ll never believe it. There’s a mystery somewhere. I -shall stay here and watch how things go.” - -Evereld greeted him pleasantly, but not at all warmly when she -encountered him after table d’ hôte. She could have liked him extremely -if his attentions had been a little less overwhelming, or if she could -have told him of Ralph. As it was, he frightened her, and she was -too much of a novice to know the best way to steer her course. She -invariably fled for refuge to her old friend, Bruce Wylie, little -dreaming that by so doing she might confirm the gentle hints which -Sir Matthew and Lady Mactavish began to drop cautiously among their -acquaintance in the hotel. - -People enjoy few things more during their idle holiday hours in a health -resort than watching any little drama that may happen to be taking place -before them. - -Evereld with her sweet innocent face turning to the old friend of -her childhood and apparently encouraging him in every way while she -sedulously snubbed the young Oxonian, was a spectacle that greatly -pleased and edified the English visitors at the Rigi Vaudois. It began -to be rumoured that Mr. Lewisham was only running after her money, that -Bruce Wylie saw it all plainly enough, but that he was practically sure -that little Miss Ewart was attached to him. That in fact an engagement -might be declared at any moment. - -Something of this sort reached the ears of Dick Lewisham, and so angered -him that he determined to find out the truth for himself. - -It happened that there was a dance in the hotel that evening, He knew -that Evereld would not refuse to dance with him, and having secured her -as his partner for the first _pas de quatre_, he afterwards persuaded -her to come out on to the terrace. - -The garden was deserted, and Dick Lewisham plunged straight into the -subject which was filling his mind. He was a very honest, outspoken -sort of fellow, and he began to fancy that Evereld would not so openly -encourage Bruce Wylie had she known that people were beginning to -comment on it. - -“Miss Ewart,” he said abruptly. “These little English colonies are -always hot-beds of gossip. And in this case the gossip I have just heard -tends to explain your marked coldness to me. I think there is no need -for me to tell you of my love--of----” - -“Oh, stop, stop,” said Evereld, “I can’t let you say that. I tried so -hard to show you that I couldn’t care.” - -Her distress struck him speechless for a moment; instinctively they -walked on to a more sheltered corner of the garden. - -“It is true then--you already care for--this other.” - -“Yes,” she faltered. “But no one knows, here, oh, how can you have -guessed?” - -“Why it is the talk of the hotel,” said Dick Lewisham. “Every one sees -that he cares for you and that you encourage him.” - -Her eyes dilated. For a moment she stared at him blankly, “What can you -mean?” she cried. “He is in England, and no one here knows--no one must -know.” - -“Everyone is saying that you and Mr. Wylie care for each other; if that -is true I will trouble you no more.” - -“They are saying that!” she exclaimed. “How perfectly ridiculous of -them!” and in the sudden revulsion of feeling she burst out laughing, -“Why I have known him since I was a little girl, and even then he seemed -to me quite elderly. My chief reason for liking him as a friend is that -he was always kind to Ralph as well as to me when we were children.” - -Then in a flash it all came back to Dick Lewisham; once more he stood -in the grounds of the hotel at Zermatt watching the afterglow, and -listening to what was more or less meaningless talk to him about a young -actor named Ralph Denmead. It was somehow less hard to him to retire -before an unknown rival; it was Bruce Wylie he so cordially detested. -Moreover in having thus surprised Evereld Ewart’s secret, his position -had been changed whether he would or no, from that of lover to friend -and protector. He knew what no one else in the place knew, and this -gave him, in spite of his rejection, a sort of soothing sensation. His -admiration for Evereld had been very genuine, but it had been the sort -of love which strikes no very deep roots in the heart. He was now only -chivalrously anxious to help her in any way he could. - -“I will go away from the place at once if you would rather,” he said, -after a somewhat prolonged pause. “But you may trust me always to -respect what you have told me.” - -“Then don’t go,” she said, giving him her hand. “I always knew I could -like you as a friend if only you had understood how things were. I think -I won’t dance again to-night. We are to have a long excursion to-morrow. -I will say good-night to you and run in.” - -“And if at any time I can serve you, be sure you remember me,” said Dick -Lewisham looking into the truthful blue eyes lifted to his. - -“I will indeed,” she said. “We only wait to be actually engaged till I -am twenty-one. I wish the time would go faster.” - -Dick Lewisham escorted her back to the hotel, and then lighting a -cigarette returned once more to pace up and down the garden path they -had just quitted. The night was sultry, every now and then he could see -summer lightning playing about the peaks of the Savoy mountains on the -other side of the lake. Still musing over his talk with Evereld he threw -himself down on a sheltered garden seat which stood on a little lawn -screened on all sides by bushes. From time to time he heard steps on the -path just beyond, and caught curious scraps of conversation over which -he smiled in a cynical fashion. - -Now it was a woman’s voice. - -“Well, what you can see to admire in her I can’t imagine, and her dress! -why those sleeves might have come out of the ark. Oh you didn’t notice -them. How curious men are.” - -Next came a pair of lovers. - -“Dearest!” said one voice. - -“My own!” replied the other. - -And Dick Lewisham cruelly coughed. After which dead silence reigned. - -By and bye a mellow, manly voice startled him into keen attention; it -was Bruce Wylie. - -“I’ll propose to her to-morrow whatever happens. You can give the others -just a hint and they will keep out of the way. We must have matters -settled before leaving Switzerland. If she refuses me----” - -“Why then,” said Sir Matthew Mactavish, “I shall step in with the -authority of a guardian. We will have no nonsense about the matter. But -she will not refuse you. She has too much good sense.” - -The voices died away in the distance. Dick Lewisham laughed long and -silently. - -“So that is your game, my fine friend! It is you who are after little -Miss Ewart’s money though you have had the slander set afloat that I was -a fortune-hunter. Ho! ho!” he rubbed his hands with satisfaction, “how I -should like to see your face when that little blue-eyed girl rejects -you. I’ll at any rate stay on here to see you when you return.” - -He was loitering about at the cable railway station the next morning -when Evereld and Janet Mactavish walked from the hotel to take their -places in the down-going carriage. - -“And where are you off to this morning?” he inquired. - -“We are going to see the Gorge de Trient,” said Evereld, “at least some -of us are. You are going to sketch near that waterfall, are you not, -Janet.” - -“Yes,” said Janet, “but Major Gillot and Minnie and Mr. Wylie will be -with you. Four makes a much better number and I want a quiet day.” - -Dick Lewisham laughed in his sleeve, he felt sure that Janet had been -taken into the plot. Then with some compunction he glanced at Evereld’s -unsuspicious face; her manner to him was perfect, he felt glad to think -that she trusted him, and wondered much in what fashion she would get -through the excursion. It was hardly likely he feared to be a day of -pleasure to her. - -They were now joined by Minnie and her _fiancé_, and at the last moment -Bruce Wylie walked coolly across the little platform and down the steps, -taking his place just before the carriage slid down its steep incline. - -“Oh be quick! take care!” said Evereld with a look of alarm; and Dick -Lewisham turned away, musing over the words and the expression of the -girl’s face. - -“Evidently she likes him very much as an old friend,” he reflected. “I -wonder how she will get on.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - - - “To hug the wealth ye cannot use, - - And lack the riches all may gain, - - O blind and wanting wit to choose, - - Who house the chaff and burn the grain! - - And still doth life with starry towers - - Lure to the bright divine ascent! - - Be yours the things ye would: be ours - - The things that are more excellent.” - - William Watson. - -|Come over to this side of the carriage,” said Bruce Wylie as they took -their places in the train at Territet, “you will get the best of the -views this side.” - -Evereld had become quite used to his kindly little arrangements for her -comfort, she felt sure in her own mind that any good-natured man would -have done as much for a girl on her first Swiss tour, and she smiled to -herself at that ridiculous report which Mr. Lewisham had quoted to her. -After all, though, was it not very likely that she herself had misjudged -other people in exactly the same way? She was always making little -romances in her mind about the people they met in the hotels, and they -generally proved to be wrong when closer acquaintance revealed the -truth. - -She felt perfectly happy that September morning as they journeyed along -the lovely lake, past the red roofed Castle of Chillon, past the white -peaks of the Dent du Midi to St. Maurice, and then on once more through -the somewhat trying heat of the Rhone Valley to Vernayaz. - -“I shall be quite independent of you,” said Janet, “and shall spend my -day sketching. We will all meet here again in time for the train.” - -“Oh we must come and see you settled,” said Bruce Wylie, “besides -Evereld ought to see the waterfall nearer than from the train. We have -our whole day before us, there is no hurry.” - -In the end these three walked off together in the direction of the -Pissevache, while the two lovers went in the opposite direction, -promising to order luncheon at the hotel. - -Evereld seemed more talkative than usual, but when, having duly -inspected the waterfall, he tried hard to draw her into the region of -sentiment, she seemed more provokingly matter of fact than ever. - -“It’s very sad to think we have only one more excursion before we -go home,” he remarked, “how detestable England will seem after this -holiday.” - -“Do you think so,” said Evereld, “why I am longing to get back to -England. Lovely as this place is, it seems so dreadfully far away.” - -“Far away from what?” said Bruce Wylie. - -“Well, from one’s friends and belongings,” said Evereld. - -Bruce Wylie could only pretend to be deeply offended. - -“You say that to me,” he said tragically, “one of your oldest friends!” - -She laughed merrily. - -“It was certainly a case of what _Punch_ would call ‘Things one would -rather have expressed differently.’ But though the tour has been a great -treat I believe I should always begin to be homesick for England at the -end of six weeks.” - -“Oh if it is only an abstraction like England I will not be jealous, it -isn’t worth while,” said her companion with a laugh. - -And Evereld blushed a little, knowing that it was not England in the -abstract, but nearness to Ralph that she longed for. - -Bruce Wylie saw the blush and was pleased. He entirely misunderstood it, -and might have proposed to her at that very minute, had not some very -dirty little children besieged them just then with the usual request for -money. - -The straggling street of Vernayaz was not the place for a private -conversation, he would wait till later in the day. - -After a merry lunch at the hotel with Minnie and Major Gillot they all -went together to see the Gorge de Trient, and here he contrived to fall -behind on the pretext of pointing out some particularly striking effect -to Evereld as they threaded their way through the awful ravine with its -foaming white torrent and its towering heights above. - -But his effort was useless, for something in the majesty of this great -rock, cleft so strangely, had filled Evereld with awe; she was thinking -her own thoughts and was quite unresponsive to all his attempts to draw -her into conversation. - -“It feels like a church,” she said once as they paused for a few -minutes, and Bruce Wylie anxious not to jar upon her in any way, -relapsed into silence. - -Emerging at length from the cool shade of the Gorge de Trient, they -returned to the hotel, Major Gillot ordered coffee, and Bruce Wylie took -the opportunity to draw him aside and suggest a change of programme. - -“Sir Matthew gave me leave to take Evereld on to Finshauts if she liked -the idea,” he said. “Let us all meet at the station. But don’t wait -for us if we chance to be late. Lady Mactavish might be anxious. I will -bring her on by the next train in any case.” - -“All right,” said the Major, paying no very great heed to the words, and -well pleased to be left with Minnie for the rest of the time. - -“Evereld,” said Bruce Wylie, rejoining the ladies, “I don’t know what -you will say to the notion, but it seems to me very hot down in this -place, and we have still some hours before us. I find there is a most -beautiful drive to a place called Finshauts up in the mountains, with a -very fine view of Mont Blanc. Shall you and I make a pilgrimage up -there and leave Miss Mactavish and Major Gillot to enjoy this garden in -peace?” - -“I think it would be lovely,” said Evereld, her eyes lighting up. “I -have been longing to get to the top ever since we came here.” - -Bruce Wylie was pleased that she should fall in with the idea, and went -off at once to order a carriage, but perhaps her delighted acquiescence -troubled him a little, for he made several attempts to justify his -scheme to his own conscience. - -“If she accepts me I shall take care to be in good time for the train, -and all will be well,” he argued. “And she will accept me in all -probability after a little persuasion. If not, there is nothing for it -but Sir Matthew’s plan of scaring her with the fear of what people will -say. No real harm will be done, none whatever. We shall merely play a -little upon her credulity and ignorance and her proper pride, and all -the rest of it. The game is worth the candle, for without her, sooner or -later we shall be ruined.” - -He was more considerate and gentle in manner than ever when at -length they set off together on their drive to Finshauts; her perfect -confidence in him gave him an uncomfortable sensation, he kept on -deferring the speech which must be made, and allowed her to enjoy to the -full the beauty of the winding road with its shady groves of walnut and -chestnut trees, and its wonderful glimpses of the Rhone Valley. They -paused after a time to see the Falls of Emaney, and when they once more -got into the carriage, Bruce Wylie made up his mind that before the next -stage was reached his work must somehow be done. He looked down into her -glowing happy face. - -“You are enjoying it?” he said kindly. - -“Oh more than I can tell you,” she said. “It is quite the best drive we -have had. What a pity Janet isn’t here.” - -“For once you must let me be selfish,” said Bruce Wylie laughing. “I am -heartily glad she is not here. ‘Two is company, three is trumpery,’ as -the proverb says.” - -“I never agree with that proverb,” said Evereld. “We had a -three-cornered friendship at school and it was delightful.” - -“For school friends it may be well enough. But I am something more than -your friend, Evereld, I am your lover.” - -The assertion struck her dumb for a minute. - -“Surely you had realised that?” said Bruce Wylie. “You must, I think, -have known it all these weeks that we have been together.” - -“Oh, no, no,” she cried in distress. “I never dreamt of such a thing. -Please never say that again.” - -“But I must say it again. I want to make you understand me. For years I -have hoped that you would some day be my wife. And when you understand -me better I think you will say ‘yes,’ Evereld.” - -“No,” she said desperately, “I can never say it. I could never care for -you in that way. Please let us just be friends as we used to be.” - -“But things are altered now, you are no longer a child, but a woman. -Believe me, dear, I would make you very happy. You perhaps think that -the difference in our age is a drawback. But some of the happiest -marriages I have known have been marriages of that sort. One can’t make -a hard and fast rule as to age.” - -“It is not that,” said Evereld. “That might not matter a bit. But I -could never love you.” - -“I will take my chance of that. The love would grow.” - -“No, it never could.... Please believe me and say no more. I can’t think -what makes you wish it when you must have met so many much more fit.” - -“But I have been waiting and hoping for you. And you must at any rate -promise me to think it over for a few days before quite deciding. I have -taken you by surprise. Think it over quietly, and we will talk about it -some other day.” - -“If I thought for years it would make no difference,” said Evereld. - -“You fancy so, because like all young girls you have made a sort of -ideal in your own mind, and no living man can come up to that ideal.” - -She shook her head. - -“No, not an ideal,” she said softly, and into her eyes there stole the -soft love light which revealed all too clearly her thoughts. - -“She cares for some one else,” reflected Bruce Wylie, “I suppose it’s -that confounded young Denmead. Well, silence is golden. She must be left -till to-morrow to reflect.” - -“Dear child,” he said in his mellow voice. “Don’t look so grave. I will -say no more just at present. I only ask you to give what I have said -your careful thought. Here we are at Triquent.” - -Evereld drew out her watch, but in the worry of the previous evening, -after her talk with Mr. Lewisham, she had forgotten to wind it up--the -hands pointed to four o’clock. - -“My watch has stopped,” she said, “but surely it is time we turned back! -Finshauts seems much further than I expected.” - -“Oh, we shall soon be there now,” said Bruce Wylie, glancing at the -time. “It takes us some while to climb up, but we shall rattle down -again at a great pace.” - -It seemed a pity to have come so far and not after all to see the view -of Mont Blanc, and though Evereld longed to be back with the others, and -dreaded the _tête-à-tête_ with her companion after what had passed, she -scarcely liked to say any more about returning. - -She was grateful to him, moreover, because on the last stage of the -journey he got out and walked beside the driver, leaving her to her -great relief unmolested. - -“He is a wonderfully kind man,” she reflected. “I hope I wasn’t too -emphatic, but one had to make him quite understand. Even now we shall -have to talk it over again. Oh dear! Oh dear! how I wish Ralph and I -were really engaged, then one wouldn’t be so tongue-tied. I shall only -be twenty in the spring, and there will still be a year to wait.” - -The road passed now through a wood, and something in its green depths -of shade made her think of a wood near Southbourne where they had once -spent a happy midterm holiday with the Herefords, during her school -days. - -“How I wish I were at school again now,” she thought sadly. “It was -all so happy and easy there, with none of these worries and -misunderstandings. And yet I don’t either, for if I were still at school -Ralph would not have spoken to me that Sunday, that wonderful Sunday.” - -She fell into a happy dream, and was startled when Bruce Wylie suddenly -appeared at the carriage door and resumed his place beside her. - -“She was thinking of that boy,” he reflected with annoyance. “This -business will make our task even more disagreeable.” - -“You look tired,” he said, “when we reach the Hotel Bel Oiseau I will -order some tea to be got ready while we go on to the best point of -view.” - -“But are you sure we shall have time. We must not miss that train,” said -Evereld. - -“Oh, plenty of time. It’s all down hill going back, and besides the -horse must rest, and the driver will certainly expect to drink our -health in the _vin du pays_.” - -His manner set her mind at rest, and indeed for a time she forgot all -else in the wonderful panorama that opened out before them as Mont Blanc -and the Chamounix Valley came into view. It was a scene to remember for -a lifetime, and Evereld, with her young heart and her clear conscience, -was able to revel in its beauty, and to cast off altogether all petty -cares and vexations. - -These, however, returned when they went back to the Hotel Bel Oiseau; a -mistake had been made--or so Bruce Wylie told her--as to the tea, and it -took a long time in coming. Then there was yet another delay because the -coachman had mysteriously disappeared, and when at last the horse was -put in and they turned back to Vernayaz, Evereld was certain that they -had allowed very scanty time for the descent. - -“It’s as much as we shall do to catch this train,” remarked her -companion, as they at length gained the valley. - -“There is a train now just passing,” exclaimed Evereld. - -“Not ours, I daresay,” said Bruce Wylie, “no,” looking at his watch -reassuringly, “it’s not due for another ten minutes. We shall do it all -right, don’t be anxious.” - -“There, we are punctual to the minute,” he remarked, as they drew up at -the station, “and no train is here. Ha! what’s that you say?” he added, -as an old porter came leisurely up to them. “The train gone? Why, it’s -only now due.” - -The porter explained, with many gesticulations, that the Monsieur’s -watch was ten minutes slow. - -“How annoying,” said Bruce Wylie, “when is the next train for St. -Maurice and Territet?” - -“There are no more this evening, monsieur,” said the porter. “Monsieur -will find many good hotels in Vernayaz.” - -Bruce Wylie made a well feigned ejaculation of annoyance. - -“The others will have seen that we were not there,” said Evereld, -springing out of the carriage, “I will run and look for Janet;” but she -returned forlornly in a minute, for Janet was not there. - -“I think she might have waited,” said the girl, indignantly. - -“Oh, they would naturally conclude we should come on by a later train as -we didn’t turn up till this one started,” said Bruce Wylie, “in fact I -told the Major we should do that if by any ill fortune we were too late. -Who could have guessed that there were no trains later than this?” - -“You looked out the trains yourself yesterday,” said Evereld, “I should -have thought you would have noticed.” - -She felt intensely irritated, it was one of those times when a -traveller’s temper is put to the test. - -Bruce Wylie did not mend matters by his rather stumbling apology. She -could not have explained her feeling, but somehow at that moment she -felt that she could no longer put confidence in him. - -“Well, I wouldn’t have had such a thing happen for the world,” he said. -“It is all my fault, and I’m extremely sorry. The only thing to be done -is to go back to the Hotel Gorge du Trient. We shall be in time for -dinner, I daresay. To the Hotel, driver!” - -“Wait,” said Evereld quietly. “I must first send a telegram to Lady -Mactavish explaining things.” - -“Quite right, of course. I ought to have thought of it. What a sensible -little woman you are, Evereld.” - -She neither smiled nor responded in any way. A few hours before the -episode would have troubled her very little, but to be stranded in this -place with the man she had just refused was a situation she disliked -very much. Behind it all, too, there lurked a vague feeling that she had -been entrapped into the drive, that perhaps even Janet had guessed what -Mr. Wylie meant to say during the course of this ill-fated expedition. - -To do him justice, Bruce Wylie took good care to set her perfectly at -her ease directly they arrived at the hotel, himself saw the manageress -and explained things to her, handing over Evereld to her kindly care, -and promising to meet her in the salon. - -The Swiss manageress gave her a pleasant room, and lent her all that -she needed, and when she went down to the salon a delightful surprise -awaited her. - -“Why, Evereld!” said a familiar voice, and a tall pretty looking girl -stepped forward with a warm greeting. - -It was May Coniston, an old schoolfellow who had left Southbourne at -Easter, and had come out to Switzerland for rest after the toils of -her first London season. She introduced Evereld to her mother, and they -listened to her description of the contretemps that had befallen her, -and Evereld introduced Mr. Wylie to them. - -“It is most fortunate you just happened to come across us,” said May -Coniston cheerfully. “I can lend you everything, and mother will be only -too delighted to take care of you. There is nothing she enjoys so much -as looking after girls.” - -So in the end Evereld had an extremely pleasant evening, lost her heart -to kindly Mrs. Coniston, sat up hair-brushing with her friend till after -midnight, and was delighted to have May for a companion in her large, -lonely bedroom where, as Mrs. Coniston remarked, they could fancy -themselves back at school once more. - -Early the next morning, having parted with the Conistons, who were -going to Champéry, Bruce Wylie and Evereld returned to Glion, arriving -just in time for lunch. They encountered Janet and Minnie in the -entrance hall, and Evereld went straight to the _salle à manger_ with -them, laughing over the events of the previous day, and remonstrating -with them for having deserted her. - -“We all got into the train when it came up,” explained Janet calmly, -“hoping to the last that you would come before it started; it must have -been some minutes in the station. Mamma was vexed with us for coming on, -but of course we all knew you were safe; your telegram got here before -we did.” - -“Where is Lady Mactavish?” asked Evereld. - -“She has gone down to Montreux to lunch with Lady Mount Pleasant, who by -the bye has invited us all to go to-morrow to her picnic at a place near -the Rochers de Nave.” - -Just at that moment Sir Matthew and Mr. Bruce Wylie joined them. There -was something unusual in her guardian’s manner, and Evereld wondered -what had brought the cloud to his brow. It did not disappear at all when -he greeted her, and had it not been for a talkative German doctor, -who conversed learnedly with Janet, their party would have been an -uncomfortably silent one throughout the meal. - -“I want a few words with you, my dear,” said Sir Matthew, when at last -lunch was over. “Come with me to our own sitting-room. We shall not be -interrupted there.” - -Evereld’s heart sank. - -“Mr. Wylie has told of his proposal to me,” she reflected. “And Sir -Matthew is vexed with me for refusing his friend.” - -“Sit down,” said Sir Matthew, motioning her to a sofa beside the window, -and wheeling up a ponderous armchair for himself. “I have, of course, -heard from Mr. Wylie of your very surprising behaviour yesterday. Are you -aware that you have refused one of the best and cleverest of men, a man -too who has been encouraged by you for the last month.” - -“Oh, no,” cried Evereld. “Indeed I never dreamt of encouraging him. How -could I be supposed to think of a man thirty years older than I am as a -lover?” - -“I don’t know what you thought about it, my dear, but you did distinctly -encourage him. And everyone here, and at Zermatt, too, I believe, -considered it a case.” - -“I am very sorry if they thought so, but it was a ridiculous mistake. -I should never dream of marrying Mr. Wylie. He is just a friend and -nothing more.” - -“I have no patience with this foolish talk about friends,” said Sir -Matthew. “You ought to know enough of the world to realise that it never -puts faith in friendships between men and women.” - -“Can I not be friends with an elderly man like that? a man of -nearly fifty, who has known me since I was a child?” said Evereld -questioningly. - -“No, you cannot,” said Sir Matthew decidedly. “You have encouraged him -all these weeks, and you must marry him.” - -The tone of decision would, he thought, at once silence this gentle -little girl with her innocent blue eyes. He received an uncomfortable -shock when she quietly replied: “Of course, if it is really so I can -avoid Mr. Wylie in future. But marry him I will not.” - -“What possible objection can you have to him?” said her guardian -irritably. “I can tell you, he is a man that most girls would be proud -to accept.” - -“But I do not love him,” said Evereld. - -“Oh, you have been reading novels and have set up some absurd ideal hero -unlike any man who ever existed. Bruce Wylie is one of a thousand, -he will make you perfectly happy, and will save you from the infinite -misery of being run after for the sake of your fortune by unworthy men -embarrassed by debts.” - -Evereld laughed a little. “I will promise never to marry an unworthy man -embarrassed by debts. But nothing will make me marry Mr. Wylie.” - -“Then it only remains for me,” said Sir Matthew, “to tell you how things -really are. You must marry him, my dear. The whole place is talking -about you. Your reputation is at stake. Everyone knows that you were -stranded alone with him last night at Vernayaz, and there is only one -way to prevent a scandal arising. You must be engaged to him at once, -and you shall be married when we go back to London. If you like it might -be on the same day that Minnie is married.” - -Evereld’s eyes dilated. - -“I don’t understand you,” she said. “Can you really mean that because -Mr. Wylie very carelessly allowed us to miss the train, and didn’t -know--or--or pretended not to know that it was the last train--that I -should marry him because of that?” - -“Dear child, you are very young and innocent, and the world is a -hard censorious place. The busy tongues of these holiday idlers will -certainly make free with your name. And I can’t permit that. The best -way to avoid scandal, the only way, is to hasten on your marriage.” - -“Very well,” said Evereld. “But it is not Mr. Wylie that I shall marry.” - -“Do you dare to tell me that you are engaged to any one else?” said Sir -Matthew. - -“No, I am certainly not engaged,” said Evereld. “But as soon a I come of -age I shall be engaged.” - -“To whom,” said Sir Matthew. - -“To Ralph,” she said, a vivid blush dyeing her cheeks. - -With an inarticulate exclamation of wrath, Sir Matthew began to pace to -and fro. - -“This comes of adopting beggars,” he said between his teeth. At that, -Evereld started to her feet, and would have left the room had he not -intercepted her. - -“How long has this been going on?” he said, angrily. - -“I never knew I cared for him like that until he had gone away more than -a year ago, when you brought down the news about his examination.” - -“Just like the ungrateful fellow,” said Sir Matthew. “As soon as he saw -that there was nothing more to be got out of me, he thought to feather -his nest with your fortune.” - -Evereld struggled hard not to lose control over her temper, but every -pulse in her throbbed indignantly at the words. - -“I think,” she said in a low voice, “that money is the last thing any -Denmead ever troubled himself to think of.” - -The words were so true that for a moment they checked Sir Matthew; he -reflected wrathfully that his own action in turning Ralph out of his -house somewhat harshly had brought about this result he so little -desired. Up to that time the friendship between the two had been of a -most brotherly and sisterly character. He was startled from this train -of thought by a sudden and wholly unexpected question from Evereld. - -“My father used to say every penny he had was invested in railways--is -my money still as he left it?” she inquired. - -“W--w--w--we have made a few changes; you will learn all details when -you come of age,” said Sir Matthew. - -Evereld had quick perceptions. She had never heard her guardian stammer -before. She looked him through and through with her clear eyes, and -knew that something was amiss. He coloured under her scrutiny, and -complaining of the heat of the room, pushed the window wider open. - -“Ralph has good points,” he said, returning to the former topic. “But -depend upon it, my dear, this is an idle fancy of yours; he will fall in -love with some actress and forget all about you. It is only natural that -it should be so.” - -Evereld shook her head. - -“No,” she said. “He will wait for me, and when he has got on a little in -his profession, we shall be engaged. We might have been engaged now only -he was too honourable.” - -“You talk just as one might expect an innocent girl fresh from school to -talk, my dear,” said Sir Matthew. “But it will not do. Such a marriage -would be preposterous, your father would never have allowed it, and I -once more repeat that acting in your interests I shall insist on your -accepting Mr. Wylie’s offer. You think me unkind; believe me,” he took -her hand and patted it caressingly, “I am not unkind, I am only making -you do what is the best possible thing under the circumstances. You must -trust me. There are elements in the case you cannot understand. There -is no safe path for a woman but the part of obedience to authority. You -must be guided by me, my dear, you must recollect that in all the years -you have lived under my roof I have always shown you kindness and love, -and you must try to believe that I show that kindness now, though I -thwart your wishes and wed you to a man who does not exactly fit in with -your girlish and romantic ideal. We will say no more now, you are tired -and agitated. But within the next two days I shall expect to receive -from Mr. Wylie the news that his offer has been accepted. Think it -quietly over. I am convinced that some day you will thank me for what I -have done; ay! and other people will have good cause to thank me, too.” - -He stooped and kissed her on the forehead and politely opened the door -for her in token that the interview was at an end. - -Without a word Evereld left the room and went slowly upstairs. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - - - “The tissue of the Life to be - - We weave with colours all our own, - - And in the field of destiny - - We reap as we have sown.” - - Whittier. - -|The broad staircase was covered with cocoa-nut matting, she toiled -up the slippery steps feeling dazed and giddy, groping her way more by -instinct than by sight to her own door. Her room was at the side of the -hotel, and its French window, opening on to a little balcony, looked out -over the woods of Veytaux and the distant turrets of Chillon to the -Dent du Midi. She threw herself down now into the depths of an armchair, -letting the soft air play on her hot cheeks, and staring out in a -bewildered way at the lovely view which contrasted so strangely with her -misery. - -Her whole world seemed to be shaken to its foundation. Her instinct -warned her that the guardian, whose plausible talk and apparent -kindliness had long deceived her, was in no sense a man to be trusted. -And seizing the clue, which his own accusations of others had furnished -her with, she began to wonder if in some unaccountable way Bruce Wylie -himself was one of those fortune-hunters, who finding themselves in -difficulties sought to repair their losses with some heiress’ money. Her -clear insight had at once detected the false ring in his apologies -about the lost train on the previous day. He had somehow forfeited -her confidence, and the more she thought over her interview with Sir -Matthew, and the extraordinary determination he had evidently made to -marry her to his friend, the more she distrusted and dreaded them both. -It might possibly be that they had mismanaged her affairs, and were -perhaps speculating with her money. She had heard of many cases where -luckless women had been ruined by a fraudulent trustee. - -Fortunately, though young and innocent, Evereld had been wisely -educated, and even in all the agitation of the moment she was able -clearly to see how foolish was the notion that in order to quiet unkind -tongues, or to satisfy the outraged feelings of Mrs. Grundy, she should -consent publicly to perjure herself, by vowing to love as a wife a man -she did not desire to marry. - -Sir Matthew and Bruce Wylie had fancied that a pure-minded, proud girl -would easily be frightened into a marriage which in many respects was -outwardly desirable. Women were seldom logical, and a little novice like -Evereld could, they felt sure, be cajoled or scared or flattered into -obedience to their wishes. Sir Matthew had reserved his direct command -and the allusion to his authority as a guardian as his trump card. -He thought because she had made no reply to this speech that he had -convinced her. But Evereld knew that obedience to the truth must always -stand before obedience to any authority, and she was emphatically not -one of those plastic, weak-minded girls who furnish victims for the -modern marriage market, and allow themselves to be sacrificed to the -ambition of their parents. - -There was, however, a sort of blind terror in her mind. She had read -that pathetic novel “Jasmine Leigh,” the plot of which turned on the -forcible abduction of an heiress; and now, perhaps, not unnaturally -the story returned to haunt her. Words which Ralph had spoken as to Sir -Matthew’s unscrupulous character, his utter disregard for the victims -whose ruin followed the triumphal procession of his own fame and -fortune, haunted her, too. She had thought him hard and uncharitable -when he had spoken of his godfather, but his words had impressed her -nevertheless, and she felt that they were probably not far from the -truth. Like some trapped animal, she tried desperately to think what -possible course she could take. If only that motherly Mrs. Coniston had -been in the hotel she would have told her all and asked her advice, but -she could hardly put the case in a letter, or travel to Champéry to see -her. And there was no one else to whom she could turn, unless it was Mr. -Lewisham, and she doubted if that would be a wise thing to do. Only a -woman could thoroughly understand and help her. - -And then the old grief of eight years ago, to which she had grown more -or less accustomed, came back to her with an intensity of bitterness, -a new realisation of irreparable loss. “Oh Mother!” she sobbed. “Oh -Mother! Mother!” - -A step on the balcony made her hastily try to check her tears. Minnie’s -room was next to hers, and the window also opened on to the little side -balcony. - -“Why Evereld,” said a cheerful voice. “You dear little goose! Don’t cry. -I know all about it. Papa has told me. Don’t you be frightened. It won’t -be half so bad as you expect. You’ll soon grow very fond of Mr. Wylie. -And you shall have such a pretty wedding dress and as many of your -school friends as you like for bridesmaids. You have no idea what fun -you will have choosing your _trousseau_. We will stop in Paris on our -way home, and I can put you up to all sorts of things.” - -“Don’t talk like that,” said Evereld, her tears raining down, as the -utter mockery of it all forced itself upon her. - -“Do you think,” continued Minnie, “that you are the first girl who has -been obliged to give up an early love? Why it’s my firm conviction that -no one ever does marry a first love. If Papa had allowed it I should -have married a lanky curate, and we should still be waiting for the -inevitable country living which might or might not turn up. He put a -stop to it all. And I cried my eyes out just as you are doing. But I -am very much obliged to him now and mean to be very happy with Major -Gillot. Now stop crying, and I will make some tea in my etna, and later -on you shall come out with us and do ‘gooseberry.’” - -“I’m afraid of meeting Mr. Wylie,” objected Evereld. - - “Indeed I think you -had better not meet him with your eyes as red as that,” said Minnie with -a laugh. “There’s no need for you to see him till dinner-time, for he -has gone down to Montreux to talk over the arrangements for tomorrow -with Mamma and Lady Mount Pleasant.” - -There was something comforting in Minnie’s kindly manner, though Evereld -vehemently dissented in her own mind from all her arguments. She obeyed -her, however, and stopped crying, and even found temporary comfort in -the afternoon tea which has a way of tasting so supremely good when -made by oneself abroad. Later on they walked down the Gorge de Chaudron, -where already the trees were arraying themselves in the lovely tints -of early autumn. The two lovers walked a little ahead. Evereld followed -slowly and thoughtfully, regaining her habitual strength and quietness -of mind as she walked, by slow degrees. There was something in her face -which puzzled Bruce Wylie when he met her again that evening at dinner. -She looked older, even he could have fancied thinner, since the morning. -He left her unmolested till the meal was over, but joined her directly -afterwards in the entrance hall, where in the evening people were wont -to lounge and chat unceremoniously. He was discussing thought-reading -with a young American girl and skilfully inveigled Evereld into -the conversation. In old times she had always felt an interest in -experiments of this sort; to-night she felt that not for the world would -she permit Bruce Wylie to touch her. - -“Let us show Miss Upton the experiment we tried at Zermatt,” said Bruce -Wylie. “It was a brilliant success there.” - -“I would rather not to-night,” said Evereld colouring. “I am tired.” - -“Oh, try just once,” he said persuasively. - -But she shook her head. - -“I must appeal to your guardian,” he said, laughing. “Sir Matthew, we -want you to persuade your ward to do the pin-finding trick.” - -Rightly or wrongly, Evereld was convinced that if she now yielded -her mind up to him he might abuse his power over her and weaken her -resistance to his other wishes. She stood at bay conscious that many -eyes were turned upon her, determined not to yield, yet puzzled as to -how she was to proceed. - -“Why Evereld, dear,” said Sir Matthew in his hearty penetrating voice, -“of course you will oblige us all. You are a capital hand at this sort -of thing.” - -She turned to the pretty American girl, feeling that her only chance was -to appeal to her. She seemed a clever, observant girl, surely she could -be made to understand without words. - -“I am so sorry,” she said, “to be obliged to say ‘no’ to-night. But I -am tired and am going up to bed. Won’t you try the thought-reading?” - Her clear blue eyes looked straight into the bright eyes of little Miss -Upton, saying as plainly as eyes could express the thought, “Help me out -of this dilemma.” And the American responded instantly to the appeal. - -“I guess I’ll try whether I can’t do it myself, Mr. Wylie,” she said, -looking up at him archly and holding out a dainty handkerchief. -“Blindfold me instead of Miss Ewart, and see if I’m not just as sharp at -finding the pin.” - -She made such fun of the whole process that even Bruce Wylie himself -failed to notice that Evereld calmly walked up the broad staircase in -sight of them all, and she was safely locked into her room before any -one had bestowed a thought upon her absence. - -“I shall always love American girls!” she said to herself. “How quick -she was to understand, I only wish I could thank her, but that’s -impossible. Somehow I must get away from this place. I daren’t stay -longer. If only I knew how best to escape and where to go to! There is -Mrs. Hereford. She would take care of me. But Ireland is so far away, -and I fear they would overtake me before I could get to her. Shall I -go to London and make Bridget take me away to some quiet little country -place where no one could hear of us? Or there is Southbourne, but term -will not begin till next week, and the whole house would be deserted, it -would be no use going there.” None of these plans seemed very promising. -To whom could she turn? - -Restlessly pacing up and down her room, she prayed for guidance, and -almost immediately a well-known name floated into her mind. “Why!” she -exclaimed, “I wonder I never thought of that before.” - -She stepped out on to the balcony, entered Minnie’s room, took from -the table a continental Bradshaw, and returning once more, sat down -resolutely to puzzle out a route as well as she could. It was no easy -matter for one unversed in the mysteries of railway guides; she found -herself terribly baffled by two places with almost exactly similar -names, and she floundered long in that wilderness of day trains and -night trains, and dark and light figures, which prove traps for the -inexperienced. If so much had not depended upon it she could have -laughed over her perplexities, but as it was she came perilously near to -crying over the Bradshaw, and nothing but dread of Bruce Wylie and the -thought of Ralph enabled her to plod on until at last she had puzzled -out her way of escape. The trains were not so favourable to her plans -as she had hoped. It was impossible to leave till the middle of the next -morning, and the journey would involve four or five changes of trains, -and a night at a hotel. It seemed impossible to go straight through to -her destination. - -“If I go to a hotel,” she reflected, “I must have some sort of luggage -or they will suspect me. I will take my little handbag from here and -some cloak straps in my pocket; then at Geneva I will buy some wraps and -make up a respectable-looking bundle.” - -By this time her hopes had revived and her courage had returned. She -put back the Bradshaw in Minnie’s room, closed her shutters, bolted her -window and began to make her preparations in a thoughtful, womanly way. - -Fortunately she had had no expenses in Switzerland, and still carried -about her the eighteen five pound notes which Bridget had counselled her -not to leave behind. In her purse she had also an English sovereign and -a little Swiss silver money. “I need not change a note till I get -to Geneva, that is a comfort,” she reflected, and having carefully -destroyed all her letters and packed a few necessaries into her bag, she -crept to bed and did her best to sleep, but not very successfully. - -The next morning she could most truthfully plead a headache as an excuse -for not attending Lady Mount Pleasant’s picnic, indeed she remained in -bed; and looked so white and tired when Janet and Minnie came to see her -that they reported her as quite unfit for the expedition, and only in a -state to be left quiet and alone. - -“Well,” said Sir Matthew, with a look of annoyance, “it can’t be -helped. She will be right enough to-morrow when her decision is made and -everything has settled down quietly.” - -Bruce Wylie, who had fully intended to settle matters during the course -of that day, was forced to acquiesce, and since Lady Mount Pleasant and -her contingent had arrived from Montreux, and the carriages were at the -door, there was no time for further discussion. - -Evereld stole to her window as soon as she heard the sound of wheels and -just caught a sideway glimpse of the picnic party driving off. Then in -breathless haste she dressed, put a letter which she had written to -Sir Matthew on the previous night in a place where it would quickly be -found, bolted her door on the inner side, stepped out of the window and -closed both it and the jalousies behind her and went through Minnie’s -room to the corridor beyond. A chambermaid was sweeping the matting, she -smiled in a friendly fashion and asked if mademoiselle was better. - -“I still have a headache,” said Evereld, “and am going out of doors. If -you see Miss Mactavish to-night when she returns, please say I do not -wish to be disturbed.” - -She ran quickly down the stairs, encountering nobody; in the bureau she -caught sight of the manager’s head, but he had his back turned to the -door and did not see her, he was giving out a library book to an old -lady who was accounted the greatest gossip in Glion. Mercifully she, -too, was absorbed and did not look up. - -Evereld walked quietly through the garden; over her dark blue serge -dress she wore a little blue capuchin cape with red-lined hood, her -sailor hat, and long gauze travelling veil were of the quietest. She was -beginning to hope that she should encounter none of the people staying -in the hotel when, within a stone’s throw of the cable railway station, -she came across Dick Lewisham and little Miss Upton. - -“Are you better?” said the American kindly. “Your friends told us you -were quite knocked up and could not go to the picnic.” - -“My head aches still,” said Evereld, “but--but please don’t tell them -that you saw me going out.” - -It is almost impossible for a naturally open and truthful person to -carry out a secret scheme without some confidante. Evereld liked and -trusted both these acquaintances, and she yielded to that craving for -sympathy, that longing for straightforward speech which was perhaps more -natural than strictly prudent. - -“I could not go to the picnic because I must avoid Mr. Wylie,” she said -in a low voice. “My guardian is trying to force me to marry him, and I -mean to escape to other friends who will take care of me.” - -“Did I not tell you how it would be?” said Dick Lewisham. - -“Yes,” she faltered, “you were quite right; and now there is nothing for -me to do but to get away at once.” - -“Remember,” he said, “that you promised to ask my help if you were in -any difficulty.” - -“Yes,” said Evereld. “Perhaps now you would just take my ticket to -Territet.” - -“Let us all come down to Territet together,” said Miss Upton, “it will -be less noticeable than your going quite alone.” - -Before many minutes were passed the three were gliding down the steep -incline, and Evereld grew light hearted to think that the difficult -first step had proved so successful. - -“Are you sure,” said Dick Lewisham, “that you can get to your friends -without difficulty?” - -“Quite sure, thank you,” she said bravely. - -“We will not ask you a single question beyond that,” he continued, “for -the less we know the better. If they put us through any very severe -catechism, the utmost we will admit is that you were in the hotel garden -before lunch this morning.” - -“It’s quite a romance,” said little Miss Upton, rubbing her hands with -satisfaction, “and as I shall want to have the third volume, please send -it over to me at Boston as soon as it’s complete. There’s my card.” - -“I will be sure to write,” said Evereld, “and thank you so very much for -helping me, both last night and this morning, too. I shall never forget -you.” - -They walked a little way beyond the station in the direction of Montreux -until they reached a confectioner’s. - -“I am going in here to get some food for my journey,” said Evereld, “I -will wish you good bye;” she gave her hand to each of them, shyly -thanked Dick Lewisham for his help, and entered the shop. - -“End of the second volume,” said Miss Upton with a comical expression on -her bright face. “Nothing remains for us, Mr. Lewisham, but to kill time -by a row on the lake. Take me to see Chillon; nothing but an old and -venerable castle will fill up this awful blank, or rouse my interest.” - -“Oh, we shall have some good fun to-night or to-morrow morning,” said -Dick Lewisham, “Messrs. Wylie and Mactavish wall furnish us with some -capital sport. I only hope no harm will happen to that brave little -girl.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - - - “But, by all thy nature’s weakness, - - Hidden faults and follies known, - - Be thou, in rebuking evil, - - Conscious of thine own. - - “So, when thoughts of evil-doers - - Waken scorn, or hatred move, - - Shall a mournful fellow-feeling - - Temper all with love.” - - Whittier. - -|Lady Mount Pleasant’s picnic proved a successful affair, and Sir -Matthew prevailed on her to dine with them at the Rigi Vaudois on her -way home. Minnie, running upstairs to change her dress after the gong -had sounded, had scant time to think of Evereld, she rang for hot water -and flew about her room making the hastiest of toilettes, it was only as -the chambermaid was just closing the door that she called after her. - -“Marie! Wait a moment. Have you seen Miss Ewart? Is she better?” - -“I have seen her, Mademoiselle, and she still has _migraine_,” said the -chambermaid. - -“Well see that she has all she needs,” said Minnie hurriedly pinning a -cluster of roses in her dress. - -“Yes, Mademoiselle. But she left word expressly that she did not want to -be disturbed.” - -“Ah, then I will not go in,” said Minnie, flying along the corridor, and -running downstairs. - -“But I will just ask if the _pauvre petite_ would like a _tisane?_” - reflected the chambermaid knocking at Evereld’s door. “No response! -’Tis strange, I will knock again. Mademoiselle! It is I, Marie. Well, -’tis useless to wait. Without doubt she sleeps. These English are -always heavy sleepers, and after all, sleep is the best cure for _la -migraine_.” - -But next morning when to repeated knocks there was still no answer, -Marie began to feel anxious. She consulted Miss Mactavish. - -“Miss Ewart often goes out early in the morning. I expect she has locked -her door and taken her key to the _bureau_,” was Minnie’s matter-of-fact -solution of the problem. - -“No, Mademoiselle, the key is not in the bureau. It is on the inside of -the door. I fear Mademoiselle must be very ill.” - -“Well, we can soon find out,” said Minnie, opening her window and -stepping on to the balcony. - -To unbolt the _jalousies_ and open Evereld’s French window was the work -of a minute, but Minnie gave a gasp of surprise when she found the room -quite empty. Remembering however the curious eyes of the chambermaid she -controlled herself. - -“Perhaps she is with Lady Mactavish, I will see,” she exclaimed, and -hastily ran down to the next floor in search of her father. She found -him in their private sitting-room, writing letters, and quickly told her -discovery. - -“Can the child have been so foolish as to run away,” he exclaimed in -dismay. “Well she can’t have gone far, that is one comfort; we shall -soon track her. I will come up with you and see if we can find any clue. -Run on first and tell the maid it is all right and get her out of the -way.” - -He followed more leisurely, and passing through his daughter’s room went -by the balcony to Evereld’s deserted chamber. - -“The bed has been slept in,” he remarked in a tone of satisfaction, “she -has not gone far.” - -It did not occur to him that it had never been made on the previous day, -that was just one of those small points of detail which would escape an -ordinary man. Minnie instantly thought of it, but she held her tongue, -and began hurriedly to see what clothes Evereld had taken with her. - -“Her little travelling bag has gone,” she said, “and her hat and cloak. -See, too, here is a letter just inside her portmanteau directed to you, -Papa.” - -Sir Matthew who began to look seriously disturbed tore open the letter -and hastily read the following lines:-- - -“My Dear Sir Matthew: - -“Nothing will induce me to marry Mr. Wylie, and as you insist on my -accepting his proposal within the next two days, and refuse to pay any -heed to what I say as to my future marriage with Ralph, you force me -to act for myself. Please do not be anxious about my safety--I am going -straight to friends who will take every care of me, and it will be -useless to try to make me live again under your roof. - -“If you make any attempt to force me back I shall put myself under the -protection of the Lord Chancellor, and ask for a thorough investigation -of my affairs. My love to Lady Mactavish and Minnie. I am sorry to vex -you all, but you have left me no alternative. - -“Yours affly, - -“Evereld Ewart.” - -He handed the letter to his daughter, and paced the room, dumb for the -time with anger and surprise. - -“Where can she have gone?” said Minnie. “And how on earth can we hush it -up here?” - -“Easily enough,” said her father with contempt in his tone, “say that -she has joined some friends in Montreux, and we can all leave to-morrow. -Indeed I shall go straight home to-day and track her out. Little -minx! Who would have thought her capable of such resistance! A little -blue-eyed slip of a girl, who had hardly a word to say for herself!” - -He turned away in search of Bruce Wylie, and was glad to see that his -friend was shocked and perplexed by the news. To do the lawyer justice -he was really anxious about Evereld’s safety. - -“Upon my soul, Mactavish, it’s an ugly business,” he said uneasily, -“a young girl fresh from school, innocent and ignorant and quite -unprotected, crossing Europe alone! I hope to goodness she has gone to -those friends of hers at Champéry. I will set off this morning and see. -She would naturally think of them.” - -“It’s possible,” said Sir Matthew, with a look of relief. “You go there, -and I will go straight to London making close inquiry all along the -route. Perhaps we may be able to learn something from the people in the -hotel without rousing their curiosity too much. We must avoid getting -the girl talked about. That would be fatal.” - -“It’s a hateful business,” said Bruce Wylie frowning, “I wish I had -never meddled with it.” - -“There was more in the child than we dreamt of,” said Sir Matthew, “She -was quiet and gentle and affectionate and I never thought it possible -she would show so stubborn a front. Look at the letter. Why old Ewart -himself might have penned it. As ill luck would have it, she heard the -day before yesterday that changes have been made as to the investment of -her money, and I fear she suspects that all is not right. How on earth -she came to know anything about the Lord Chancellor and her power of -appeal to him I can’t conceive.” - -“Probably through ‘Iolanthe’ and the ‘such a susceptible Chancellor,’” - said Bruce Wylie with a mirthless laugh, “or through some of her beloved -Charles Dickens’ novels. The fact is, Mactavish, we educate our girls -now-a-days, but expect them to remain fools. Unless we can track -Evereld, and force her to obey you, she has the game in her own hands. -Great Heaven! just think of it! That little girl can absolutely ruin our -career, can give the pinprick which will burst the whole bubble.” - -It was exasperating to the last degree, and to men who had always taken -the lowest view of womanhood, it was wholly perplexing. They went down -to the _salle à manger_ trying to look unconcerned, but Miss Upton’s -keen eyes read their perturbation. - -She enjoyed it hugely. - -“I guess you had a good time yesterday up at the Rochers de Naye?” she -said blithely. - -“Very, thank you,” said Sir Matthew, “though we were all disappointed -that my ward was not with us. Have you seen anything of her?” - -The American girl met his keen gaze without flinching in the least. - -“She was in the garden for a little while yesterday.” - -“Ah, indeed,” Sir Matthew was all on the alert. “Did you have any talk -with her?” - -“Well--I inquired after her headache,” said Miss Upton casually. “How is -she this morning?” and with perfect _sang froid _she began to eat an -egg American fashion, a proceeding which she well knew would make Sir -Matthew shudder. - -“Thank you, she is better,” he said, taking refuge in his cup of coffee. - -“I’m so glad,” said Miss Upton sweetly. “We must have some more -thought-reading this evening, Mr. Wylie. Perhaps Miss Ewart will be able -to show me the experiment you were speaking of the other night. You are -always successful with her, are you not?” - -Dick Lewisham at an adjoining table bent low over his newspaper to hide -his amusement. - -“Unfortunately,” said the solicitor, “we are obliged to leave to-day, or -it would have given me the greatest pleasure.” - -“What a mistake to leave just when we are all such a nice, congenial -party,” said the American. “Is Miss Ewart really fit to go? She looked -so white and ill when I saw her yesterday.” - -“She has been travelling about in Switzerland some time,” said Sir -Matthew, “and will, I think, be glad to settle down at home.” - -“I can understand that,” said Miss Upton. “I don’t think the hotel life -was quite congenial to her. Now, we Americans are brought up to live -in public from our childhood, it’s second nature to us, and we are -accustomed to so much more liberty than you allow your girls. I suppose -though your English girls are much more tractable and obedient than we -are.” - -Sir Matthew winced. - -“Comparisons are odious,” said Bruce Wylie, with ready politeness, and -after a very scanty breakfast the two men retired discomforted, while -Dick Lewisham and the bright-eyed American enjoyed a quiet laugh at -their expense. - -To get any clue as to Evereld’s movements seemed impossible, and Sir -Matthew did not care to put the matter into the hands of the police, or -to employ a private detective. In his own mind he felt convinced that -Evereld had gone to England, and he travelled home with the utmost -speed, having first telegraphed to his confidential clerk to meet him at -Victoria by the boat train on the following afternoon. - -“All well I hope, sir,” said Smither, the clerk, as Sir Matthew gave him -a pleasant greeting. - -“Quite, thank you; did you get that address?” - -“Yes, sir,” and the clerk handed him a paper. “Da Costa the agent gave -it me.” - -On the paper were inscribed the words, “Macneillie’s Company, September -20-27, Theatre Royal. Rilchester.” Sir Matthew promptly detached a key -from his ring and handed it to Smither. - -“Just see my portmanteau through the Custom House,” he said, “I must -catch the next train at King’s Cross, and will only take my bag with -me.” - -He drove off, but took the precaution of calling at the house in Queen -Anne’s Gate that he might see whether any clue as to Evereld’s movements -was to be had from Geraghty or Bridget. Their entire ignorance was -however so transparent, and Bridget’s inquiries after her young mistress -were so natural that he went off to King’s Cross more certain than ever -that Evereld had avoided London and had gone straight to her lover. He -dined in the train, arrived at Rilchester soon after ten o’clock that -evening, took up his quarters at the Station Hotel, and sent a messenger -to the stage door of the theatre to inquire as to Ralph Denmead’s -address, being careful to avoid giving his name. When however he had -obtained what he wanted and after some trouble had discovered the quiet -street to which he had been directed, it was only to find that Ralph was -still at the theatre. - -“He’ll not be back for at least another half hour,” said the landlady. -“Can I give him any message?” - -“I had better come in and wait,” said Sir Matthew. - -The landlady hesitated a moment, but being impressed as most people were -by Sir Matthew’s manner and bearing, she admitted him and showed him -into a fairly comfortable room where the supper-table was laid for two -people. - -“I have caught them,” said Sir Matthew to himself with an inward chuckle -of satisfaction. “The little fool with her grand talk of the Lord -Chancellor’s protection! She has ruined her case now. We shall have a -scene, that can’t be helped. All’s well that ends well.” - -Picking up a newspaper he installed himself comfortably in an armchair, -and awaited Ralph’s return. Presently steps were heard outside, the -street door was opened, and two people entered the passage, he put down -his paper and listened. The voice speaking was certainly Ralph’s. - -“It’s the worst house we have had this week, there weren’t a dozen -people in the Stalls. Ah! I see there’s a note for you here.” - -There followed sounds as of the opening of an envelope and then the door -handle turned, and Sir Matthew looked up expectantly. Instead however -of his runaway ward, there entered a middle-aged man intently reading an -open letter; for a moment Sir Matthew failed to recognise the tired and -rather despondent face, then it flashed upon him that this must be Hugh -Macneillie. He moved somewhat uneasily, and the actor recalled to the -present, lifted his eyes from the letter and looked at him in mute -astonishment. - -“I called to see Mr. Denmead,” said Sir Matthew, and at that moment -Ralph blithe and cheerful as ever came into the room giving an -astonished exclamation as he caught sight of his godfather. He greeted -him however with all proper formality and introduced Macneillie. -There was a momentary pause after that; the situation was somewhat -embarrassing. - -“I hope Evereld is well?” he said, chiefly for the sake of breaking the -silence. - -“I have come here to make inquiries about Evereld,” said Sir Matthew -grimly. “Have the goodness to tell me at once where she is.” - -“Is she not in Switzerland with Lady Mactavish?” said Ralph, -astonishment and anxiety plainly to be seen in his face. - -“My good fellow, I know you are an actor, but spare me this private -exhibition,” said Sir Matthew waving his hand in the old manner. “You -know that she has sought refuge with you, and the sooner you give her up -to her lawful guardian the better it will be for you both.” - -“I think you must have gone out of your mind,” said Ralph, fuming. “How -should I know anything of Evereld’s movements? She is unfortunately -under your protection till she is of age. Do you mean that you have lost -her?” - -“Yes, that is exactly what I do mean,” said Sir Matthew wrathfully. “She -merely left a letter behind her saying that she had gone to friends who -would take care of her, and she had had the audacity on the previous -day to tell me with her own lips that she would never marry any one but -you.” - -“She is gone?” said Ralph in horror. “But where?” - -“That is precisely what I want to learn from you?” said Sir Matthew with -a cold sarcastic smile. - -“You brute!” said Ralph beside himself with passion. “How can you -torture me like this? Tell me when she left you, and why? You must have -treated her shamefully, or she would never have taken such a step.” - -“You don’t impose upon me in the least by all this tragedy acting,” - said Sir Matthew. “I am satisfied that you know quite well where she is. -Probably she is in this house.” - -Ralph seemed on the point of springing at his torturer’s throat, when -Macneillie laid a strong hand on his shoulder and drew him back. - -“My dear boy, leave this to me” he said. “Surely Sir Matthew, you cannot -seriously believe that we know anything of Miss Ewart’s movements? From -the little I know of her I should imagine she was far too right-minded -and sensible to dream of attempting to seek refuge with her lover. I saw -her once or twice in August when she was staying with Mrs. Hereford at -Southbourne, and was struck by her quiet common-sense.” - -Sir Matthew was obliged to alter his tone, for he saw at once that there -was force in what Macneillie said. - -“She told me she had met you at Southbourne. I suppose it was there, -Ralph, that you had the presumption to ask her to marry you?” - -Ralph had by this time recovered his self-control, he replied with a -sort of quiet dignity which Sir Matthew resented much more than the -outburst of anger. - -“It was there that I told her I hoped some day to work my way up in the -profession. It was there I learnt that our love was mutual. Surely she -will have gone to Mrs. Hereford for protection. That would be her most -natural impulse.” - -“Well, I had not thought of that. Are the Herefords in London?” - said Sir Matthew, feeling that there was a good deal of sense in the -suggestion. - -“No, they will not be back till Parliament meets, but I know their -address in County Wicklow, and will telegraph to them to-morrow.” - -Sir Matthew frowned: it galled him terribly to feel that he was -helpless. - -“After all,” he exclaimed. “She may have had the sense to go to her old -Governess in Germany. She would be far more likely to confide in her -than in Mrs. Hereford. I will telegraph to Dresden and inquire.” - -“And when you have learnt where she is what do you propose to do?” said -Ralph. - -“Fetch her home, of course, and make her realise what people think of -such escapades.” - -Ralph seemed about to reply but he checked himself. - -“Did you imagine I was going to let her set me at defiance?” said Sir -Matthew. “Do you think a girl of nineteen will get the better of me?” - -“Yes,” said Ralph, quietly. “I think she will.” - -Sir Matthew laughed maliciously and rose to go. - -“You’re a true Denmead,” he said. “Always sanguine, always foolish -and unpractical. Well, good-night, Mr. Macneillie. I am sorry to have -inflicted this visit on you. Good-night Ralph. Let me know at the -Station Hotel as soon as you get a reply from the Herefords.” Ralph -showed him to the door in silence, and returning to the sitting-room, -flung himself down in a chair by the supper-table, and buried his face -in his hands. - -“What can I do!” he groaned. “Surely there must be something I could do -for her.” - -“Eat boy, eat,” said Macneillie in his genial voice. “You can’t think to -any purpose when you are dog-tired and as hungry as a hunter. All very -well for Sir Mathew to come in here and rant at half past eleven when he -had dined luxuriously at eight, but for strolling players, who feed at -four and work like galley slaves all the evening, it’s not so easy.” - -While he talked, he had been carving cold beef, and Ralph who at the -best of times was a small supper eater, and had never felt less inclined -for a meal, found himself forced to begin whether he would or not. - -“Here’s a salad that I mixed this afternoon after Sydney Smith’s own -receipt,” said Macneillie. “It would be sudden death to most men of -this generation close upon midnight but it’s the reward of hard work -to acquire the digestion of the ostrich and to sleep the sleep of the -righteous.” - -He talked on much in the way he had talked long ago in the Pass of Leny -when he had helped Ralph along the road to Kilmahog; it was the sort -of conversation which did not demand much response, but never failed to -hold the hearer’s attention, because it was racy and humourous. But by -and bye when they had lighted their pipes, he reverted to Sir Matthew’s -visit. - -“Curious man, that ex-guardian of yours,” he said musingly. “I am not -surprised that you two never hit it off. I wonder what it was that drove -little Miss Ewart to take such a decided step.” - -“I am certain it was some question of marriage,” said Ralph. “Probably -he wanted that brute Wylie to have the control of her fortune. I have -always detested that man. Governor! What am I to do? Will you spare me -for a week and let me see if I can help her?” - -“No, my dear boy, I will not do anything of the sort,” said Macneillie -resolutely, yet with a most kindly look in his eyes. “I know it’s a hard -thing for you to stay here and go on with your work as if nothing had -happened, and while all the time you are sick with anxiety, but it’s -what we all of us have to put up with now and again. Besides, you could -do no good and you might do great harm. Those who know Miss Ewart best -are the ones who ought to have most confidence in her womanly wisdom. -Depend upon it she is perfectly safe. Such a quiet, well-bred girl as -that might go alone unharmed from one end of Europe to the other.” - -Ralph pushed back his chair and paced the room restlessly. “The suspense -is the intolerable part of it,” he said, with a break in his voice. - -“I have good reason to know how hard suspense is to bear,” said -Macneillie. “And yet it’s not the worst, for there’s always a large -mixture of hope in it. Come let us write out your telegram to the -Herefords, it will need careful wording.” - -The next day was Sunday, but the telegraph office was open for two hours -in the morning, and upon the stroke of eight Ralph stood at the door -with his message to Ireland. He returned again between half past nine -and ten and waited drearily in the office for the reply. But the deep -bell of the cathedral boomed out the hour and still no answer came. - -“Open again between five and six, sir,” said the official, showing -him to the door. And Ralph, miserably depressed, made his way to the -cathedral. Here for a time he found comfort; but during the psalms the -verger ushered a late-comer into the stall exactly facing him. He saw at -a glance that it was Sir Matthew, and after that there was no more peace -for him, but a dire struggle with his angry heart. - -After service was over, Sir Matthew joined him in the Close, greeting -him just as if nothing had happened. - -“Did you telegraph to the Herefords?” he asked. - -“Yes, but as yet there is no reply,” said Ralph. - -“And I have not heard back from Dresden. We shall both hear this -afternoon. Come and dine with me at eight o’clock and you shall hear the -result.” - -“Thank you,” said Ralph. “But we leave for Nottingham by the eight ten.” - -“Come to lunch now then.” - -But to sit down and eat with the man who had wrought such havoc in his -life and had driven Evereld to take such a desperate step was more than -Ralph could endure. He excused himself, promising, however, to come -round at six o’clock to the hotel and report any news he might receive -from Ireland. His face when he arrived was not reassuring; he looked -pale and miserable. - -“What news?” said Sir Matthew eagerly. - -“None,” said Ralph, handing the telegram to his godfather. The words -struck a chill to Sir Matthew’s heart. - -_“Know nothing about her at all. Imagined she was in Switzerland still -with her guardian.”_ - -“I have had a similar one from Dresden,” he replied. “She is not there -and wrote last nearly a month ago.” - -“Is there any clue whatever in the letter she left behind for you?” - suggested Ralph, with a strong desire to see it. Sir Matthew took from -his breast-pocket a methodically arranged packet, and drew out Evereld’s -note. - -“I can find no clue in it,” he said, “perhaps you may be able to do so.” - -Ralph eagerly read the letter. There was not the slightest hint as to -the direction Evereld had taken, but something in the quiet assurance, -the guarded, dignified tone of the short note brought him comfort. It -revealed a side of his old play-fellow’s character which had hitherto -lain dormant. - -“Well,” said Sir Matthew sharply. “You look relieved. What do you make -of it? Where do you think she has gone?” - -“I have no idea,” said Ralph. “The letter tells nothing. Still she -wouldn’t have written so calmly and confidently if her plans had not -been well thought out. Evereld is not impulsive. Perhaps she had met -friends while you were travelling and has gone to them.” - -“No, I had a telegram in London from Bruce Wylie who went over to -Champéry on purpose to interview a school friend she had met. She -had heard nothing whatever about her. I shall have to set a private -detective to work.” - -Ralph flushed. - -“You would surely not do that?” he said quickly. - -“Why not? I must find her. And I intend to bring her back to my house.” - -“Well,” said Ralph, “the one thing that remains absolutely certain is -that when Evereld says a thing she means it with her whole heart. She -will certainly appeal to the Lord Chancellor, and I don’t think he will -compel her to return to your house when he has heard the whole truth.” - -“Do you dare to assert that I have not been in every respect a faithful -and kind guardian to her? I who was her father’s oldest friend?” - -“I assert nothing,” said Ralph bitterly, as he moved to the door. “But I -can’t forget what your friendship for my father led to.” - -Sir Matthew made no reply, but turned abruptly to the window, the -colour mounting to his temples. The closing of the door and the sound of -Ralph’s retreating footsteps came as a relief. - -“If I had but guessed what a serpent’s tooth that boy would prove to -me I would have shipped him straight off to the Colonies instead of -educating him,” he thought to himself. “I was weak--pitiably weak! It -was the look of Denmead’s face as he lay there dead that unmanned me. -There was the ghastly quiet of the country, too, and the child with his -old-world politeness, and that old lawyer with his suspicions. If I had -only been sensible enough to stamp out all sentiment and do the -practical thing at once my plans would not be thwarted now by a chit of -a girl who has lost her heart to a penniless actor.” - -His face grew dark with anxiety and trouble as he reflected on the -desperate position of his own affairs should Evereld succeed in baffling -him. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - - - “When a friend asks, there is no to-morrow.” - - George Herbert. - -|When Evereld parted with the kindly American girl and Dick Lewisham a -sense of great loneliness for a time overwhelmed her. She looked in a -dazed way at the various delicacies displayed in the prettily arranged -shop, wondering whether she would ever feel hungry again. Having at last -selected some dainty little meat patties, and two crescent-shaped rolls, -she walked on to the next halting-place of the electric tram, and, after -a very brief waiting, found herself, to her great relief, comfortably -installed in a corner seat _en route_ for Vevey. She had judged it more -prudent to take the tram, knowing that she would more easily be traced -had she gone direct from Territet station to Geneva by the railroad or -by steamer. When once they were safely out of Montreux, and the risk of -meeting any of the visitors in the Rigi Vaudois was practically over, -she breathed more freely, even finding time to enjoy the lovely glimpses -of the lake and the mountains as they sped through Clarens and the -pretty surroundings of Vevey. - -Arrived at length in that quaint old town, she was set down at the -railway station, where she prudently took her ticket only as far as -Lausanne, travelling second class because she knew that she was less -liable to find herself alone, and had heard the continental saying that -only fools and Englishmen travel first class. It was during the twenty -minutes’ waiting time at Lausanne that her perplexities began. - -A kindly looking English lady, seeing that she seemed to be alone, sat -down beside her and began to talk about the weather and the scenery. -Finally she hazarded a direct question. - -“Have you a long journey before you?” - -“Not very long,” said Evereld, colouring, as she glanced inquiringly -into her companion’s face, as though to make sure what sort of person -she was. In one sense the look reassured her, for the most suspicious -mortal could not have credited this mild-faced lady with evil design, -but, on the other hand, she was evidently one of those inquisitive -mortals who delight in asking questions, in season and out of season. - -“I am going myself to Geneva, if that is your direction we might perhaps -travel together,” said the lady pleasantly. - -“Thank you,” said Evereld, reflecting that after all she could baffle -the questions by reading when once they had started. - -“It is not so easy for a girl to travel alone abroad as it is in -England,” said her companion, looking curiously at Evereld’s girlish -face. “I almost wonder your parents allow it.” - -“I have no parents,” said Evereld. - -“Indeed, and have you been staying with friends?” - -“Yes,” said Evereld. “And I am on my way now to some other friends.” - Murmuring an excuse she sprang up and went to the window to see whether -the train was nearly ready. - -“This is dreadful,” she reflected. “If we talk much longer she will drag -the whole story out of me. I will buy some papers and try to make her -read.” - -“You are sure your luggage is all right?” exclaimed the good lady the -moment she returned. - -“Quite sure, thank you,” said Evereld, clasping her hand bag closer and -trembling lest she should be asked some quite unanswerable question. - -At length an official began vigorously to ring the great bell in the -doorway and to shout the intelligence that passengers for Geneva and -various other places must take their seats. - -“Can I help you?” said Evereld, politely offering to take a basket from -the large heap of possessions with which her neighbour was surrounded. -She was startled to feel something jump inside it in an uncanny way. - -“Thank you if you would. To tell the truth it is my little dog in there, -but he is such a good traveller, I don’t think you will mind him.” - -“Shall I say that I detest dogs and so escape to another carriage?” - reflected Evereld smiling to herself. But on the whole in spite of the -tiresome questions she rather liked this good English lady and found -a certain comfort in her presence when once they were installed in the -train. Her spirits rose as they travelled further and further from the -Mactavishs, she even grew hungry, made short work of the provisions -she had bought, parried her friend’s questions skilfully by counter -questions about the pet dog and finally took refuge in “Pride and -Prejudice” and in the delicious humour of Jane Austen’s characters -forgot all her dangers and difficulties till the train steamed into -Geneva station. - -“I suppose your friends will meet you?” asked the talkative lady as she -fastened the dog up in his basket. - -“No,” said Evereld, “but I shall manage very well now, thank you,” and -with rather hurried farewells she sprang from the carriage not offering -to carry the basket any further but promising to send a porter. -Fortunately her companion was in such a bustle with the effort of -collecting her various belongings that she did not notice the English -girl’s somewhat abrupt departure, and Evereld with a joyful sense of -escape made her way to the outside of the station and getting into one -of the little public carriages drove off to make her purchases in the -town. - -Having bought an ulster and a warm shawl which made a very respectable -show when put into her cloak straps she went back to the station, dined -in a leisurely way and passed the rest of her two hours’ waiting time as -patiently as she could. By six o’clock she was safely in the train once -more, with the happy knowledge that she had no more changes that night, -and would arrive at Lyons in rather more than four hours. Her heart -danced for joy as she reflected that by the next afternoon she might -have safely reached Bride O’Ryan and Aimée Magnay, her greatest friends, -in Mrs. Magnay’s old home in Auvergne. That was the safe refuge towards -which she was steering her course, that was the thought which had darted -into her mind on the previous evening when she had decided that flight -was the only thing under the circumstances. - -Later on however when darkness had stolen like a pall over the -landscape, when weary with want of sleep and worn out with excitement -and anxiety, the glad sense of escape died away, she grew unutterably -sad-hearted and forlorn. - -At the other end of the carriage two men wrangled together over the -vexed question of having the window open or shut. A fat French lady went -to sleep and snored monotonously, just opposite her a young couple -on their honeymoon laughed and chatted in low tones with much outward -demonstration, while beyond a young mother sat with her baby in her -arms, an air of placid content on her face. - -Never before had Evereld felt such a unit, never before had she realised -how really alone she was in the world. She shuddered to think what would -have become of her if Ralph had never crossed her path. And then as the -engine throbbed on through the darkness all those terrors of imagining -from which her healthy uneventful life had so far been exempt, laid -strong hold upon her, and made the night hideous. - -She saw Ralph lying ill and forlorn in a fever hospital. She saw him -lying with pale lips and hands folded in the awful calm of death. She -saw herself alone and brokenhearted, struggling to make something of her -maimed life and failing in the attempt. She saw Sir Matthew tracking her -out and carrying her back to the house in Queen Anne’s Gate. Worst of -all she saw herself standing in church and passively allowing herself to -be married to Bruce Wylie. - -She had just reached this climax in her miserable thoughts when as the -train stopped at the wayside station the door of the carriage was opened -and in came a very aged priest whose rusty black raiment had an old and -somewhat countrified look. His thin, worn face might have been stern in -youth, but the passing years had mellowed it, and like Southey’s holly -tree what had once been sharp and aggressive had grown tender as it more -nearly approached heaven. His keen eyes seemed to take in the occupants -of the carriage in one glance and he at once divined that the sad -little English girl in the corner was for some reason feeling altogether -desolate. He took the vacant place beside her and began to unwrap a -package which he carried. It proved to be a cage containing a bullfinch, -and Evereld watched with interest the scared fluttering of the bird and -the gentle reassuring face of the old man as he tried to pacify it. - -“It is its first journey,” he said glancing at her. “The unaccustomed -has terrors for us all. It will soon understand that it is quite safe. -Eh, Fifi? Should I let any harm happen to thee, thou foolish one?” - -“Can it sing any tune?” said Evereld. “We had one in London that sang a -bit of the National Anthem.” - -“And Fifi is just as patriotic,” said the old priest laughing, “he will -pipe two lines of _Partant pour la Syrie_, I am taking him to cheer up -one of my parishioners who is lying ill at Lyons. He will think Fifi -from the Presbytère almost as good as one of his own friends from the -village. And when the lad is better why he will bring back this winged -missionary to me. My old housekeeper would not hear of parting with Fifi -altogether, he is the life of the house she says.” - -The bird growing now more accustomed to its strange surroundings piped -cheerfully the familiar air of the refrain - - “Amour a la plus belle - - Honneur au plus vaillant.” - -“Ah! he sings better than ours ever did,” said Evereld thinking of the -bird Ralph had brought from Whinhaven. - -“And he is more tractable than a choir boy,” said the old priest -laughing. “Does he sing too loud and tire one’s head--it is but to cover -his cage and he is as quiet as any mouse.” - -After that they drifted into talk about life in rural France, and by the -time they reached Lyons Evereld felt that the old man had become quite a -friend. - -The other passengers scrambled out of the carriage each intent on his -own affairs, but the priest helped her courteously with her roll of -cloaks. - -“Would you mind telling me what is the best and most quiet hotel to go -to?” she asked. “I cannot get on any further till nine o’clock to-morrow -morning. I am on my way to stay with friends near Clermont-Ferrand.” - -“You are over young my child,” he said, “to travel unprotected. But -I know it is not in England as with us, the young _demoiselles_ have -greater liberty. The best plan will be for you to go to an Hotel close -by. As it happens I know the manager and his wife and if you will permit -me I will walk with you to the door, and ask them to take good care of -you. I think you are like Fifi, not over well-accustomed to travelling.” - -“Thank you very much,” said Evereld gratefully. “Now I shall feel safe -indeed.” - -The old priest piloted her across the crowded platform and having given -her luggage to the hotel porter himself took her to the Manager’s little -office where Madame, a comely and pleasant looking woman, sat at her -desk busily casting up accounts. Her face lighted up at sight of the old -man. - -“A thousand welcomes Father Nicolas, it is long since you paid us a -visit.” - -“You are well,” said the old priest, “I need not ask that, for it is -easily to be seen, and busy as usual. Is your husband in?” - -“He will be desolated, but he has gone to his Club.” - -“Ah, well, I will call and see him to-morrow. In the meantime will you -kindly do your utmost to make this young English lady feel at home and -comfortable. She is unable to travel further till the 8.59 to-morrow -morning. I leave you in good hands,” he said, taking kindly leave of -Evereld, “Madame has a great reputation for taking good care of her -guests.” - -“It will be my greatest pleasure,” said the manager’s wife. -“Mademoiselle looks tired and will doubtless like to go to her room.” - -Evereld assented and toiled upstairs after the brisk capable looking -manageress who chatted pleasantly as they went. - -“He has the best of hearts, old Father Nicolas,” she said. “I have known -him since I was a child. There is not a living thing I verily believe -that he does not love. It was a sight to see him standing on a winter’s -morning in the garden of the Presbytère and feeding the birds before he -went to Mass.” - -“Where does he live?” asked Evereld. - -“At Arvron, a little village where there are many poor. His people adore -him. This will be your room, mademoiselle, and shall I send you up a -little hot soup to take the last thing, or will you rather come down to -the _salle à manger?_” - -“I should like it here please,” said Evereld. “And you won’t let me -over-sleep myself and miss the train to-morrow. I am so tired, I think I -should sleep the clock round if no one called me.” - -“I will call you myself,” said the manageress. “It is a busy life here -and I am always an early riser. _Bon soir, mademoiselle_. I hope you -will be quite rested by the morning.” - -“How much easier it has all been than I expected,” thought Evereld, -as she made her preparations for the night. “To think that this time -yesterday I was at Glion and in such a panic lest anything should -prevent my getting away! I wonder whether I had better telegraph to Mrs. -Magnay, and tell her I am on my way to ask her protection? I don’t think -I will. It might lead to my being traced later on, and besides I have no -idea whether there is a telegraph office within reasonable reach of the -Chateau. How I wonder what it will be like.” - -Her reflections were interrupted by the arrival of a pretty young -chambermaid who brought her a basin of the most delicious soup; and long -before midnight she was sound asleep and dreaming of Bride and Aimée. - -She woke up in excellent spirits, chatted with Madame as she breakfasted -on the coffee and rolls, which the pretty chambermaid brought to her -bedroom, and set off on the next stage of her journey full of hope for -the future and relief that all had passed off so well. At that very -minute Sir Matthew Mactavish was ruefully regarding her empty room at -Glion and wondering how he could possibly trace her out. But Evereld was -too busy to trouble herself much over the thought of his well-deserved -discomfiture. Every one seemed intent on being kind to her here. The -Manageress was almost motherly in her solicitude, the chambermaid waited -on her as though service were a pleasure, and the hotel porter neglected -the other passengers in the omnibus until he had seen her safely -established in the _salle d’attente_ with her possessions. Here to her -surprise she found old Father Nicolas reading his breviary. - -“It was too early yet to see the sick lad I told you of,” he explained, -“so I thought I would start you on your way, if you will permit me the -pleasure.” - -“I shall never forget all your kindness,” she said gratefully. “I was -feeling so dreadfully alone till you got into the train last night.” - -“Well it is no bad thing to learn what loneliness means,” said the old -man thoughtfully. “Nothing so well teaches you to go through life on -the look out for the lonely, that you may serve them. Ha! They come to -announce your train. I will inquire if you have a change of carriages at -Montbrison.” He hurried away, returning in a minute or two to help her -with her packages. - -“Yes, I am sorry to say they will turn you out at Montbrison, but you -will have only ten minutes waiting and no difficulty at all in that -quiet place. I see M. Dubochet and his two daughters--very pleasant -people--will you go in the same carriage?” - -And so with a few pleasant words of introduction to Mademoiselle -Dubochet, Father Nicolas bade Evereld God-speed, and as the train moved -off she looked out wistfully after her kindly old friend, wondering -whether she should ever again come across him. - -The clock was striking five when after an uneventful journey Evereld -found herself outside the station at Clermont-Ferrand, giving orders -to a somewhat rough-looking Auvergnat to drive her to the Château de -Mabillon. The man seemed inclined to hold out for a certain sum for -the journey and as Evereld had no notion of the distance, she -was determined to make no rash promises. It would never do to be -extravagant now, for there was no saying how long her last allowance -would have to supply her wants. - -“M. Magnay will settle with you when we reach the château,” she -said with a little touch of dignity in her manner. The man instantly -subsided, feeling that he had no stranger to deal with, but a friend of -the family. And Claude Magnay’s name was quite sufficient to assure him -that he would receive his rightful fare, but not the extortionate sum he -had demanded of the new comer. - -The little incident had however depressed Evereld. She had spoken -confidently to the man but now a qualm of doubt came over her. She was -about to cast herself on the mercy of Aimée’s parents, and after all she -knew little about them: on their occasional visits to Southbourne, she -had gone with Aimée and Bride to spend Saturday afternoon with them, and -she had been three or four times to their London house, but she realised -now that she was going to ask a very great favour of them, and that -possibly they might not care to shelter her from her lawful guardian. - -These thoughts lasted all the time they were driving through the narrow -and dingy streets of Clermont-Ferrand, and she fancied that the lava -built houses seemed to frown upon her and to assure her that she was -an unwelcome visitor. Before long however they had left the town behind -them and were driving through the most beautiful country, and in -that sunny smiling landscape it was impossible to give way to anxious -thoughts. The glowing colours of the autumn leaves, the picturesque -vineyards, the river with its gleaming water reflecting the blue sky, -and the strange irregular mountains which rose on every hand filled her -with delight. - -The sun had set when at length they reached a narrower and more secluded -valley; Evereld fancied they must be getting near to Mabillon and -inquired of her driver. - -“It is two kilometres to the chateau,” said the Auvergnat. Then after a -few minutes he again turned round from the box seat. “Madame Magnay and -her daughter are down at the mill yonder,” he said. - -“Oh, stop then, and let me speak to them,” said Evereld eagerly; and -springing from the carriage she hastened towards Aimée who quickly -perceived her and ran forward with a cry of joyful astonishment. - -“This is a delightful surprise. Are you travelling back through France? -Mother, you remember Evereld?” - -Mrs. Magnay gave her a charming greeting, containing all the warmth and -animation which English greetings so often lack. - -“I remember Evereld very well, and am more delighted than I can say to -welcome her to my dear old home.” - -“You are very good,” said Evereld shyly, “I have come to you because -I was in great trouble, and I thought--I felt sure--you would help -and advise me. It is impossible for me to stay longer with Sir Matthew -Mactavish.” - -Her eyes were full of tears, and Mrs. Magnay taking her hand began to -lead her towards the carriage. - -“You are quite tired out, poor child,” she said caressingly. “We are -very sorry for your trouble, but very glad that it brought you to -Mabillon. This evening you shall tell us all about it. Do you see that -pretty girl waving her hand to us from the cottage door? That is my dear -old Javotte’s granddaughter. Aimée has told you how she starved herself -in the siege of Paris that we might have food enough. Dear old woman!” - -“And here is one of the best views of Mont D’Or,” said Aimée, “only the -light is fading so fast you can’t properly see it.” - -Chatting thus, they soon reached the old château, a great part of which -had now been carefully restored, and Mrs. Magnay seeing how pale and -worn her guest looked, determined to take her straight upstairs. - -“Run Aimée,” she said, “and tell your father to settle with the driver, -and then bring a cup of tea for Evereld. I shall take her to Bride’s -room, she will be more snug in there I think.” - -So Evereld was taken straight to her friend, and then while Mrs. Magnay -herself kindled the wood fire, and daintily piled up fir-cones to catch -the blaze, Bride made her rest in the snuggest of easy chairs, and she -had very soon told them the whole story. - -“I know nothing of English law,” said Mrs. Magnay. “Are you sure you can -put yourself under the protection of the Lord Chancellor?” - -“I think so,” said Evereld. “Don’t you remember, Bride, how we used -to tease you about your answer in that examination we had, when you -wrote--‘The Lord Chancellor must be a very busy man for Blackstone says -he is the natural guardian of all orphans, idiots and lunatics.’” - -“To be sure I do,” said Bride laughing. “Well if Blackstone says so, you -must surely be right.” - -“I will go and talk over matters with my husband, and see what he -advises, and in the meantime, Bride, I strongly advise you to put -Evereld to bed. She looks to me quite tired out. Rest and forget your -troubles, dear. No one can molest you at Mabillon, and you say that Sir -Matthew can have no clue to your whereabouts.” - -“No, he will naturally think I have gone to Mrs. Hereford, or to my old -governess at Dresden,” said Evereld. “To-morrow I must write to Mrs. -Hereford and ask her to let Ralph know that I am safe. I am so afraid he -may hear that I have disappeared and be anxious about me.” - -“Write to him,” said Bride, “and let Doreen forward your letter.” - -In the meantime Mrs. Magnay told the whole story to her husband, and -it was decided that he should put the case straight into the hands of -a London solicitor. Evereld, being consulted as to the one she would -prefer, unhesitatingly named Ralph’s old friend Mr. Marriott of -Basinghall Street, and as Claude Magnay knew that she could not have -mentioned a more trustworthy and efficient man he wrote to him and made -her on the following morning also write with a full description of all -that had passed, of her suspicions with regard to her fortune and of her -wish for a thorough investigation of her affairs. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - - - “No action whether foul or fair, - - Is ever done, but it leaves somewhere - - A record, written by fingers ghostly, - - As a blessing or a curse, and mostly - - In the greater weakness or greater strength - - Of the acts that follow it, till at length - - The wrongs of ages are redressed, - - And the justice of God made manifest.” - - The Golden Legend. - -|Ralph’s anxieties came to an end while the Company were fulfilling -their engagement at Nottingham. For one never to be forgotten day there -arrived a letter from Mrs. Hereford, enclosing a long letter on foreign -paper from Evereld. The sheet bore no address and she did not mention -the name of the friends who were taking care of her, but she told him -all about their kindness, and that Bride O’Ryan was with her, that she -was quite safe from molestation and in the depths of the country far -away among mountains and woods, where neither Sir Matthew nor Bruce -Wylie could trouble her peace. - -Later on came news from Mrs. Hereford that Evereld’s affairs had -been put into the hands of Mr. Marriott, and that Mr. Hereford was in -consultation with the old lawyer and would do everything he possibly -could: offering, if it were thought well, to become Evereld’s guardian -and trustee should the Lord Chancellor decide to deprive Sir Matthew of -the Trusteeship. After that for some time came no news at all. - -At last, growing anxious, Ralph made a hurried expedition to town -late one Saturday night, and sought out his old friend Mr. Marriott on -Sunday. - -He could not however get anything very definite out of him. Mr. Marriott -was always reserved and cautious, but he set him quite at rest as far as -Evereld was concerned. - -“She is perfectly safe and Sir Matthew can’t touch her, for she is now a -ward of Court,” he said reassuringly. “I am not yet at liberty to speak -to you as to details. I think however your old prejudice against Sir -Matthew Mactavish was not without foundation. Unless I am much mistaken, -he will soon be unmasked. Now to turn to quite another matter;--I -understand from my client Lady Fenchurch, that you were present at -Edinburgh last summer and met Sir Roderick. Tell me as carefully as you -can all that passed while you were present.” - -Ralph related all that he could remember. - -“We have exactly the same sort of evidence from many other witnesses of -similar scenes,” said the lawyer. “It will not be worth while calling -you to appear at the trial. If you had witnessed any sort of violence, -physical violence, we should subpoena you at once.” - -“When does the case come on?” said Ralph. - - “Possibly next week, but there -is always great uncertainty as to the exact date.” - -Ralph’s thoughts naturally turned to Macneillie and he remembered his -words about suspense being tolerable because it was always so largely -mixed with hope. - -The lawyer, however, who knew nothing of his reasons for taking interest -in the Fenchurch case, fancied the shadow on his face was caused by -anxiety for Evereld Ewart, and began to talk in a kindly way of her -future. - -“Of course,” he said, “I can understand that under the circumstances it -is hard for you not to be allowed even to know where Miss Ewart is. But -it is safer that you should only communicate with her through Mr. and -Mrs. Hereford. Who can tell that Sir Matthew may not pounce down on you -again as he did at Rilchester. You know that she is safe and well and -for the present that must suffice you. I have good reason to believe -that the world will soon see Sir Matthew Mactavish in his true colours, -and what will happen then no one can foretell. There are storms ahead, -but I think they are storms which will at any rate clear your way.” - -After this enigmatical speech Ralph went back to his work, somewhat -perplexed, yet on the whole relieved and hopeful. There followed ten -uneventful days and then one morning at Brighton, when he came down to -breakfast and opened the paper, the first thing that caught his eye was -a brief paragraph just before the leading article. - -“In the Divorce Division yesterday the President and a Common Jury had -before them the case of Fenchurch v. Fenchurch and Mackay. The adultery -was not denied but the evidence failed to show legal cruelty on the part -of the defendant. His Lordship was therefore unable to grant a decree -nisi, but ordered a judicial separation with costs, and directed the -amount to be paid into Court in a fortnight. Lady Fenchurch is well -known to the public under her stage name of Miss Christine Greville.” - -“She is not yet free from that brute then,” thought Ralph, a sick -feeling of disappointment stealing over him as he realised how this news -would darken his friend’s sky, how it would for ever cheat him of his -heart’s desire. Hastily turning the paper to read the longer report, he -found a whole column with the sensational heading, “Theatrical Divorce -Suit,” and feeling how it would all grate upon Macneillie, longed to -keep the newspaper from him. “He shall at any rate have his breakfast -in peace,” he reflected, and crushing the paper in his hands he flung it -into the fire. - -The blaze had only just died down when Macneillie entered. He seemed -in unusually good spirits; they had had good houses for three nights, -moreover the weather was bright and clear, and the autumn sunshine of -the south coast seemed doubly delightful after a gloomy tour in the -midlands. Ralph thought he had never seen him look so young and buoyant -and hopeful as just at that moment. - -“Nothing like Brighton air for making a man hungry,” said Macneillie -devouring a plateful of porridge and helping himself to eggs and bacon. -“Have they brought round the letters from the theatre?” - -Ralph handed him a budget, hoping that it would occupy him and make him -forget the paper! But there were no letters of importance and Macneillie -suddenly remembering that there might by chance be news of the Fenchurch -case, which he was aware would probably come on during November, looked -eagerly round the table. - -“No newspaper?” he said. “How’s that? The Smith boy must have played us -false.” - -“I will run out and get one,” said Ralph. “Will you have any of the -local ones, too?” - -“Yes, let us see what they have to say about ‘The Winter’s Tale,’” said -Macneillie. - -Ralph disappeared and Macneillie having finished his breakfast rang for -the maid to clear. - -“Have you taken our newspaper to any of the other lodgers by mistake?” - he asked, beginning to feel impatient for it. - -“No, sir,” said the maid. “It’s in here, at least--” looking round in -surprise, “I know it was in here. Mr. Denmead must have taken it away. I -saw him open it when I brought in the coffee.” - -Then in a flash it dawned upon Macneillie that Ralph had made away with -the paper because it contained bad news. - -“The boy couldn’t stand seeing me come upon it suddenly,” he thought to -himself. “He wanted me to breakfast first. No one but Ralph would have -thought of that! It is the worst news. I must be ready to bear it.” - -He stood by the window looking out at the great expanse of sea with its -blue surface crisply ruffled by the fresh wind. Away to the left the -graceful outline of the chain pier seemed to speak of old fashioned -Brighton, and it took him back to a time at least seventeen years ago -in the very earliest days of his betrothal to Christine. How vividly the -very tiniest details of the past came back to him. It had been in the -days of aestheticism and high art colouring, a style which had suited -Christine to perfection. He could remember, too, how at one of the -little old-fashioned stalls he had bought her a dirk-shaped Scotch shawl -brooch with a cairngorm stone in it; they had been far too poor in those -days to dream of diamonds. - -“She was only a child of seventeen,” he thought to himself, “younger -than Evereld Ewart; and I was not perhaps so very much older than that -young fellow over the way. Yes, I was though--it is Ralph! How slowly he -is walking. I believe the boy cares for me, he hates to be the bearer of -ill news.” - -Ralph’s usually cheerful face was curiously over-cast; he put down the -papers, muttered something about “going to Brill’s for a swim,” and made -for the door. - -“Rehearsal at eleven, don’t forget,” said Macneillie, taking up the -London paper with a steady hand. - -He was glad to be alone, and in the midst of his grievous pain he felt -grateful to Ralph for that little touch of considerateness which had -spared him to some extent,--that strategem which had deferred his evil -day. For as he had said his suspense had been largely mixed with hope, -he had tried to face the other alternative but his very sense of justice -had inclined him to be hopeful. It surely could not be that after these -long years of suffering there should be no release? Max Hereford’s -words had chilled him for the time, but spite of them the hope had -predominated. Now hope lay dead,--remorselessly slain by this unequal -English law, which as a Scotsman seemed to him so extraordinary so -intolerably unfair. - -When a law is manifestly unjust,--when it flatly contradicts the -foundation truth of Christianity that in Christ all are equal, that -there is neither bond nor free, male nor female--there comes to every -one of strong passions the temptation to break the law. It is such a -hard thing to wait patiently for the slow tedious process of reform, -that the headstrong and the impetuous and the self-indulgent, and all -who have not learnt a stern self-control, will often take the law into -their own hands and defy the world. Macneillie reaped now the benefit of -long years of self-repression and suffering. He saw very clearly that it -is only justifiable to break the law of the land when it interferes with -a higher duty; that to break even a bad law because it interfered with -one’s cherished desire could never be right; that to admit such a course -to be right must sap the very foundations of society. - -He saw it all plainly enough, yet, being human, could not at once shake -himself free from the haunting consciousness that it lay in his power -to choose present happiness, that in such a case the world would quickly -condone the offence, and--greatest temptation of all--that he might -shield Christine from the difficulties and dangers that were but too -likely to assail one in her position. - -Fortunately he had but little spare time on his hands, it was already a -quarter to eleven and the mere habit of rigorous punctuality came to his -help. - -He walked down the parade, and the fresh air and the salt sea breeze -invigorated him, his mind went back, sadly enough, yet with greater -safety, from the future to the past, he seemed to be young once more -and crossing this very Steyne with a tall golden-haired girl, who still -retained something of the simplicity and innocence which she had brought -with her from her quiet school in the country. She was beside him as he -passed through Castle Square, beside him as he walked up North Street, -beside him as he went along the Colonnade and entered the stage door of -the very same theatre where they had acted together all those years ago. - -There was a rehearsal of “Romeo and Juliet” chiefly for the sake of -Ralph, who was the understudy for Romeo and was obliged to play the part -that evening owing to the illness of the Juvenile Lead--John Carrington. - -Though of course perfect in his words, he needed a good deal of -instruction, and Macneillie who always found him a pupil after his own -heart, receptive, quick, eager to learn, and with that touch of genius -which is as rare as it is delightful, forgot for a time all his troubles -in the pleasure of teaching. And if, after the night’s performance was -over and his satisfaction with his pupil’s success had had time to pass -into the background, the old temptation came back once more, it came -back with lessened power and found a stronger man to grapple with it. - -No word passed between master and pupil as to the bad news the morning -had brought, except that as Ralph, somewhat sooner than usual, bade the -Manager goodnight, Macneillie with his most kindly look said to him:-- - -“Your Romeo is the best thing you have done yet. The saying goes, you -know, that no man has the power to act Romeo till he looks too old for -the part; you have done something towards falsifying that axiom, and -have cheered a dark day for me.” - -“I owe everything to you, Governor,” said Ralph gripping his hand; -and as he turned away he felt that he would have given up all and been -content to play walking gentleman for the rest of his days if only -Macneillie could be spared this grievous trial that had come upon him. -He prayed for a reform of the law as he had never prayed in his life. - -Left alone, Macneillie paced silently up and down the room, deep in -thought. At length in the small hours of the night, he took pen and -paper and wrote the following letter:-- - -“My dear Christine: - -“It is impossible after our talk last summer in Scotland, to let such a -time as this pass by in silence. You well know that I love you, nor -will I pretend ignorance of your love for me. Let us be honest and face -facts;--truth makes even what we are called on to bear more endurable. -It is because I love and honour you that I write to bid you farewell. -Let us at least be law-abiding citizens, even though the law be a -one-sided, unjust law. - -“I believe from my heart, that Christ, though disallowing divorce, with -its natural sequence another marriage, for all the trivial reasons which -the Jews were in the habit of putting forward, distinctly permitted -them where a marriage had been broken by the faithlessness of a guilty -partner. And assuredly He never set up one standard of morality for men -and another for women; His words must apply equally to both. - -“Doubtless some day the gross injustice of the existing English law will -be removed, and as in Scotland there will be one and the same law for -men and women in this matter. For that day I wait and hope. For many -reasons I do not ask now to see you. Is it not better that we should not -meet? I am convinced that it is safer and wiser that we should--both for -our own sakes and for the sake of the profession--keep apart. Many may -think this mere old-fashioned prejudice, but I believe I should serve -you better at a distance than by dangling about you and so giving a -handle to those scandal-mongers who love nothing so dearly as to make -free with the name of some well-known actress. - -“I dare not write more, save just to beg and pray that if there -should ever be a time when you are in any danger or difficulty, and -others--better fitted to serve because more indifferent--are not at -hand, you will then turn to me for help. - -“God bless you. Good bye. - -“Yours ever, - -“Hugh Macneillie.” - -The letter reached Christine at Monkton Verney and the sight of it made -the colour rush to her pale face. What she hoped, what she feared she -scarcely knew herself, her heart was all in tumult. She read it in -feverish haste, then again slowly and carefully, and yet a third time -through fast gathering tears. How strangely it contrasted with the -so-called love letters she had received from some men! And yet how -infinitely more it moved her by its calmness and self-restraint! - -“I was unworthy of you in the past,” she thought. “But God helping me I -will try to be more worthy now.” - -And without further delay,--dreading perhaps to put off the difficult -task--she wrote him a letter which had in it the fervour of a new and -strong resolve, and the beauty of a perfectly sincere response of soul -to soul. - -After that she plunged straight into business, and about noon sought -out Miss Claremont and, walking with her in the quiet grounds near the -ruined priory, told her of the plans she had made for the future. - -“I have as you know made over the management of the theatre to Barry -Sterne. He and his wife have been very good to me for many years, and it -is better now that I should not again be burdened with all the cares of -a Manageress. He proposes that I should take the part of the heroine in -the new play that he is bringing out in January and I have just written -to him accepting the proposal.” - -“Are you fit yet for work?” asked Miss Claremont looking a little -doubtfully into her companion’s face; it was curiously beautiful this -morning, but not with the beauty of physical strength. Indeed Christine -had never looked capable of bearing any very great strain and the last -few days had taxed her powers to the utmost. - -“I must get to work,” she said quietly. “There is no safety in idleness. -How odd it seems that a physical break-down comes generally through -overwork, and a moral break-down through too little work.” - -“When must you leave us?” asked Miss Claremont. - -“I think I had better go next week, and if you will keep Charlie a few -days longer I can settle into that flat in Victoria Street which I have -the refusal of. I shall manage very well there with my maid, and with -Dugald to wait on Charlie; it will be necessary to live a quiet life for -many reasons.” - -Miss Claremont assented, nor was it possible to raise any objection -to her companion’s plans. But she could not help secretly wondering -whether, with all her good intentions, Christine was strong enough -either in health or in character to live a life so beset with -difficulties. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - - -“_It seems indeed one of the deepest of moral laws, that under the -stress of trial men will strongly tend at least to be whatever in -quieter hours they have made themselves._”--“The Spirit of Discipline.” - -Dean Paget. - -|December was now half over and Macneillie’s company had got as far as -Southampton in their progress along the south coast. It was no slight -pleasure to Ralph to find himself back in his old neighbourhood, and to -act in the very theatre where long ago his father had taken him to see -Washington in “The Bells.” He had heard nothing more from Mr. Marriott, -and Evereld’s letters contained no reference to business matters, but -were taken up with descriptions of life in the French country house, and -of the happy time she was having with Bride O’Ryan. - -It happened one day that as there was no rehearsal Ralph was able to -walk over to Whinhaven. There were however very few of his old friends -left in the neighbourhood. - -Sir John and Lady Tresidder were in India, pretty Mabel Tresidder had -married an officer and he had no idea of her present whereabouts, while -even in the village there were many changes. Langston his coast-guard -friend had got promotion and others had left the place or had died. He -felt like a returned ghost as he wandered about the well-known lanes, -and glanced at the familiar garden and at the unchanged outlines of the -Rectory. A little child was playing with a pet rabbit on the lawn -just as he had played in old times. He stood for a minute at the gate -watching it with a strange feeling at his heart which was not all pain, -but rather a sort of tender regret and a glad sense of gratitude for -a happy childhood of which no one could ever rob him. For the rest his -return was like all such returns. He found the church unaltered, the -houses bereft of some of their old inhabitants and the church-yard more -full. - -Ralph however was not a man who liked to linger among graves, he stood -only for a minute by the tomb of his father and mother, and passed on -to that little nook in the park which they had always called the “goodly -heritage.” It was as beautiful as ever, even in leafless December. The -robins were singing blithely, the little brook rippled at the foot of -the steep descent, and an adventurous squirrel had stolen out of his -sleeping place to investigate his secret stores and to take a brief -scamper among the branches. Some day, Ralph thought to himself, he would -bring Evereld to see it all, and with that his thoughts travelled -away into a happy future, and as he walked back to the nearest station -regrets for the past were merged in the realisation that the best part -of his life was still before him, and that many of his dark days had -been lived through. - -He was only just in time to catch the train and was hurriedly searching -for a place when he was startled to hear himself called by his Christian -name, and glancing round he saw someone beckoning to him from a carriage -at a little distance. The door was opened for him, he stepped in, and to -his amazement recognised in the dim light the well-known features of -his Godfather. There was no other occupant of the carriage and Ralph -remembering how they had parted at Rilchester would fain have beat a -retreat. - -“You are going to Southampton?” asked Sir Matthew. “I heard Macneillie’s -company was there and I came partly for the sake of seeing you.” - -“Do you bring news of Evereld?” asked Ralph eagerly. - -“No,” said Sir Matthew, “she has succeeded in baffling me, you were right -there. It is to her wilfulness that all my misfortunes are due.” - -Ralph bit his lip to keep back the retort that occurred to him. For -a minute the two looked at each other searchingly. Sir Matthew felt a -sinking of the heart as he noticed the angry light in his companion’s -eyes. Ralph on the other hand was perplexed by the pallor and dejection -of hiss Godfather’s face. The Company promoter seemed quite another man, -he looked old and broken, all his suavity of manner, his business-like, -capable air had vanished. - -“I am ruined,” he said; “worse than ruined--I am disgraced. At any -moment I may be arrested unless I can succeed in leaving the country -unnoticed.” - -Ralph listened to this startling announcement with an impassive face. He -hardened his heart against the man who had dealt harshly with him. - -“I suppose it means,” he said, “that another of your Companies has -failed and that this time you have suffered yourself, besides ruining -hundreds as you ruined my father.” - -“God knows how I regretted his losses,” said Sir Matthew and for the -time there was a ring of genuine feeling in his voice. “It was for that -reason I adopted you, that I educated you, that I took you straight to -my own home. Have you forgotten that?” - -“Sir, you never gave me a chance of forgetting it,” said Ralph bitterly, -all his worst self called out by contact with this man whom he detested. -“Had I listened to your temptation I should now have been pledged to -become a money-grubbing priest, a trader in holy things, a disgrace to -the church.” - -He pulled himself up, recollecting that he was not much to boast of -as it was--but a faulty, irritable mortal, full now of resentment, and -hatred and contemptuous anger. - -“Perhaps you were right,” said Sir Matthew with a sigh. “I admit that I -was harsh with you that day, and you have a right to hit me now that I -am down.” - -Ralph instantly responded to this appeal as the astute Sir Matthew had -calculated. - -“Don’t let us speak of the past,” he said in an altered tone, “I owe you -my education and I try to be grateful for that. Why did you wish to see -me? What do you want with me?” - -“We are almost at Southampton,” said Sir Matthew glancing at the lights -of the town. “Let me come to your rooms with you and I will there -explain matters. Is this St. Denys? They stop for tickets here I -suppose; have the goodness to give mine to the collector.” - -He moved to the further end of the carriage and began to unstrap some -rugs from which he took a highland maud. He was still stooping over the -straps when the tickets wore collected. Then as soon as they moved on -once more he began to swathe himself elaborately in his tartan. - -“Can I see you alone?” he inquired. - -“Yes,” said Ralph, “I am usually with Mr. Macneillie, but he has friends -in Southampton and is staying with them, so I happen to be quite alone.” - -“All the better” said Sir Matthew a touch of his old manner returning to -him. “We will take a cab. I have only this gladstone with me.” - -And accepting Ralph’s offer to carry his bag, he drew the tartan -carefully over the lower part of his face and crossed the platform -swiftly to the cabstand. - -Ralph felt like one in a dream as they drove through the town to his -lodgings, and several times he recalled the day when as a child he had -last left Whinhaven, and Sir Matthew and he had sat thus side by side -driving through the crowded London streets to Queen Anne’s Gate. - -The tables were turned indeed! It occurred to him even more strikingly -as he took Sir Matthew into his snug little sitting-room in Portland -Street and saw him warming his hands at the fire. Recollecting that -his Godfather was a great tea-drinker, he rang at once and ordered the -landlady to make some ready. - -“That will be coals of fire on his head,” he thought to himself with -a smile as he recalled the afternoon when he had sat hungrily in Lady -Mactavish’s great drawing-room privileged only to hand cups to other -people. - -Sir Matthew was curiously silent, and as he sat by the fire seemed -to care for nothing but the warmth and the food. By and bye, however, -glancing at his watch he seemed to remember that his time was limited. - -“You are acting this evening?” he inquired. - -“Yes,” said Ralph, “in the ‘Rivals.’ I must be at the theatre in three -quarters of an hour. Can you tell me now what you want with me?” - -“I want your help,” said Sir Matthew. “At any moment I may be traced. -Though I hope I have eluded pursuit and set them on a wrong track one -can never tell in these days of telegrams and espionage. I don’t ask -much of you. All I want is this; go down to the agents’ and take a place -on board the Havre boat for to-night; let me shelter here until the -passengers are allowed to go on to the steamer and, since you are a -practised hand in making up, help me to disguise myself. I ask nothing -but this.” - -The audacity of the request roused all Ralph’s angry resentment again. -He clenched his hands fiercely and began to pace up and down the room. - -“You ask me to help you to escape,” he said indignantly, “when I am -certain that you richly deserve to be brought to justice!” - -“I ask you,” replied Sir Matthew, “to help your Godfather in his great -need. To show a kindness to your father’s old friend.” - -“You had no kindness for him,” said Ralph. “How can you--how _dare_ you -come to me. You who have desolated homes and broken hearts! Why there -are few things I should like better than to see you arrested and -properly punished.” - -Sir Matthew’s face grew whiter. - -“Would you betray me?” he said, “after I have trusted you?” - -“No,” said Ralph indignantly, “certainly not. But I will not stir a -finger to help you. How can you expect me to forget the way in which you -have wronged Evereld?” - -Sir Matthew’s keen eyes scrutinised him closely for a minute; he was -puzzled to know how much Ralph had learnt of the truth. - -“Wronged her?” he said questioningly, “what do you mean?” - -“I mean that you traded on her innocence and ignorance of the world; -that you tried by the most foul means to force her and frighten her into -marrying Bruce Wylie. That you drove her to escape from you, and that -but for the care and kindness of others she might have got into great -difficulties.” - -A look of relief crossed Sir Matthew’s face. Ralph certainly did not -know that he had speculated with Evereld’s fortune and lost almost the -whole of it. - -“You misjudge me,” he said assuming a tone of some dignity. “I cannot -explain matters to you, but I had the best intentions in desiring to -see Evereld safely married to Bruce Wylie. For the rest, it is highly -probable that you will have your wish. You may even see me arrested -to-night in Southampton. However I shall take good care not to remain -long in custody. It will be merely the change of foregoing the journey -to Havre and instead taking a much less costly ticket for a journey to -the undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveller returns.” - -He stood up and began slowly to button his overcoat. The easy tone in -which he had made the quotation, and the look of quiet determination -on his set face made a very painful impression on Ralph. His anger died -away. Horror and perplexity suddenly overwhelmed him. - -“What am I to do?” he thought desperately. “What would my father have -done? If it were possible to imagine a man like Macneillie coming with -such a request why I would shelter him and help him. Must I do as much -for a man I loathe. It would be more just to let him be arrested? Why -should I aid a guilty man to escape? It’s conniving at his wickedness. -But then again it’s true that I ate his bread for years. If he should -indeed take his own life I shall certainly wish I had helped him. Good -Heavens! how is a fellow to see the right and wrong of such a case?” He -looked round; Sir Matthew had folded his plaid about him and now moved -towards the door. - -“Good-bye Ralph,” he said, “many thanks for your hospitality.” But Ralph -though he mechanically took the proffered hand spoke no farewell, -merely held the hand in his grasp while over his curiously mobile face a -hundred lights and shades succeeded one another. - -“Wait,” he said at length, “I cannot let you go like that, Sir Matthew.” - His perplexity and distress were so genuine that for the first time in -all their intercourse the Company Promoter felt a sort of liking for -this boy whom he had wronged and patronised, snubbed and educated, -scolded and secretly hated. He saw that Ralph had all his father’s -gentleness and generosity, but a good deal more strength and warmth of -temperament than the Rector had ever possessed. - -In dire suspense he waited to know his fate. There was a silence of -some minutes; then Ralph, who had moved across to the fireplace and had -wrestled out his problem with arms propped on the mantelpiece and face -hidden, lifted up his head and once more met the gaze of his father’s -old friend. Sir Matthew was astonished to see that he looked pale and -haggard with the struggle he had passed through. - -“I will try to help you,” he said simply. - -“Then,” said Sir Matthew with warmth, “I am justified in having come to -you. You are--as I thought--your father’s son. You are a true Denmead.” - -Ralph for the life of him could not help laughing at the words. “You -told me that in a different tone at Rilchester,” he remarked. “The -Denmeads, I think you were good enough to say, were always unpractical -fools, aiming at impossible ideals. I was angry then, but after all -perhaps you are right. I believe I am a fool to help you, but just -because you have so wronged us in the past I am afraid to refuse lest -there should be anything of private spite or revenge in the refusal. -What class do you wish to travel? I will go at once for your ticket.” - -“Take a second return to Havre, it may be a precaution,” said Sir -Matthew. “The steamer does not leave I think till 11.45. I did not come -down by the boat train for that might very probably have been watched. -How about disguise?” - -“I will go to the theatre on my way back to you,” said Ralph, “and bring -a grey beard which I think is all that will be needed.” - -He hurried off, for there was not very much time to spare. Now that his -decision was made he was comparatively at rest, and as he sped along -the dark streets his thoughts went back to Whinhaven and all the quiet -familiar scenes he had just visited. It was strange that Sir Matthew -should have encountered him just as he returned from his old home, and -perhaps, if the truth were known, the Company Promoter might never have -gained his help had it not been for the softening influence of that -visit to the old Rectory and the “goodly heritage.” - -Having secured the ticket, he made his way to the theatre, where, early -though it was, Macneillie had already arrived and was discussing -some knotty question with the assistant stage manager and the master -carpenter. Ralph slipped by them and ran up to his dressing-room, -unearthed the beard he wanted from his dress-basket, tucked his make-up -box under his arm and hastened away. - -“Where are you off to?” said Macneillie. - -“Back again in ten minutes, Governor,” he replied. - -It was no use now to reflect how little he liked doing the work he had -undertaken, and indeed when he was again in his own room a sort of pity -for his godfather stirred once more in his heart. Sir Matthew was so -broken down, so aged by all that he had gone through! The nervous haste -with which he took the ticket, the hurried questions he put, were so -unlike the hard business man of old times, that it was impossible not to -feel some compassion for one who was the mere wreck of his former self. - -Utterly exhausted by the high pressure at which he had lately been -living, the sham philanthropist sat by the fire and allowed himself to -be done for like a child, watching with a strange sort of admiration -Ralph’s intent face as with deft touches to the eyebrows and -accentuating of certain wrinkles, he entirely transformed him. When the -process of fixing on the beard with spirit-gum was over and he looked at -himself in the glass Sir Matthew hardly recognised his own features, and -saw before him a man at least twenty years his senior. - -“Stoop a little more,” said Ralph. “That is better. Now I don’t think -even Lady Mactavish would know you.” - -Sir Matthew sighed heavily. - -“It’s mostly for her sake that I care to escape to-night,” he said with -a touch of real feeling in his manner. “She will always be grateful to -you, Ralph, for helping me.” - -“I will order them to bring you some dinner at eight,” said Ralph, “and -if you like I can drive down to the docks with you at eleven or a little -after.” - -Sir Matthew caught at this suggestion, and Ralph having finished his -work at the theatre, refused two or three invitations to supper and -hurried back to wind up the most curious service he had yet been called -upon to render to any man. - -“Don’t think too harshly of me,” said Sir Matthew as they drove down -to the starting-place of the Havre steamer. “Remember that I always -expected the speculation to succeed, that I still think I could have -recovered myself if only things had not all conspired against me at the -same time. You Denmeads can’t understand the temptations that assail an -average man in the city. You were born without the love of money in you, -and whatever happens you are always strictly honourable. Some men are -made so. Had I not felt implicit trust in you how should I dare have put -myself now in your power? You own that you would like to see me arrested -and punished, but I know that you won’t betray me for all that.” - -“I don’t wish to see you punished now,” said Ralph, “and of course I -can’t betray you. But perhaps the best way after all would be for you to -give yourself up to justice.” - -Sir Matthew broke into a laugh. - -“You might be your father sitting there and talking! It’s exactly what -he would have said. My dear fellow your ideals are above me, and they -are about as little likely to be adopted by ordinary men of the world as -the ideals in Plato’s republic. I shall certainly not give myself up. -I shall instead try my very best, for the sake of others, to recoup my -losses and to start afresh.” - -A curiously sanguine look crept over his worn face, and Ralph felt -certain that like a gambler he would return as soon as possible to his -great game of speculation, very likely persuading himself, with the ease -of one who has posed hypocritically for many years, that he did it all -from the purest philanthropic motives. - -“You had better not come on board with me,” he said as they drew near to -the docks. “And on the whole perhaps I had better not take this tartan -with me, it is too marked. I will bequeath it to you. Good-bye Ralph. -Many thanks to you for what you have done for me.” - -With the first hearty grip of the hand he had ever given his godson -he bade him farewell and passing up the gangway on board the steamer -disappeared from view. The cold wintry wind came sweeping over the -water; Ralph shivered and was glad enough to wrap the highland maud -about him as he paced up and down watching to see the actual start of -the Havre boat. - -There was a bustle of arrival as the passengers were transferred from -the boat train; he stood in the shadow watching them, and apparently -another man, unobtrusively dressed, was engaged in the same occupation. -Ralph felt sure that the fellow was a detective; he folded the plaid -more closely about his mouth and pulled his hat over his eyes; the man -furtively glanced at him and drew a few steps nearer, whereupon the -spirit of mischief and love of acting overcame all other recollections, -and Ralph as though most desirous of eluding pursuit, slipped quietly -away into the darkness and vanished in the crowd. The detective, with -all his suspicions aroused, gave chase, but presently coming to a place -where two streets branched off, was baffled for a moment. - -In a deep porch of one of the houses close by, a young man stood -bareheaded, sheltering a flickering fusee with his hat while he tried to -light his pipe. - -“Seen a man wrapped in a plaid go by this way?” asked the detective -panting. - -“He has not gone past here,” said Ralph coolly. - -The man took the other street and just at that moment the sounding of -a steam whistle and the chiming of a clock in a neighbouring house told -Ralph that it was a quarter to twelve and that the boat for Havre was -safely underweigh. - -He quietly picked up the highland maud from the well shaded corner -of the porch where it had been snugly tucked behind a pillar, and -then walked back to Portland Street musing over Sir Matthew’s fate and -wondering what news the morning would bring. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - - - “O, gear will buy me rigs o’ land, - - And gear will buy me sheep and kye; - - But the tender heart o’ leesome luve, - - The gowd and siller canna buy. - - We may be poor--Robie and I; - - Light is the burden luve lays on, - - Content and luve bring peace and joy, - - What mair hae queens upon a throne?”--Burns. - -|Ralph slept late the next day and only escaped a fine at Rehearsal by -the merciful rule which permitted ten minutes’ grace. - -“You have done it by the skin of your teeth,” said Macneillie with a -laugh, “but of course you found the newspaper absorbing.” - -“I have not even seen it. What is the news?” - -“There’s a warrant out for the arrest of Sir Matthew Mactavish on a -charge of swindling, and Mr. Bruce Wylie they say is already in Holloway -gaol having been arrested last night.” - -“Good heavens!” said Ralph, “Bruce Wylie in prison!” - -“What matters more,” said Macneillie, “is that some South African -company of which they were the leading directors has failed. And this -following closely on the failure of that other Company with which they -were connected will probably cause more failures to follow. Thousands -will be ruined. Mr. Marriott was right enough when he darkly hinted to -you that startling revelations were in store. Well we must get to work. -What a mercy it is that Miss Ewart is safely out of her guardian’s -power.” - -A sudden panic seized Ralph. What if Sir Matthew were to come across -Evereld in France? He had no idea whereabouts she was but for the first -time he wondered whether any possible scheme for getting her again into -his power could have occurred to the Company Promoter. - -On the previous night such a thought had never entered his head, he -had adopted the more reasonable conclusion that Sir Matthew chose Havre -merely as a possible starting place for America or some distant -port where he could safely shelter. It needed all his patience and -self-control to wait through the tedious rehearsal, and the instant he -was free he ran to the telegraph office and begged Mr. Marriott to send -him tidings as soon as possible with regard to Evereld. - -The answer set him at rest before the evening’s performance. Evereld was -safe and well and Mr. Marriott begged that Ralph would if possible -spend the following Sunday at his house since there were many things to -discuss. - -It was now only Wednesday so he had still some time to wait, but the -worst of his suspense was over and it was with a very buoyant heart that -early on Sunday morning he presented himself at the old lawyer’s house. -After a pleasant breakfast with the kindly ladies who had always taken -an interest in his career, he was carried off to the study by Mr. -Marriott for a business talk. - -“I asked you to come up to town,” said the lawyer, “because you have a -right to know the whole truth of things. Sir Matthew Mactavish was not -only a scheming speculator, he was a fraudulent trustee. Miss Ewart’s -affairs were entirely in his hands, and Bruce Wylie her solicitor aided -and abetted the speculations which have dissipated her fortune.” - -“The brutes!” said Ralph. “Still I can forgive them that. It’s their -abominable scheme for trapping her into a marriage that I can’t -forgive.” - -“Perhaps you hardly realise things yet,” said the lawyer, “I mean -exactly what I say. Instead of being an heiress she has now nothing -whatever left but a couple of hundred a year which, being her mother’s -property, and in the funds, could not be tampered with.” - -“If she is much troubled about it I am sorry,” said Ralph. “But -personally I don’t care a straw. No one will be able to say now that -I was running after her fortune. How soon do you think we might be -married? There is nothing to wait for now.” - -“Well, you will have to get the leave of the Lord Chancellor, but I -don’t suppose he will disapprove,” said the lawyer with a smile, “if you -are in a position to support a wife that is. I can’t see any objection -to your marrying before long if Miss Ewart desires it. Go and talk it -over with Mr. Hereford, she is under his guardianship and he is in town -till to-morrow evening.” - -“What good luck,” said Ralph. “I will go round at once and try to catch -him before he goes out.” - -“Very well. We shall meet again later on then,” said the old lawyer -kindly. “We can put you up for the night and then you can let me know -what arrangement you and Mr. Hereford have arrived at. I will walk -round with you to Grosvenor Square; these bright frosty mornings are -tempting.” - -Ralph received a friendly greeting from Max Hereford who was amused by -his extreme haste and anxiety to win the Lord Chancellor’s consent to -his marriage with Evereld. - -“You see, we have been practically engaged for several months,” he -argued, “and I shall never have a moment’s peace about her while she is -drifting about the world. Who can tell whether we have heard the last -of Sir Matthew Mactavish even now! It’s unbearable to think that I don’t -even know where she is.” - -“Well I can set you at rest on that point,” said Max Hereford laughing. -“She is on her way to Ireland, and my wife will take the greatest care -of her.” - -“She has left France?” - -“Yes, I went myself to bring her home and my sister-in-law came with -her. Dermot will spend the winter in the south and I am taking the two -girls across to Dublin to-morrow night. They are here now.” - -Ralph’s face was a sight to see. - -“You must talk to her and find out what her wishes are,” said his host -pleasantly. “I am the last man to advise a prolonged engagement. And -since Marriott has told you that Miss Ewart is no longer an heiress but -has been robbed by those precious scoundrels of almost the whole of her -fortune, I think it only remains for you two to decide upon your -own course of action, subject of course to the approval of the Lord -Chancellor. She shall always find a home with us, as she very well -knows, if you think it advisable to wait.” - -“I don’t think it advisable,” said Ralph eagerly. “But of course I must -ask whether she is really willing to put up with the discomforts of a -wandering life.” - -“I will go and find her,” said Max Hereford, “and you can have an -interview in peace.” - -Evereld and Bride were in the great drawing-room, both looking rather -pale and tired after their long journey. - -“Time to go to church?” asked Bride with a portentous yawn. - -“No my dear, you would only go to sleep,” he said teasingly, “as your -brother-in-law and Evereld’s guardian I strictly prohibit church-going -this morning. Rest and be thankful, and don’t forget that you will be -travelling all to-morrow night. Evereld, if you have energy enough for -the interview, Mr. Marriott has sent someone round on business. Should -you mind just going down to the library? He wants to put a few questions -to you.” Evereld started up, looking rather nervous. - -“How odd of him to come about business on a Sunday morning,” she said. -“I hope he is not an alarming sort of person. Will you not come down -with me?” - -“Well I think on the whole you had better be alone,” said Max Hereford -with profound gravity. “I always think it is a mistake to have a third -person at an interview. I should only make you more nervous.” - -She said no more, but set off bravely for what to her was no slight -ordeal, her first business interview. - -The touch of dignity, which even as a child she had possessed, was more -noticeable now in the poise of her head and in her whole manner; but -the face was not in the least altered: it was the same sweet gentle face -which had for so long reigned in Ralph’s heart. - -He sprang up to greet her, and Evereld with a joyous laugh ran towards -him. - -“Oh, Ralph! is it you?” she eried, radiant with happiness. “What a -tease Mr. Hereford is! He told me it was someone from Mr. Marriott on -business!” - -Ralph laughed as he released her from his embrace. “We have not begun -in a very business like way!” he said, “but it is quite true that I -have come from Mr. Marriott’s house. He has been telling me of this -fraudulent trustee who has treated you so shamefully. Are you very angry -with those two rogues? How does it feel to be robbed of a fortune?” - -“It feels anything but pleasant,” said Evereld warmly. “But what I find -it hardest to forgive is the hypocrisy. Of course it is sad to think -that the money which my father and grandfather earned by such hard work -has all been wasted, specially as I thought it would have been useful to -you some day. Do you realise, dear, that I shall be quite poor?” - -“I don’t care a fig about that,” said Ralph. “But when I remember that -those vile knaves nearly succeeded in trapping you into a marriage which -must have been lifelong misery to you, then--well, I feel like killing.” - -“But they never did nearly succeed, Ralph,” she said slipping her hand -into his. “I would have died sooner than marry Bruce Wylie. Oh, how -good it is to be here with you, and quite safe! That time at Glion was -dreadful.” - -“Do you know that you at nineteen have baffled two of the cleverest -rogues of the present time?” said Ralph. “It is delicious to think of -that. How did you think of such a plan and carry it out so pluckily?” - -“I don’t know how,” said Evereld. “But I knew that somehow I must get -away out of their power. Then, when, I was so very unhappy this thought -suddenly came to me of Bride O’Ryan and Aimée Magnay in Auvergne, and -after that it was all quite simple--except, indeed, the Continental -Bradshaw which nearly drove me distracted!” - -“You told me in your letter about that jolly old priest who took care of -you. We must go and see him some day. I should like to thank him.” - -“Yes, I should so like you to see him, and you must go to Mabillon. It -is such a dear old place. I have grown to love it almost as if it were -my own home.” - -“Don’t you think we ought now to come to the business part of the -interview?” said Ralph with a mirthful glance. “Do you think, darling, -that you are really willing to become the wife of an actor who has still -to fight his way up the ladder? Remember that as yet you are quite free, -that there is no engagement even between us.” - -“The engagement really began for me that Sunday at Southbourne,” said -Evereld shyly. - -“And for me, too,” said Ralph. “But think once more, darling, and try -to realise what it will mean. Ours will have to be, at any rate for some -time, a wandering life. For Macneillie has been so very good to me that -I must stay with him and try to repay him a little for all his training. -Even if a London engagement were to be offered me, and that is not -likely, I should feel bound to stay with him as long as he cares to have -me.” - -“Oh, yes of course,” said Evereld. “Why, we owe everything to him! I -wonder if he would like------” she broke off rather abruptly. - -“What were you going to propose?” said Ralph trying to read her face. -There was a wistful look in it now which he did not understand. - -“Only I have felt so dreadfully sorry for him since the Fenchurch Case. -Of course I heard people talking about it, and I can’t help fancying -that he must still care for Miss Greville.” - -“Yes,” said Ralph. “It is very rough on him.” - -“I shouldn’t like to take you away from him, Ralph,” she continued, -“specially just now, for I could see quite well at Southbourne that you -are almost like a son to him; you don’t know what things he said about -you when you were talking to Mrs. Hereford that morning. He would miss -you dreadfully. Do you think we could still be in the same house with -him when we are married? Or should I bother him?” - -“I don’t think you would be likely to do that,” said Ralph smiling. -“When I tell him about our marriage I will see how the land lies. -I wonder, darling, whether you will be able to put up with all the -discomforts of life in a travelling company?” - -“Why it will be the greatest fun!” cried Evereld. - -“Well, I have found it a very jolly life, but, you know, wayfaring -men naturally have to put up with some discomforts. You will find the -endless packing and unpacking, and the settling into fresh lodgings once -a week an awful bore.” - -“But I shall have you, dear,” she said happily. “And nothing else will -matter much.” - -“Then it only remains for us to win the Lord Chancellor’s consent and to -tell Macneillie, and find out when he can spare me for a few days. You -won’t make me wait long will you?” - -“I think Parliament meets on the 5th,” said Evereld, “and we are to come -back from Ireland in the first week of February. I know the Hereford’s -will let me be married from this house, and we will have a quiet -wedding. You see we are both of us alone in the world; except the -Marriotts and Mr. Macneillie there is really no one to ask, for of -course the Mactavishs will keep away from town for some time to come.” - -“I wonder what will become of poor Lady Mactavish,” said Ralph. “I fancy -she has something of her own, so as far as money goes she will be all -right. But how she will feel the disgrace!” - -“I’m not at all sure,” said Evereld, “that now real trouble has -overtaken her she won’t give up grumbling. If not I am sorry for Janet -for she will have to bear the brunt of it. Oh, Ralph! what a strange -world it is! Only last spring the Mactavishs seemed at the very height -of their prosperity, and were so enchanted about Minnie’s engagement, -and now here is Sir Matthew ruined and disgraced, and Bruce Wylie in -prison.” - -“Well,” said Ralph, “it’s a much better fate than the one they tried to -force upon you. It’s not of them I think, but of the thousands they have -cruelly injured: if you had seen your father die of a broken heart as I -saw mine, you would think prison and exile a very light punishment for -those cursed speculators.” - -“Yes,” assented Evereld, “it was more of the suddenness of the change I -was thinking. Last spring, too, you were tramping through Scotland, ill -and half starved, and now----” - -“Now I am the happiest man in the world,” said Ralph his face aglow with -ardent love. - -And after that they forgot all the troubles of the past and sat weaving -delicious plans for the future, and enjoying to the full the happy -present. - -The next day Ralph rejoined the company in the Isle of Wight and in the -evening, when supper was over, he with some trepidation told his story -to the Manager. - -Macneillie had of late been very silent and depressed and Ralph hated -having to speak of his own happiness to one who was in the depths of -dejection. However with an effort he broke the ice. - -“I saw Miss Ewart’s new guardian Mr. Hereford in town,” he began, “and -it seems that almost the whole of her fortune has been lost by that -swindling trustee of hers. She has nothing left but a couple of hundred -a year which luckily was tied up and out of Sir Matthew’s reach.” - -“The scoundrel!” exclaimed Macneillie, “so he had the audacity to put -her fortune into his rotten companies I suppose?” - -“Yes. However it’s an ill wind that blows nobody good. The fortune is -gone but so is Sir Matthew, and the new guardian permits our engagement -and sees no reason why it should be a long one, he is distantly related -to the Lord Chancellor and thinks he will consent to our being married -shortly.” - -“And what does Miss Ewart say? have you heard from her?” - -“I have seen her, she was passing through London on her way to Ireland. -Well, she talked very sensibly about the money, had hoped it might be -useful to us, but chiefly looked on it in my fashion as a hindrance to -our immediate marriage now safely removed.” - -Macneillie’s grave face was suddenly convulsed with merriment. He -laughed aloud at this view of the case. - -“Was there ever such a couple of babies!” he said. “Pray how do you mean -to live?” - -“On my salary to be sure,” said Ralph, “and on the two hundred which -Evereld has left.” - -“You are over young yet to get much of a salary in London, and, even if -we succeeded in getting you an engagement there, who can tell how long -you would be secure of keeping it? Then living and rent is much higher -in London, and Miss Ewart has never been used to anything except the -very best.” - -“But why do you speak of London?” said Ralph. “Do you mean to give me -the sack, Governor, if I marry?” - -Macneillie turned and looked at him in some surprise. - -“I naturally concluded that having gained some experience with me you -meant to go off at the earliest opportunity. That is the way of the -world. You don’t mean that you intend to bring your wife to travel with -us?” - -“Why not? It is often done. Harden’s wife used to go about with him, -they say.” - -“Oh, of course it is often done, but after the sort of life Miss Ewart -has been accustomed to----” - -Ralph broke in eagerly. - -“We talked it over very carefully, I told her exactly what it would be -like, and she is only longing for the fun of it all. Indeed she made a -very audacious proposal.” - -“What was that?” said Macneillie pleased and interested in spite of -himself. - -“Her old hero worship of you is as keen as ever, she thinks nothing -would be more delightful than to house-keep for you, and pour out the -tea--women always think they do those things best--It’s quite a mistake! -Then, too, she has a notion that you might miss me if we went off into -rooms by ourselves. I told her that was nonsense.” - -“No,” said Macneillie, “it’s true enough, my boy. I should miss you very -much. But all the same I hardly know whether it is fair to you both to -spoil the early days of your married life. I am growing a very ‘dour’ -sort of man and that’s a fact.” - -“You have been a second father to me,” said Ralph, “and Evereld knows -that: so if, as she says, we shall not bother you----” - -Macneillie laughed. “If she can put up with a ‘dour’ man as third -fiddle, and promise to speak the truth when his playing jars too much -with your harmony I should like nothing better than to have you both -with me. To tell the truth Ralph I dread being alone just now. By the -bye, have you heard Jack Carrington say anything about his part in the -new play? Brinton had a notion he didn’t take to it.” - -“Yes, I heard him say it didn’t suit him,” said Ralph. “I don’t see why. -It seems to me rather a decent part.” - -“I’m not at all sure that he will renew his engagement,” said -Macneillie. “And if he leaves, why there is no reason at all why you -should not become Juvenile Lead, and I could raise your salary to five -pounds a week. However that is between ourselves. As for Carrington he -has been with me three years and is likely enough to get a good berth -somewhere before long. When do you two hope to be married?” - -“Early in the spring if possible,” said Ralph. - -“Well, I would never counsel a long engagement,” said Macneillie with -a sigh. “You are not obeying the advice of Mrs. Siddons but, after all, -there are exceptions to every rule, and Miss Ewart is one of a thousand. -By the bye, I never told you--little Miss Ivy Grant wrote to ask if -I could give her an engagement and I have offered her the part of the -French girl. She seems to me to have exactly the face for it.” - -“Oh, it will suit her down to the ground!” said Ralph looking pleased. -“I am glad poor Ivy has left the Delaines, she was too good for them. -Evereld will be glad that she is to be one of the Company.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - - - “So let my singing say to you, - - ‘Our hearts are pilgrims going home; - - Love’s kingdom shall most surely come - - To all who seek Love’s will to do.’” - - “Daydreams.”--A. Gurney. - -|In the course of the next four months Ralph’s powers of letter-writing -improved amazingly, and thanks to those love letters and to the bright -merry life in the Hereford household Evereld’s engagement proved a happy -one although she and her lover could only spend two Sundays together -during the whole time. They knew each other so well already however -that there was no risk of any misunderstanding between them, and the -waiting-time was too short to be very irksome. - -As for Bride O’Ryan she proved herself a friend worth having, threw -herself into all Evereld’s interests with delightful eagerness, and -teased her just enough to add a little salt to the entertainment. - -The Lord Chancellor kept them for some time in suspense, and furnished -Bride with endless food for merriment. “He is a very formidable -guardian,” she protested, “and when once you get into his clutches it’s -very hard indeed to get out again. I wonder you dared to appeal to him.” - -“It was the only thing to be done,” said Evereld, “but I do wish he -would be quick and give his consent.” - -“I have always heard,” said Bride provokingly, “that when once things -get into chancery they stay there for years and years. Remember how it -was in _Bleak House_.” - -“Well at any rate Mrs. Hereford says the Lord Chancellor is most -kindhearted,” said Evereld. “And I know he is fond of reading novels, -so he ought to take an interest in the romances of real life. And -particularly he ought to like Ralph, for they say he himself had -dreadful struggles at the beginning of his career when he was a young -barrister on circuit.” - -However at length the consent was given and it was arranged that, as -Macneillie’s company were not giving any performances in Holy Week, -Ralph and Evereld should be married on Palm Sunday. - -Evereld like a wise little woman was determined not to waste her -substance in the purchase of a trousseau which would be an endless -trouble in their wandering life. - -“I have plenty of clothes already,” she protested. “All I shall need is -a nice warm cloak in which I can walk to the theatre in the evening--a -respectable dark sort of garment--and of course my wedding dress; I -won’t be a frumpy bride in a travelling costume.” - -“No, have a gown like the bride in Blair Leighton’s picture ‘Called to -arms,’” said Ralph who had come up from Bristol to spend a Sunday at the -Hereford’s directly they had returned to London. “It’s a thousand times -prettier than any of the ugly modern fashions.” - -Evereld did not know the picture but she promised to do her best to copy -it, and with the help of a clever American maid of Mrs. Hereford’s, and -Bridget’s ready assistance, and the advice of all the female members of -the household, her skilful fingers succeeded in turning out a very good -reproduction of the artist’s design at about a fifth of the cost of an -ordinary wedding dress. - -“Even had I not lost my money,” she said to Bride, “I don’t think I -could have borne to spend much just on clothes when so many people are -ruined and half starving from the failure of all these companies.” - -That was the greatest shadow that was cast over the happiness of the two -lovers. The appalling accounts of the trouble caused by Sir Matthew’s -wrong doing, the knowledge that many of the victims had literally died -from the shock, that many more had lost their reason, that thousands -were reduced to dire poverty and distress could not but affect them. - -Evereld was touched too by a very kindly but sad letter from Lady -Mactavish. It contained one sentence which puzzled her not a little. - -“What does Lady Mactavish mean by speaking of the help you gave Sir -Matthew?” she enquired, a week before their wedding day, as she and -Ralph sat together in the library where in December they had had that -first “business interview.” - -“What does she say about it?” asked Ralph. - -“Here is her letter, it is a message to you;--‘Tell Ralph that I shall -never cease to be grateful to him for the help he gave my husband. It -saved his life.” - -“Well,” said Ralph, “I suppose I am free to speak of it since she -mentioned it to you. He came to me at Southampton, indeed I met him on -my way back from Whinhaven,” and going through the whole story he made -her understand exactly what had taken place. “To this day I don’t know -whether I did right. But if the same thing were to happen again I should -still probably help him. It was the dread of letting one’s private -hatred and resentment bias one against helping a desperate man. As a -matter of fact he has by no means escaped punishment by escaping from -England. I don’t believe there is a corner of the earth where he will -long remain unmolested. He will lead a miserable, hunted life far worse -than the life Bruce Wylie leads in gaol, and with nothing really to look -forward to. But I think he was in earnest when he said that night he -would put an end to himself if they arrested him. And I have never -regretted the little I did to shield him from discovery.” - -“You wouldn’t have been yourself if you had acted differently,” said -Evereld. “But it must have been hard work to decide.” - -“I hope I may never again have such a decision to make,” said Ralph. -“And all the time there was the maddening remembrance of what he had -made you suffer. What a strange, complex character he had: there was -a sort of greatness about him all the time. I suppose that was how he -deceived people in such an extraordinary way,--he managed to deceive -himself. Even now a sort of panic seizes me lest he should somehow -interfere between us. I shall never feel at rest about you till we are -safely married.” - -“Next Sunday,” she whispered. “Where shall you be all this week?” - -“At Manchester,” he replied “and as ill luck will have it there is a -matinée of the new play and an evening performance of ‘Much Ado’ next -Saturday. However there will be plenty of time to sleep in the train, -and I will meet you somewhere for the early service.” - -“Let it be at the Abbey then, that seems specially to belong to us. -Bride and I often go there and we can meet you just by the Baptistry at -the west end.” - -“What time is the wedding to be? I have not even learnt that yet,” he -said laughing. - -“Mrs. Hereford arranged that it should be at two, that will leave us -plenty of time to catch our train, and I have not told anyone where we -mean to go. That is our secret.” - -“Yes, we will keep that dark,” said Ralph. “Otherwise it may be creeping -into the papers. Did you see there was a paragraph about Sir Matthew -Mactavish’s late ward in yesterday’s ‘Veracity’?” - -“Yes. We couldn’t help laughing over it, but I hope Janet and Minnie -won’t see it. Oh, Ralph! what a nightmare the past is to look back on! -and how happy and safe I am with you!”. - -Now that all was arranged, she seemed perfectly at rest, able even -to enjoy all the manifold little plans and the cheerful bustle -that heralded the wedding-day. But Ralph down at Manchester spent a -feverishly anxious week, and found it difficult indeed to concentrate -his mind on his work. Most managers would have lost all patience -with him, but Macneillie with the genial breadth of mind and the rare -patience that characterised him took it all very quietly, and perhaps in -his secret soul rather enjoyed the sight of such unusual and unsullied -enthusiasm. - -By the time Saturday arrived, Ralph had become very “ill to live with.” - He wandered about the house imagining that he was busy packing but -contriving to forget half his possessions. He could hardly stir -without singing or whistling, and he would have neglected to put in an -appearance at “Treasury” if Macneillie himself had not reminded him. - -“You are like your namesake Sir Ralph the Rover,” said the manager, who -had been answering his correspondence as well as he could to a running -accompaniment of Ralph’s voice. - - “He felt the cheering power of spring, - - It made him whistle, it made him sing--“ - -“We won’t finish the quotation. But my dear fellow you will be quite -played out to-morrow if you go on at this rate.” - -“How about the train?” said Ralph. “That’s the thing that bothers me. -Shall we ever get through to-night in time to catch the mail?” - -“For pity’s sake don’t begin to fuss about that already!” said -Macneillie with a comical expression about the corners of his mouth. -“It’s a mercy that marrying and giving in marriage are not every-day -occurrences or a manager’s life would not be worth living.” - -“I’ll promise never to do it again, Governor,” said Ralph with mock -penitence. - -“Well well,” said Macneillie with a patient shrug of the shoulders, -“it all comes in the day’s work. You will understand now how to render -Claudio’s words ‘Time goes on crutches till love have all his rites.’” - -Ralph thought it extremely obnoxious of the Manchester folk to have -petitioned for a performance of “Much ado about Nothing” on this -particular day, and though he acted Claudio very well it was always -to him an uncongenial character. Macneillie’s Benedick was however -considered one of his best parts and though perhaps he enjoyed playing -it as little just then as Ralph enjoyed going through the wedding scene -on the eve of his own marriage, he was the last man to let his private -feelings interfere with his work either as actor or as manager. - -The play was carefully rendered, and after a most uncomfortable rush and -scramble, Ralph, thanks chiefly to the help of his many friends in the -company, found himself at the station just as the Scotch mail steamed -up to the platform. Whether Macneillie would arrive in time seemed -doubtful, however as the guard’s whistle sounded he emerged from the -booking office, and with his usual imperturbably grave face sprang in -while the train moved off. - -Ivy Grant and Myra Brinton had packed up a most tempting little supper -for the two and had taken care to see that it was not forgotten in the -hurry of the last moment; and Macneillie, who always retained the power -of enjoying a holiday under any circumstances, proved a very genial -companion until the advent of another passenger at Crewe, when they -relapsed into silence and settled down to sleep. - -The night was stormy; torrents of rain washed the windows, and the wind -howled and moaned as the train sped on through the darkness. Ralph tried -in vain to follow the example of his two companions who, quite oblivious -of their surroundings slept composedly through all the din. He was far -too much excited to lose consciousness even for a minute. The carriage -lamp was shaded and, in the dim light, visions of Evereld kept rising -before him. - -She was a little girl once more, in a black frock, and with soft, bright -hair falling about her shoulders. - -“Are you not hungry?” she said to him confidentially as they stood -together, strangers and yet somehow already friends, in a drearily grand -London drawing-room. - -Again she was sitting beside him on the stairs, a fairylike little -figure in white, eating ice pudding supplied to them by the goodnatured -Geraghty. “I somehow think your father and mine will be talking together -to-night?” she said, her sweet blue eyes looking as though they could -see right into that spirit world of which she spoke. - -On thundered the train, and yet another vision rose before Ralph. He was -in Westminster Abbey and there before him he suddenly saw a face which -took his heart by storm--the face of his old playfellow grown into -gentle gracious womanhood. Then the same face, but with wistful love-lit -eyes was lifted up to his outside the house in Queen Anne’s Gate -kindling hope in his heart and filling him with a glow of happiness -which had carried him through the pain of the parting. These same -love-lit eyes and a yet more wonderful response of soul to soul rose in -vision before him as he recalled a certain summer afternoon by the sea -shore. What did it matter to him that the cold spring wind raged round -the carriage piercing every crevice, or that the hail-stones rattled -angrily against the glass! He was far away from it all, seeing blue -waves and the mellow brown side of a boat and Evereld’s blushing face. -The memory of that August day lasted him all the rest of the way to -London; then in the chilly dawn they made their way to the nearest -hotel, where the order of things was reversed for Ralph at last fell -sound asleep on a sofa in the reading room and it was Macneillie who was -wakeful and saw visions of the past--visions that he dared not dwell -upon because with them there came the maddening recollection that he was -close to Christine, that it would be the easiest thing in the world, yet -the most fatal, to go that afternoon and call upon her. What was she -doing? How did she struggle on in the difficult life on which she had -embarked? All the craving to know, all the longing to serve her must be -crushed down in his heart. Alone she must dree her weird. Alone he must -bear the anguish of her pain and his own bitter loss. - -Almost involuntarily, those hard views of God from which years ago -he had been rescued by Thomas Erskine’s book “The Spiritual Order,” - returned now to him, flooding his mind with rebellious thoughts. - -Why did all this misery come to him? Why were the mistakes and sins of -others visited upon him? Why were the ways of God so unequal? Other men -prospered. Other men had the desire of their hearts granted. Why was he -for ever to be thwarted? For years he knew that he had made strenuous -efforts to live uprightly, yet there seemed nothing before him but -sorrow; while over yonder there was a mere boy of one and twenty about -to gain after the briefest of struggles the woman he loved. - -The Tempter had however defeated his own object by introducing the -thought of Ralph Denmead. Macneillie’s heart was too large for jealousy -to harbour in it. Jealousy can only rest long and comfortably in narrow, -and cramped hearts where self love and petty absorption in trifles has -contracted the space. - -As he glanced across the room he saw that the sunlight was streaming -full upon the sleeper, he got up and lowered the blind pausing for a -minute by the sofa to look at his companion. Ralph was sound asleep, and -his untroubled, boyish face was worth looking at if only for its peace. -To Macneillie it suggested many thoughts. -He remembered his first impression of Ralph, lying in the last stage of -misery on the banks of the Leny, and he delighted to think that partly -by his aid the lad had battled through his difficulties and had got his -foot firmly planted on the ladder of success. - -There is nothing so strange in life as the manner in which a kindly deed -re-acts in a thousand subtle ways on the doer. And now, as had been the -case before, Macneillie was lured back to life by the one he had helped -long ago. The hard thoughts passed, he stood there in the bright spring -morning strong once more in the belief that the eternal patience of the -All-Father schools each son in the best possible way. - -Sitting down to the writing-table he filled up a couple of hours with -answering the letters of the previous day, then when the time came, -set off with Ralph to the Abbey and finding the way to the Baptistry -unbarred waited there beside the busts of Maurice and Kingsley, lifted -a degree nearer to that Light and Love of which their epitaphs spoke by -the struggle he had just passed through. - -They were joined here by Mrs. Hereford, Bride, and Evereld, and -Macneillie thought he had never seen anything more winning than -Evereld’s eager welcome of her lover. He felt very much in harmony with -their happiness as they all went together into the choir, and indeed -throughout the day the depression which had overwhelmed him since he had -received the bad news at Brighton was banished by the unalloyed bliss of -the two who were just stepping into their goodly heritage of mutual love -and companionship. - -It was a thoroughly unconventional wedding with merely the merry Irish -family in the house, with Bride and the two little Hereford girls for -bridesmaids, and Macneillie and an old school fellow who had returned -from Canada just in time to be Ralph’s best man, as the only outsiders. - -Of course, when at two o’clock they drove to the church, it was crowded -with spectators, for the marriage of the heiress who had been defrauded -of her fortune by Sir Matthew Mactavish had found its inevitable -way into the hands of the paragraph-mongers. But then, as Macneillie -remarked, a marriage ought to take place before a congregation, and it -would have been a thousand pities if this particular marriage had been -smuggled through in secret at some chilly hour of the morning in an -empty church. - -“As it was,” he added, “some idle London folk had the chance of singing -‘All people that on earth do dwell’ to the old hundredth, and that’s a -chance that doesn’t often come to us in these degenerate days of flabby -modern hymns. All the women, moreover, will go away persuaded in their -own minds that the conventional wedding dress of modern days is ugly and -that the old-world dress of Mrs. Ralph Denmead is far more artistic.” - -There was one thing, however, which baffled the Press. It described -the service with gusto, and gave the most elaborate details as to the -dresses, but it could not discover where the Bride and Bride-groom -intended to spend the honeymoon. It was reduced at length to the -desperate expedient of a good round lie, and said that they left _en -route_ for the continent. - -Ralph and Evereld, who had kept this detail entirely to themselves, -laughed contentedly as they read this fable in their snug little -sitting-room at Stratford-on-Avon. - -“We knew a trick worth two of that,” said Ralph. “Fancy rushing off -to the Continent for a week! It never seemed to occur to anyone that -Stratford was the ideal place for an actor’s honeymoon. We are not going -to leave our Mecca entirely to the Yankees.” - -Evereld hoped she thought enough of Shakspere as they wandered about -the quaint old place and enjoyed the bright spring weather in the lovely -country around. - -“It was a delightful thought of yours to come here,” she said, “one -likes to have a beautiful background for the happiest time of one’s -life. But after all, darling, it’s very much in the background, we -should really be as happy in the black country.” - -“Of course,” said Ralph laughing. “And there’ll be plenty of the black -country to come by and bye. You have no idea what dreary towns we have -sometimes to go to. Are you not afraid when you look forward to that -sort of thing?” - -“Not a bit,” she said with a radiant face. “Don’t I know now what the -song means when it speaks of ‘The desert being a paradise’? That used to -seem such nonsense in the old days! But with you Ralph------” - -She was interrupted. They had been walking beside the pollarded willows -by the river, Evereld’s hands were full of the early spring flowers, -cowslips and primroses and delicate white anemones which they had -gathered in the country. She looked up, for a daintily dressed little -lady suddenly stood before her, having deserted a camp-stool and easel -though she still retained palette and brushes in one hand. - -“Miss Ewart!” she exclaimed with a faint touch of American intonation -which instantly recalled Evereld to Glion. “I am so delighted to meet -you again, and in this spot of all others, this sacred shrine which you -lucky English people possess, though we would give millions of dollars -if we could but transplant it right over the ocean!” - -“How glad I am to see you!” said Evereld warmly. “I shall never forget -your kindness last September. May I introduce my husband to you? Mr. -Denmead, Miss Upton.” - -“Ah,” said Miss Upton shaking hands with him, “I congratulate Mr. -Denmead very warmly. And to think that the third volume which you were -to have sent me in America should greet me here by the banks of the -Avon! It is delightful!” - -“You have not gone back as soon as you expected,” said Evereld. - -“Well, no. You see the storm at Glion somehow cleared the atmosphere -and many things were altered by it sooner or later,” said Miss Upton her -bright eyes twinkling with fun. “In fact, thanks to you, another romance -began there, and next year when Mr. Lewisham has taken his degree at -Oxford, why he’ll be coming over the ocean to New York, and we have an -idea of following the good example which you and Mr. Denmead have set -us. - -“How glad I am!” said Evereld. “That is charming. Some day we all -four ought to meet at Glion, for it is hard that I should have any -disagreeable associations left with that lovely little place. You ought -to see it Ralph.” - -“Why not plan a meeting here on one of Shakspere’s birthday’s? We may -possibly be here for some of the performances in the Memorial theatre.” - -“Yes, that’s a better idea still,” agreed both Evereld and the American -girl. - -And after walking back to the town together they parted on the best of -terms. - -That evening a note and a little packet were brought to Evereld. They -were from Miss Upton. - -“Just one line in great haste,” the letter ran, “we are off to Woodstock -to-night, being as they call us true Yankee rushers. You told me you -were not going to set up house yet awhile, but wherever you are I know -you will drink afternoon tea as you did in Switzerland. Stir your tea -with these Stratford Memorial spoons and drink to our next merry meeting -in the birthplace of the Swan of Avon. With all good wishes - -“Yours cordially, - -“Minnie K. Upton. - -“I hope my romance will have as satisfactory an end to its third Volume -as yours.” - -“What a jolly sort of girl she seems,” said Ralph as Evereld read him -the note, “but that postscript is all wrong, darling. We are not at the -end of things, we are only just at the beginning.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - - - “Heart, are you great enough - - For a love that never tires? - - O heart, are you great enough for love? - - I have heard of thorns and briers.” - - Tennyson. - -|On Easter Monday, Ralph and Evereld joined the company at Liverpool. It -was not without misgivings that the little bride found herself suddenly -launched into a life of which she knew so little, and as they drove -through the busy streets from the station she had time to conjure up -many fears. They were all however fears lest she should fall short in -some way, prove an indifferent housekeeper, be unable to make friends -with Ralph’s friends, or find herself in other people’s way. But all -anxiety was lost sight of when they reached the little house in Seymour -Street and found Macneillie with his genial voice and fatherly -manner waiting to receive them. He was a man who, from his kindly -considerateness and from a certain easy friendliness of tone, quickly -made new comers feel at home with him. - -Perhaps he intuitively guessed that Evereld’s position would not be -without its difficulties, and he did his very utmost to smooth the way -for her. He at once allowed her to feel that she could be of use. - -“I am glad you caught the early train from Stratford,” he said as they -sat down to a two o’clock dinner. “No, you must take the head of the -table for the future. I shall claim the privilege of an old man and sit -at the side. As for Ralph he is a very decent carver and we will leave -the work to him. The Brintons were in here just before you came, talking -over the reception which we give this afternoon.” - -“A reception?” said Evereld shyly. - -“Yes, in the Foyer. You have just come in the nick of time. I was -wanting help. Let me see, you were introduced to the Brintons I think at -Southbourne.” - -“Yes, and to Mr. Carrington, and Miss Eva Carton.” - -“They have both left us. Well, you will soon get to know us all.” - -Evereld hoped she might do so, but she was utterly bewildered by the end -of the reception, where she had been introduced to most of the company -and to a number of residents and people of the neighbourhood. As to -recognising Ralph’s fellow artists when she saw them again in the -evening in stage attire, it was impossible. However they good-naturedly -told her they were quite used to being cut, and she found Ivy Grant a -very pleasant companion and had a good deal of talk with her between -whiles. - -Ivy had greatly improved since the days of the Scotch tour; trouble had -developed her in an extraordinary way; she had grown more gentle and -refined, and she still retained her old winsomeness and was a general -favourite. Thanks to Ralph’s straightforwardness that morning at Forres, -she had quickly awakened from her first dream of love, and was none -the worse for it. In fact, it had perhaps done her good, she would not -lightly lose her heart again, and her standard was certain to remain -high. Moreover she knew that Ralph would always be her friend, and she -felt curiously drawn to Evereld, who was quite ready to respond to her -advances. - -There was something very fascinating to Evereld in the novelty and -variety of this new life; before many days had passed she began to feel -quite as if she belonged to the company. She sympathised keenly with -the desire to have good houses, listened with interest to all the -discussions and arrangements, and soon found herself on friendly terms -with almost every one. - -“There is one man, though, that I can’t make out at all,” she remarked -one evening. “He always seems to disappear in such an odd way. I mean -Mr. Rawnleigh.” Macneillie and Ralph both laughed. - -“You would be very clever indeed if you contrived to know anything -about him,” said the Manager. “He chooses to keep himself wrapped in a -mystery. There’s not a creature among us who can tell you anything about -him. He’s the cleverest low comedian I have ever had; but his habits are -peculiar. To my certain knowledge his whole personal wardrobe goes about -the world tied up in a spotted handkerchief. He has no make-up box but -just carries a stick of red rouge and powdered chalk screwed up in paper -like tobacco in his pocket. He puts it on with his finger and rubs it in -with a bit of brown paper. Nobody knows in any town where he lodges, but -he is always punctual at rehearsal, and if in an emergency he happens to -be needed, you can generally find him smoking peacefully in the nearest -public-house. He has never been heard to speak an unnecessary word, and -in ordinary life looks so like a death’s head that he goes by the name -of ‘Old Mortality.’” - -Evereld laughed at this curious description. - -“He is the sort of man Charles Lamb might have written an essay about,” - she said. “Now let me see if I have grasped the rest of them. The -retired Naval Captain, Mr. Tempest, is the heavy man, isn’t he? Then -there are those two young Oxonians--they are Juveniles. And Ralph’s -friend, Mr. Mowbray, the briefless barrister, what is he?” - -“He’s the Responsible man,” said Macneillie. - -“Mr. Brinton, I know, is the old man. And Mr. Thornton, what do you call -him?” - -“Oh, he is the Utility man. Come you would stand a pretty good -examination.” - -Those spring days were very happy both to Ralph and -Evereld, while Macneillie who had been anxious as to the little bride’s -comfort and well-being, began to feel entirely at rest on that score. - -It cheered him not a little to have her bright face and thoughtful -housewifely ways making a home out of each temporary resting place. -Her great charm was her ready sympathy and a certain restfulness -and quietness of temperament very soothing to highly-strung artistic -natures. When the two men returned from the theatre, it was delightful -to find her comfortably ensconced with her needlework, ready to take -keen interest in hearing about everything, and always giving a pleasant -welcome to any visitor they might bring back with them. There was -nothing fussy about Evereld: she was the ideal wife for a man of Ralph’s -eager Keltic temperament. - -During July the company dispersed and Ralph and Evereld went to stay -with the Magnays in London. It was not until the re-assembling in August -that the discomforts of the new life began to become a little more -apparent. Perhaps it was the intense heat of the weather, perhaps the -contrast between the lodgings in a particularly dirty manufacturing town -and the Magnays’ ideal home with all its art treasures, and its dainty -half foreign arrangement. Certainly Evereld’s heart sank a little when -she began to unpack. - -Their bedroom faced the west and the burning sunshine seemed to steep -the little room in drowsy almost tropical heat. She felt sick and -miserable. Opening the dressing-table drawer she found that her -predecessor had left behind some most uninviting hair-curlers, and some -greasepaint. Of course to throw these away and re-line the drawer was -easy enough; but by the time she had done it and had arranged all their -worldly goods and chattels she felt tired out and was glad to lie down, -though she did not dare to scrutinise the blankets and could only try to -find consolation in the remembrance that the sheets at least were -quite immaculate, and the pillow her own. She was roused from a doze by -Ralph’s entrance. - -“Come and get a little air, darling,” he suggested. “This room is like -an oven. Oh! we have got such a fellow in Thornton’s place! the most -conceited puppy I ever set eyes on. What induced Macneillie to give him -a trial I can’t think, he is quite a novice and though rolling in gold, -he has never thought of offering a premium. I never saw a fellow with so -much side on. He ought to be kicked!” - -“Who is he?” said Evereld laughing, as she put on her hat and prepared -to go out. - -“He’s the younger son of an earl, I believe, and rejoices in the name of -Bertie Vane-Ffoulkes. He patronises the manager as if he were doing him -a great favour by joining his company, and he is already plaguing poor -Ivy with attentions that she would far rather be without.” - -They went to the public garden hoping to find a seat in the shade where -they could watch the tennis, and here they came across Ivy and Miss -Helen Orme, who usually shared lodgings. In attendance on them walked a -rather handsome young man with a pink and white complexion and an air of -complacent self-esteem. Ivy catching sight of them hastened forward with -joyful alacrity though her _cavalière servente_ was in the middle of one -of his most telling anecdotes. - -“How delightful to meet you again!” she exclaimed taking both Evereld’s -hands in hers. “I have been longing to see you. Now, if that obnoxious -Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes will but take himself off there are so many things I -want to say to you.” - -The Honorable Bertie, however, never thought himself in the way, he -begged Ralph to introduce him to Mrs. Denmead and kindly patronised them -all for the next hour, chatting in what he flattered himself was a -very pleasant and genial manner about himself, the new costumes he had -specially ordered from Abiram’s for his first appearance on the stage, -the great success of the private theatricals at his father’s place in -Southshire when he had acted with dear Lady Dunlop Tyars, and various -anecdotes of high life which he felt sure would interest “these -theatrical people.” - -At last to their relief he sauntered hack to his hotel. - -“I wonder whether he really acts well?” said Evereld musingly. “He seems -to have a very high opinion of his own powers. I thought all the men’s -costumes were provided by the management.” - -“So they are,” said Ralph with a smile, “But nothing worn by just a -common actor would do for him, I suppose. He must have the very best of -everything specially made for him by Abiram, and strike envy into the -hearts of all the rest of us.” - -“We were so comfortable and friendly before he came,” said Ivy. “And -now I am sure everything will be different. He’s an odious, conceited, -empty-headed amateur, not in the least fit to be an actor. I wish -he would go back to his private theatricals in the country with his -Duchesses, and leave us in peace.” - -“Poor fellow! perhaps he really means to work hard and improve,” said -Evereld. - -“You are always charitable,” said Ivy. “As for me I believe we shall -never have a moment’s peace till Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes has gone.” - -Her prophesy was curiously fulfilled, for it was wonderful how much -trouble and annoyance the wealthy amateur contrived to cause. - -Macneillie bore with him with considerable patience, being determined -that in spite of his many peccadillos he should have a fair chance. He -taught him as much as it is possible to teach a very conceited mortal, -gave him many hints by which it is to be feared he profited little, and -quietly ignored his rudeness, sometimes enjoying a good laugh over it -afterwards when he described to Evereld what had taken place. - -Evereld was one of those people who are always receiving confidences. -It was partly her very quietness which made people open their hearts -to her. They knew she would never talk and betray them, and there was -something in her face which inspired those who knew her to come and pour -out all their troubles, certain of meeting sympathy and that sort of -womanly wisdom which is better than any amount of mere cleverness. - -Even Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes himself was driven at last by the growing -consciousness of his unpopularity to tell her of his difficulties. - -“I don’t know how it is, Mrs. Denmead,” he said one day, when they -chanced to be alone for a few minutes, “I am not gaining ground here. -These stage people are very hard to get on with.” - -“But they are your fellow artists,” said Evereld lifting her clear eyes -to his, “why do you call them ‘these stage people’ as though they were a -different sort of race?” - -“Well you know,” said the Honorable Bertie, “of course you know it’s not -quite--not exactly--the same thing. Your husband is of a good family, I -am quite aware of that, but many of the others, why, you know, they are -just nobodies.” - -Evereld’s mouth twitched as she thought how Macneillie would have taken -off this characteristic little speech. - -“But art knows nothing of rank,” she said gently. “Who cares about the -parentage of Raphael, or Dante, or David Garrick, or Paganini?” - -The earl’s son looked somewhat blank. - -“That’s all very well theoretically,” he said. “But in practice it’s -abominable. I believe there’s a conspiracy against me. They are jealous -of me and don’t mean to let me have a fair chance.” - -“Oh, Mr. Macneillie is so just and fair to all, that could never be,” - said Evereld warmly. - -“The manager is the worst of them,” said the Honorable Bertie, deep -gloom settling on his brow. “I hate his way at rehearsal of making a -fool of one before all the rest of the company.” - -“But you can’t have a rehearsal all to yourself,” said Evereld laughing. -“You should hear what they say of other managers at rehearsal, who swear -and rave and storm at the actors.” - -“I shouldn’t mind that half as much,” said Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes. “It’s just -that cool persistent patience, and that insufferable air of dignity he -puts on that I can’t stand. What right has Macneillie to authority and -dignity and all that sort of thing? Why I believe he’s only the son of a -highland crofter.” - -“I don’t think you’ll find your ancestors any good in art life,” said -Evereld. “It is what you can do as an actor that matters, and as long as -you feel yourself a different sort of flesh and blood how can you expect -them to like you?” - -The Honorable Bertie was not used to such straight talking but, to do -him justice, he took it in very good part, and always spoke of Mrs. -Ralph Denmead with respect, though he still cordially hated her husband. -Ralph unfortunately occupied the exact position which he desired, he -always coveted the Juvenile Lead, and Macneillie cruelly refused to -give him anything but the smallest and most insignificant parts until he -improved. - -“How can I make anything out of such a character as this?” he grumbled, -“Why I have only a dozen sentences in the whole play.” - -“You can make it precisely what the author intended it to be,” said the -Manager. “It is the greatest mistake in the world to judge a part by its -length. You might make much of that character if only you would take the -trouble. But it’s always the way, no heart is put into the work unless -the part is a showy one; you go through it each night like a stick.” - -There was yet another reason why Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes disliked Ralph. In -the dulness and disappointment of his theatrical tour he solaced himself -by falling in love with Ivy Grant: and Ivy would have nothing to say -to him, refused his presents, and took refuge as much as possible with -Ralph and Evereld, who quite understanding the state of the case did all -they could for her. - -The more she avoided him, however, the more irrepressible he became, -until at last she quite dreaded meeting him, and had it not been for the -friendship of the Denmeads and Helen Orme she would have fared ill. - -It was naturally impossible for the Honorable Bertie to confide to -Evereld how cordially he detested her husband; he turned instead to Myra -Brinton, who being at that time in a somewhat uncomfortable frame of -mind was far from proving a wise counsellor. Though in the main a really -good woman, Myra had a somewhat curious code of honour, and she was not -without a considerable share of that worst of failings, jealousy. If any -one had told her in Scotland that she should ever live to become jealous -of little Ivy Grant, she would not have believed it possible. But -latterly Ivy had several times crossed her path. She was making rapid -strides in the profession, and was invariably popular with her audience. -This however was less trying to Myra than the perception that a real -friendship was springing up between Ivy and young Mrs. Denmead, who, -it might have been expected would have more naturally turned to her. -She did not realise that to the young bride there seemed a vast chasm of -years between them, that a woman of seven and twenty seemed far removed -from her ways of looking at everything, and that Evereld dreaded her -criticism and turned to Ivy as the more companionable of the two. - -Deep down in her heart, moreover, poor Myra could not help contrasting -her own lot with that of Ralph Denmead’s wife. The little bride was -so unfeignedly happy and had such good cause for perfect trust and -confidence in her husband that Myra sometimes felt bitterly towards her. -Not that Tom Brinton was a bad fellow, there was much about him that -was likeable; but the lover of her dreams had ceased to exist, she had -settled down into married life that was perhaps as happy as the average -but that nevertheless left much to be desired. Her husband would never -have dreamt of ill-treating her, indeed in his way he was fond of her -still. But it has been well said that unless we are deliberately kind to -everyone, we shall often be unconsciously cruel, and it was for lack -of this kindly tenderness that Myra’s life was becoming more and more -difficult. She used to watch Ralph’s unfailing care and thoughtful -considerateness for Evereld with an envy that ate into her very -heart. She was jealous moreover with a jealousy that only a woman can -understand of the hope of motherhood which began to dawn for Evereld. -It seemed to her that everything a woman covets was given to this -young wife, who had known so little of the hardness of life, the fierce -struggle for success, which had made her own lot so different. And as -time went on a sort of morbid sentimentality crept into her admiration -for Ralph, and she found herself beginning to hate the sight of Evereld -in a way which would have horrified her had she made time to think out -the whole state of things. It was at this time that Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes -turned to her for advice. He could not by any possibility have chosen a -worse confidante. - -“Why is little Miss Grant always running after the Denmeads?” he -complained. “I can never get two words with her. If it’s not the wife -she is with, then it’s the husband. I can’t think what she sees in that -boy, but whenever he’s in the theatre she’s always talking to him.” - -“Yes, she is very unguarded,” said Myra with a sigh. “Of course he has -known her since she was a child, and he was very good in helping her -on when we were in Theophilus Skoot’s company. But she ought to be more -careful, for there is no doubt that she was very much in love with him -in the old days. You would be doing a good deed if you separated them a -little.” She had not in the least intended to say anything of this sort, -the words seemed put into her mouth, and somehow when once they were -said she vehemently assured herself that she fully believed them. Not -only so but she determined to act up to her belief. - -“I never saw any one so fascinating,” said the Honorable Bertie, who was -very badly hit indeed. “She’s a regular little witch. I assure you, Mrs. -Brinton, I would marry her to-morrow if I were only lucky enough to have -the chance. But she hasn’t a word to throw at me, and if she is not with -the Denmeads, why she will stick like a leech to Miss Orme, and how is a -man to make love to a girl when that’s the way she treats him? I wonder -whether she still cares for that fellow Denmead? If so, couldn’t you -give his wife a hint, then perhaps she would not have so much to do with -her and I might possibly stand a chance of getting a hearing.” - -“Well,” said Myra, rather startled by this suggestion. “I could do that -if you like, but of course, it would lead to a quarrel between them.” - -“Oh, never mind what it leads to,” said Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes. “It will at -least give me a fair chance with her. Isn’t it hard, Mrs. Brinton, that -when a fellow doesn’t care a straw the girls are all dying for love of -him, and when at last he does care why the fates ordain that he shall -fall in love with a girl who--well--who doesn’t care a straw for him.” - -Myra could have found it in her heart to laugh at this lame ending, and -at the sudden reversal of fortune which had so greatly depressed the -earl’s son, but after all there was something genuine about the poor -fellow that touched her: for the time Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes really was very -much in love with Ivy. It was the sort of passion that might possibly -exist for about six months, it might even prove to be a “hardy annual,” - but it was certainly not a passion of the perennial sort. - -She promised that she would do her best for him. - -“If he is an empty-headed fellow,” she reflected, “he is at least rich -and well-connected. It would be a remarkably good marriage for Ivy -Grant, and I will do what I can to further it.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII - - - “When ye sit by the fire yourselves to warm, - - Take care that your tongues do your neighbours no - - harm.” - - Old Chimney-piece Motto. - -|Christmas had passed and they were engaged for a fortnight at -Mardentown, one of the large manufacturing places. It was on a frosty -clear morning early in the new year that Myra set out from her rather -comfortless lodgings to call on Evereld. There was no rehearsal that -day and she happened to know that both Macneillie and Ralph were out, so -that the coast would be clear for her operations. - -“I shall be doing a kindness to her as well as to Ivy and Mr. -Vane-Ffoulkes,” she reflected. “She is so very innocent, it is high time -she understood a little more of the ways of the world.” - -Evereld was sitting by the fire in a cheerful-looking room into which -the wintry sun shone brightly; flowers were on the table, Christmas -cards daintily arranged were on the mantelpiece; there was a homelike -air about the place which Myra at once noted, and she looked with a -pang at the little garment at which the young wife was working when she -entered. - -“My husband told me Mr. Macneillie was at the theatre so I came in to -have a chat with you,” she said kissing her affectionately. “You are -looking pale this morning, dear, this wandering life is getting too hard -for you.” - -“Oh, I am very well,” said Evereld brightly, “and as to the travelling I -shall not have much more of that for at the beginning of February I have -promised to go and stay with Mrs. Hereford in London. They all say it is -right, so I mustn’t grumble, but I do so hate leaving Ralph.” - -“He can come to you for the Sundays,” said Myra. “Where has he gone to -this morning?” - -“He and Mr. Mowbray have hired bicycles and have gone over to Brookfield -Castle. They will have a beautiful ride for it is so still and the roads -will be nice and dry. Ivy wanted to go too, but she couldn’t manage to -get a bicycle, they were all engaged.” - -“Well it sounds unkind,” said Myra. “But I am not sorry that she was -forced to stay behind. Ivy is getting too careless of appearances.” - -“Do you really disapprove of bicycling for women?” asked Evereld. -“One has hardly had time to get used to it, but it seems such capital -exercise, and no one could look more graceful in cycling than Ivy does.” - -“Oh, I don’t mean that, dear,” said Myra colouring a little. “I really -hardly know how to explain things to you, for you seem so young and -confiding, and so ready to trust everyone. But you see Ivy rather runs -after your husband. Of course she always was a born flirt, I don’t think -she can help it. But people are beginning to notice it and to talk, they -are indeed.” - -“I wonder any one can be so foolish as to think such things,” said -Evereld with a little air of matronly dignity which became her very -well. “Every one belonging to the company must surely understand that -Ivy is so much with us because she is being actually persecuted by that -provoking Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes.” - -“Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes is not so bad as people make out, he may be vain and -conceited I quite admit, but he really is in love with Ivy and she is -very foolish to run away from him on every possible occasion. It would -be a capital marriage for her. Why, if the present heir were to die, Mr. -Vane-Ffoulkes comes into the title, Ivy forgets that.” - -“She positively dislikes him,” said Evereld. “You surely wouldn’t wish -her to marry such a man as that just for his position?” - -“No, but I think she might be a little more civil to him and at least -give him a hearing. And quite apart from that I really think, dear, you -are ill-advised in having her so much here.” - -Evereld’s clear blue eyes looked questioningly and in a puzzled fashion -at her visitor. - -“But we like her and she likes us. Why shouldn’t she come?” - -“Because it would be much wiser for her not to come,” said Myra. “I know -her past, and you do not. If you are wise you will not have Ivy for your -intimate friend.” - -A troubled look began to steal over Evereld’s face, she was not well, -and was very ill-fitted just then to take a calm dispassionate view of -anything. Myra’s words and hints agitated her all the more because she -only half understood them. Vaguely she felt that a shadow was creeping -over her cloudless sky. She shivered a little and drew closer to the -fire. - -“Please tell me just what you mean,” she said rather piteously. “I know -of nothing against Ivy, and she has been Ralph’s friend for a long time, -so naturally I like her.” - -“Naturally!” exclaimed Myra, whose jealous nature found it hard to -credit such a statement. “That only shows how innocent you are, how -little you understand the world. Why to my certain knowledge that girl -is in love with your husband.” - -Evereld’s eyes dilated, she stared at the speaker for a moment in mute -consternation. Then suddenly she began to laugh but not quite naturally, -her tears were at no great distance. - -“How ridiculous!” she said. “I wonder you can say such a thing to -me. Ivy! who has been quite foolishly fond of me! Oh, indeed you are -mistaken!” - -“The mistake is yours!” said Myra, “Ivy is a very coaxing little thing -and would of course find it most convenient to have your friendship. -She is clever and managing, and always contrives to get her own way, and -then of course she is a born actress. I have no doubt she was delighted -to vow an eternal friendship with you. It’s just what would suit her -best.” - -Evereld’s heart sank, she seemed to be suddenly plunged into an entirely -new region, where doubt and suspicion and jealousy and evil intention -made the whole atmosphere dark and oppressive. Not since her -difficulties at Glion had she felt so miserable and so utterly -perplexed. - -“You see, dear,” said Myra, “I knew them both in the days of the Scotch -tour, and from the first understood how things were. I daresay your -husband hasn’t told you about it, men forget these things, but there is -no doubt whatever that Ivy was in love with him. I saw it then clearly -enough, and I see it now. Be persuaded by me, and for your own sake and -for her good don’t have her much with you. I am older than you, and -I know the harm that a fascinating little witch like Ivy can work. Of -course I say all this to you in confidence, but I thought it was only -kind to give you a hint. You have not been to the theatre just lately.” - -“No, I am rather tired of this play,” said Evereld. “I am glad we are to -have a Shaksperian week at Bath.” - -“Yes, ‘legitimate’ is rather refreshing, isn’t it?” said Myra. “But the -dresses are a bother. I have to devise something new for Portia in the -casket scene, for the old one was ruined the last time I wore it. There -were six of us dressing in one room, and there was hardly space to turn -round; the train is all over grease-paint. The men are lucky in having -their costumes provided by the management. Well, good bye, dear, take -care of yourself. And be sure to let me know if there is anything I can -do for you.” - -Evereld thanked her rather faintly and was not sorry to find herself -alone once more. She felt giddy as she tried to recall exactly what Myra -had said and hinted. Could it possibly be true? And if so what was -she to do? That there was a vein of silliness in Ivy she had long ago -discovered; now and then she said things which jarred a little on her, -but the more she had seen of her the more she had learnt to like her, -and her perfectly open and rational friendship for Ralph had always -seemed to her most natural. Was it true that all the time Ivy had been -acting? Myra’s arguments returned to her with a force which she vainly -tried to struggle against. Had she been able to go out in the sunshine -for a brisk walk probably she would have taken a more quiet view of the -state of affairs, but she was not well enough for that, and the more she -brooded over it all the more miserable she became. - -Just when her visions were at the darkest the bell rang and the little -servant ushered in Ivy herself. - -“What luck to find you alone,” said the girl brightly, “I was afraid Mr. -Macneillie would perhaps be in. I’m in the worst of tempers, for on this -perfect day there wasn’t a lady’s bicycle to be had, and there are those -two lucky men enjoying themselves while I am left in this smoky town.” - -“I was sorry to hear you had been disappointed,” said Evereld, going on -with her work. But somehow as she said the words she knew that she was -not so sorry as she had at first been. Things had changed since Myra’s -visit. She even fancied a difference in Ivy. Was there something more -than cleverness in that winsome face? Was there a certain craftiness in -those ever-changing eyes? She began to think there was, and being a bad -hand at concealing her thoughts, her manner became constrained and she -was extremely unresponsive to the flood of bright talk which Ivy poured -out. - -“Something is worrying you,” said the girl at last growing conscious -of the curious difference in her friend’s manner. “‘Don’t worry! Try -Sunlight!’ as the soap advertisement tells you. Come out with me for -a turn before dinner. Walking is the sovereign remedy for all ills. We -used to try it in Scotland when we were half starving.” - -Evereld hated herself for it, but she was so overwrought and miserable -that even the use of that word “we” grated upon her. She declined the -invitation, and her manner grew more and more cold and repellent. - -Ivy was puzzled and hurt. - -“Have you been alone all the morning?” she said, wondering if perhaps -that accounted for her friend’s manner. - -“No, I have had a call from Mrs. Brinton,” said Evereld colouring a -little. - -“Of all perplexing people she is the most perplexing,” said Ivy. “One -day I like her, the next she is perfectly detestable. What did she talk -about?” - -Evereld faltered a little. - -“Oh, of various things,” she said blushing. “She is getting ready a new -dress for the Casket scene.” - -“By the bye,” said Ivy springing up, “that reminds me that I must ask -her for the pattern of a sleeve I want for Jessica. I know she has it.” - -And with friendly farewells which Evereld could not find it in her heart -to respond to at all cordially she took her departure. - -No sooner was she out of the house than Evereld’s conscience began to -prick her. She had felt very unkindly towards Ivy, and the wistful look -of surprise and bewilderment which she had seen on the girl’s face as -she uttered her cold farewells kept returning to her. What if Ivy went -now to see Myra and learnt that they had been talking her over? What if -after all this story of Myra’s was quite mistaken, or possibly one of -those half truths that are almost worse and more damaging than utter -falsehoods? - -Shame and regret and self-reproach began to struggle with the wretched -suspicions that had been sown in her heart by Myra’s words, and her long -repressed tears broke forth at last,--she sobbed as if her heart would -break. - -“How miserably I have failed,” she thought to herself. “How ready I was -to think evil, and to jump to the very worst conclusions. It would be -likely enough that she should have cared for Ralph who was so kind to -her when she was a child--I should only love her all the more if she -had loved him. Why must I fancy at the first hint that there is sin in -her friendship for him now? I won’t believe it--I won’t--I won’t.” - -She took up her work again and tried to sew, but her tears blinded her, -for she remembered how much harm might already have been done by her -angry resentment and her ready suspicions. Ever since the hope of -motherhood had come to her she had tried her very utmost to rule her -thoughts, to dwell only on what was beautiful and of good report, to -read only what was healthy and ennobling, to see beautiful scenery -whenever there was an opportunity, and in every way to try harder than -usual to live up to her ideal; she knew that in this way the character -of the next generation might be sensibly affected. - -Well, she had failed just when failure was most bitter to her, and -being now thoroughly upset she had to struggle with all sorts of nervous -terrors and anxieties and forebodings, in which her only resource was to -repeat to herself the words of the Ewart motto “Avaunt Fear!” which had -stood her in good stead during her flight from Sir Matthew. - -It was the sound of the servant’s step on the stairs and the ominous -rattle of the dinner things which finally checked her tears; she was not -going to be caught crying, and hastily beat a retreat into her bedroom. - -“If they see me like this they will imagine Ralph is unkind to me!” she -thought, shocked at her own reflection in the looking-glass. “Oh dear, -how I wish he were at home! And yet I don’t, for if he were here just -now I know I couldn’t resist telling him everything, and that would -worry him; and he shall not be worried just now when he is so specially -busy studying ‘Hamlet.’” - -Macneillie returning from the theatre soon after, could not but observe -at their _tête à tête_ dinner that his companion had been crying, but -like the sensible man he was he affected utter blindness and did the -lion’s share of the talking. - -“Can you spare me a little time this afternoon,” he said as he rose from -the table. “I want to drive over to a village about three miles from -here, the day is so bright I don’t think you would take cold.” - -Evereld gladly assented, and Macneillie, who as an old traveller was an -adept at making people comfortable with rugs and cushions, tucked her -comfortably into the best open carriage he had been able to secure and -was glad to see that the fresh air soon brought back the colour to her -face and the light to her eyes. - -“You and I have both had a dull morning. I have been bored to death with -people incessantly wanting to speak to me, and you I suppose have been -bored by being too much alone.” - -“No,” she said, “I have not been much alone; Mrs. Brinton came to me -first, and after she had gone Ivy came. They both of them vexed me -somehow, but I think it was my own fault.” - -Macneillie meditated for a few minutes. He had not studied character -all these years for nothing, and Evereld’s transparent honesty and -straightforwardness made her easy reading. Myra he had known for a long -time both before her engagement and since her marriage; she was a much -more complex character, but he understood her thoroughly and had noted, -though she little guessed it, that she was jealous both of Evereld’s -happiness and of Ivy’s success in her profession: moreover he was not -without a shrewd suspicion that she was just a little bit in love with -Ralph herself. - -“Life is never altogether easy when a great number of people are going -about the world together,” he said. “There are sure to be little rubs. -If you have ever seen anything of military life you will understand -that. The officers’ wives and families are pretty sure to have their -quarrels and little differences now and then, but in the main there is a -certain loyalty that binds them together. It is just the same with us. -I have known people not on speaking terms for weeks, but they generally -have a good-natured reconciliation before the end of the tour.” - -“Yes,” said Evereld, “I can quite fancy that. And I know if I hadn’t -been horrid and suspicious things would have been different this -morning. Please don’t say anything about it to Ralph, I don’t want him -to know that I had been crying.” - -Macneillie could not resist teasing her a little. - -“What! I thought you were a model husband and wife, and had no secrets -from each other! And here you are pledging me to silence!” - -She laughed at his comical expression, and felt much better for -laughing. - -“We do tell each other everything as a rule, but this could only vex him -and make things uncomfortable all round, and just now he is studying so -very hard for his first attempt at Hamlet. I really believe he is more -Hamlet than himself; he seems to think of him all day long and even in -his sleep he has taken to muttering bits of his part. It’s quite uncanny -to hear him in the dead of night!” - -She was quite her cheerful self again and nothing more was said as to -what had passed that morning. Macneillie however turned things over -in his mind and that evening at the theatre he reaped the harvest of a -quiet eye, and began to understand the precise state of affairs. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV - - - “O for a heart from self set free - - And doubt and fret and care, - - Light as a bird, instinct with glee, - - That fans the breezy air. - - “O for a mind whose virtue moulds - - All sensuous fair display, - - And, like a strong commander, holds - - A world of thoughts in sway!” - - Professor Blackie - -|What has happened to Evereld?” said Ivy that morning, as Myra -graciously cut out for her a second pattern of the sleeve which she -wanted. “I have been to see her and it was like hurling words at a stone -wall. I couldn’t have imagined that she would ever be like that.” - -“Oh, you have just been in there,” said Myra reflectively. “I am sorry -you went to-day.” - -“What has come over her?” said Ivy. “She seemed almost to dislike me.” - -“I think she was a little upset by something she had heard,” said Myra, -handing the pattern to her visitor. - -“What can she have heard that should make her different to me?” said Ivy -hotly. - -“Well, my dear,” said Myra with a swift glance at her, “you know people -are beginning to say that you run after Mr. Denmead, and I daresay -she knows that you cared for him when we were in Scotland. Though very -innocent she can hardly help putting two and two together, and it is but -natural that she should resent your making friends with her for the -sake of being able to go about constantly with her husband. You made a -mistake in professing such a very violent friendship for her.” - -“It is all a horrible lie,” cried Ivy, crimson with anger and distress. -“No wonder she hates me if she believes me to be such a hypocrite as -that! I was her friend--but I never will be again, no, nor Ralph’s -either. Oh! they will discuss it all and talk me over! and I believe -it’s your doing. You told her this lie. How I hate you! how I hate you!” - -Like a little fury she flung into the fire the pattern which Myra had -just cut out for her, and was gone before her companion could get in a -single word. - -Down the street she sped, looking prettier than ever because her -eyes were still bright with indignation and her cheeks aglow at the -recollection of what had passed. As ill luck would have it, just as she -reached the quiet road in which she was lodging with Helen Orme, she -came suddenly face to face with Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes. - -“I had been to inquire if you were in, and to try and persuade you to -come and skate this afternoon,” he said eagerly. “The ice in the park -will bear they say. Do come.” - -“But I never skated in my life,” said Ivy. - -“I’ll teach you, I am sure you would learn in a very little while, and -it is just the sort of thing you would do to perfection.” - -As he spoke a sudden thought darted into Ivy’s mind. Here was a man who -for some time had seriously annoyed her by persistent attentions which -she did not want. She would now change her tactics, would carry on a -desperate flirtation with him, and show these detestable gossips that -they were quite in the wrong. As for the Denmeads she would avoid them -as much as possible, and to Myra she would not vouchsafe a single word, -no--not though they shared dressing-rooms! - -All this passed through her mind while Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes was assuring -her that she would skate like one to the manner born. - -“I don’t think I can go,” she said hesitatingly. “For one thing I have -no skates, and then----” - -“I will manage the skates if only you will just come and try,” he said -persuasively, and after a little more discussion Ivy consented, and the -Honorable Bertie in the seventh heaven of happiness hurried away into -the High Street, there to procure the most dainty little pair of skates -that the place could supply, while Ivy, forgetting her anger in the -satisfaction of her new scheme, ran in to make a hasty meal, and to put -on the prettiest walking-dress and hat she possessed. - -Late in the afternoon, Ralph and George Mowbray bicycling back from -Brookfield Castle dismounted for a few minutes to watch the skaters in -the park, and to speculate as to the chances of the ice for the next -day. - -“Hullo!” exclaimed Ralph, suddenly perceiving a graceful little figure -skimming past under the guidance of a tall fair-haired man, “Why there’s -Ivy Grant pioneered by the Honorable Bertie! Wonders will never cease.” - -“So she has caved in at last,” said George Mowbray with a laugh, “having -snubbed him all these months I thought she would have contrived to send -him about his business. How cock-a-hoop he does look!” - -It was quite patent to every one after this that Ivy’s objections to -Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes were a thing of the past. She accepted every votive -offering he brought her, skated with him at every available opportunity, -and listened in the most flattering way to his extremely vapid talk. -For each inch she granted him he was ready enough to seize an ell, and -Macneillie who had no confidence at all in the character of his wealthy -amateur, soon saw that things must be promptly checked. - -“My dear,” he said one day to Evereld when their stay at Marden-town was -drawing to a close. “I wish you would somehow contrive to give Ivy Grant -a hint; she is going on very foolishly with Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes, and it is -quite impossible that she can really have any regard for him.” - -“I can’t manage to get hold of her,” said Evereld sighing. “She won’t -come here and see me, but always makes some excuse.” - -“Well, I shall get rid of Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes then,” said Macneillie. “He -has been an insufferable nuisance ever since he came. Would you believe -it--he actually had the presumption to grumble because Ralph was to -play Hamlet! I believe he seriously thinks he would do it much better -himself! The conceit of that fellow beats everything I ever knew. -You should have seen his face when he found that he was cast for -Rosencrantz! It was a picture!” - -“I never can understand why you yourself don’t play Hamlet,” said -Evereld. “You would do it splendidly.” - -“Ralph understands,” said Macneillie a shade crossing his face. “He will -tell you why it is.” - -There was silence for some minutes. Then, as though shaking himself free -from thoughts he did not wish to dwell upon, Macneillie began to pace -the room and to consider how best to rid the company of the undesirable -presence of the Honorable Bertie. - -“I have it!” he exclaimed,--suddenly bursting into a fit of laughter. -“Great Scott! That will be the very thing!” he rubbed his hands with -keen satisfaction, chuckling to himself in high glee over the thought -of the fun he anticipated. “Come to the theatre to-night, my dear, and I -will treat you to a new transformation scene which, if I’m not mistaken, -will bring down the house. But mind, not a word of it to any one -beforehand.” - -It was not only his fellow actors who objected to the Honorable Bertie, -he was detested by the stage carpenters and scene shifters, not so much -because of his conceit as because he had an objectionable habit of being -always in the way. For the past week they had been giving a play in -which he took the part of a dragoon guard and though the insignificance -of the character chafed him sorely, he found some consolation in the -knowledge that in uniform he presented a really splendid appearance. - -Now it chanced that there was a property chair used in this play of -remarkably comfortable proportions, and the Honorable Bertie being long -and lazy invariably lounged at his ease in this chair between the acts, -for he had no change of dress and no opportunity of amusing himself with -Ivy just in the intervals because she happened to have rather elaborate -changes. - -Macneillie, who was his own Stage Manager, had for some time observed -the cool disregard shown by the amateur of the peremptory call of -“Clear!” on the part of his Assistant stage manager. Deaf to the order -Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes invariably took his ease in the big chair, lazily -watching the busy workers with an air of irritating superiority. - -“I think I shall cure him of this little habit,” reflected Macneillie -with a smile, and seizing a moment when his victim was the only person -visible on the stage he suddenly rang up the curtain. - -A roar of laughter rose from the audience, for there in full view sat -the Honorable Bertie with his legs dangling in unconventional comfort -over the arm of the chair. - -He sprang to his feet in horror, dashed to the practicable door at the -back of the stage deeming it his nearest escape, forgot that he still -wore his guard’s helmet, crashed it violently against the lintel, and -by the time he had staggered back, and with lowered crest disappeared -behind the scenes, left the house in convulsions of merriment. - -The curtain descended again, and the Honorable Bertie choking with rage -contemplated his battered helmet with a fiery face, and vowed vengeance -on Macneillie, but had not the sense to join in the laughter which even -Ivy could not suppress, do what she would. The sight of her mirth put -the last touch to his wrath, and at the close of the performance he had -an angry interview with the manager who, as he furiously declared, had -made him ridiculous before the whole house. - -“The curtain was rung up too early,” admitted Macneillie. “But the -order had been given to clear the stage; you persistently disregard that -order every night and must take the consequences.” - -“I will not stay another day in your d----d company,” said the Honorable -Bertie, fuming. - -Macneillie bowed in acquiescence; gravely assured the Earl’s son that a -cheque for the amount of his weekly salary should be sent the next day -to his hotel, and bade him good evening. Perhaps Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes did -not quite like to be so promptly taken at his own word, perhaps the -quiet dignity of Macneillie’s manner was too much for him; the threats -and denunciations he longed to pour forth somehow stuck in his throat, -and with a muttered oath he took his departure, leaving Macneillie well -satisfied with the result of his stratagem. - -Three days after, the company moved on to Gloucester, Ivy however had -made the Business Manager put her in a different railway carriage from -the Denmeads with whom she usually travelled, and Evereld could only -contrive to exchange a few words with her at the station. - -The following week when they went to Bath matters seemed rather more -favourable. Ralph who had a great liking for the old theatre there with -its many memories, declared that it was the most interesting theatre in -England, and Evereld, partly for the sake of seeing it, partly with the -hope of patching up the quarrel, went with him on the Monday morning to -rehearsal. - -The play was “The Merchant of Venice” and fortune favoured her, for Ivy -had not a great deal to do, and quickly yielded to the gentle kindly -manner of Ralph’s wife. Together they laughed over Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes’ -discomfiture, and agreed that it was a great relief to be well quit of -him; then, as the rehearsal bid fair to be a lengthy one, Ivy ran out -to buy Bath buns at Fort’s and handed them impartially to all present -including Myra, and Evereld began to think that things would soon come -straight once more. - -“Do come in to tea with me to-day,” she begged. “I shall be alone for -hours for they mean to go through some of Hamlet this afternoon for -Ralph’s sake, and I shall be going to London next week you know for some -time.” - -It was difficult to resist the friendly look in her eyes, and Ivy -consented to come, arriving soon after four at the rooms in Kingsmead -Terrace in a somewhat silent mood. However tea and a good laugh over the -vagaries of Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes soon thawed her. - -“I only wish I had never flirted with him,” she said regretfully. “All -the time I hated and despised him.” - -“What made you do it then?” said Evereld. - -Ivy crimsoned. - -“It was Myra’s fault. I believe she was in league with him. When I -found that she had told you such a lie about me, I thought I would show -everyone how false it was.” - -“But I knew it to be false almost directly,” said Evereld. “It was only -for an hour or so, before there had been time to think things over that -I believed it, dear. Indeed if I had been well and strong I don’t think -I should have believed it for a moment.” - -To her surprise Ivy suddenly broke down and began to sob. - -“Oh,” she said, “I am so dreadfully alone in the world! I don’t think I -can do without you two.” - -“Why should you do without us?” said Evereld. “I hope you are not going -to punish me any more for having been cold and repellent the other day? -Ralph and I shall always want you to be our friend.” - -“But how can I be your friend when all these days you have been -discussing me?” - -“We haven’t discussed you. Ralph has never heard one word of what Myra -said. The only thing he did say was that he thought you did not realise -the sort of man Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes really was, or you would be more -careful. Of course he can’t help knowing, too, that you have quarrelled -with Myra, because you don’t speak to her.” - -“I am going to tell you just the whole truth,” said Ivy, drying her eyes -and looking straight up at Evereld with an air of resolute courage that -made her winsome little face actually beautiful. “I did love Ralph once. -At first he was just a sort of hero to me, but in Scotland when we were -all so miserable and he was always trying to help me, then I began to -love him; and when the Skoots disappeared and left us stranded at Forres -I couldn’t bear to be parted from him and let him see that I cared. I -knew he understood; for he showed me that it would not do for us to stay -together when the company dispersed, and he told me how he cared for -you, not of course saying your name, but I knew he meant you. At first -it made me angry and miserable, but I liked him so for being true, and -for speaking straightforwardly as very few men do to women; and always -he made me feel that he respected me and liked and trusted me. When -later on the Brintons told me he was engaged to you I was able to be -glad of it--I was indeed; and when Myra told me the other day that -you believed such a lie about me, and I guessed at once it was all her -doing--why it seemed as if she had trodden under foot the very best part -of me, and afterwards I didn’t much care what I did. I think I could -almost have married Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes.” - -“That would have been an awful fate,” said Evereld with a shudder, as -she realised how much harm her ready suspicions had done. “Ivy dear, you -must promise me never to let anyone come between us again. Ralph and I -are always your friends--do believe that once for all, or I shall never -feel at rest about you.” - -They kissed each other warmly and the misunderstanding was quite at an -end, leaving them much closer friends than they had been before. To set -things straight with Myra Brinton would probably not prove so easy, but -Evereld was very anxious to effect a reconciliation before she went to -London. - -Partly with a view to this, and partly because she had not yet seen the -“Merchant of Venice” she got Ralph to take her that night behind the -scenes. - -Unlike so many of the modern theatres the old theatre at Bath in which -Mrs. Siddons had often acted in former days could boast a comfortable -green room, and here, she and Ralph and Helen Orme did their best to -draw Ivy and Myra Brinton into more pleasant relations. - -Ivy might have been persuaded to relent, but Myra withdrew into a shell -of cold reserve which made Ralph think of the days when he had first -known her at Dumfries. She looked on with chilling surprise and -disapproval while Evereld chatted in a friendly fashion with Ivy, and -quite refused to join in the general conversation. While all the rest -were pinning each other’s draperies she stood by the fireplace busily -occupied with her powder-puff, apparently quite self-engrossed, but in -reality noting with jealous pangs the easy good fellowship of her fellow -artists and the expression of Ralph’s face as he talked with Evereld -and Ivy. She made up her mind to hold entirely aloof and show how she -despised them all, and it proved quite impossible to make any way with -her. - -Evereld made one last effort in the interval after the third act when -Myra, looking extremely handsome in her lawyer’s cap and gown came into -the green room ready for the Trial scene, and Ivy, in good spirits after -receiving much applause for her sprightly rendering of Jessica’s part, -was quite disposed to break the silence which had now lasted so long -between them. But as it takes two to make a quarrel it also takes two to -make an atonement, and Mrs. Brinton calmly turned her back upon the girl -and sailed across the room to the inevitable powder-box. - -“I don’t care,” said Ivy under her breath as she shrugged her shoulders -and left the room. “If it pleases her to go about with a black dog on -her back, let her! Now you are going to stand at the wings, Evereld, -and enjoy the Trial scene; you will have a capital view of it just from -here. As for me, I shall run up and change for my moonlight scene. _Au -revoir!_” - -She felt in a mischievous mood, resenting Myra’s absurd behaviour, and -yet too much pleased by her good reception and by the satisfaction of -being on comfortable terms with Ralph and Evereld again to be exactly -angry. - -“I will dress quickly and run down before Myra comes up for her next -change,” she reflected. “It is just hateful sharing a dressing-room with -anyone when you are not on speaking terms. I wish Mr. Macneillie would -have let her have the ‘Star’ room, but he always will keep the one -nearest the stage for himself whether it is good or bad. Bother! there’s -not room to swing a cat in this place! I wish they would give us more -decent rooms.” Jessica’s dress required a great deal of pinning and -draping. It was by no means easy to dispose of the long trailing fold -of light Liberty silk, and Ivy was in an impatient mood. Suddenly as -she tossed the end of a bit of light gauze drapery over her shoulder -it caught by some mischance in the gas jet from which she had, against -rules, removed the guard while curling her fringe. In an instant it was -flaring all about her, and wild with fright she found it impossible to -free herself from its serpent like coils. - -Presence of mind had never been one of her characteristics and now -the awful sense of her danger and her horrible loneliness drove her to -distraction. She cried for help, but it seemed to her that she might burn -to death before anyone heard her in that remote place. - -Meanwhile Evereld standing at the wings was watching with keen interest -Macneillie’s masterly representation of Shylock, and thinking how -handsome Ralph looked as Bassanio, when she was startled by a distant -cry. - -“You take my house when you do take the prop that doth sustain my -house,” pleaded Shylock, and at that instant another much more distinct -sound--unquestionably a scream--from behind, made Evereld’s heart stand -still. Surely it was Ivy’s voice! - -Without a moment’s hesitation she opened the door leading to the ladies’ -dressing rooms, hurried up the stairs and had just gained the passage -above, when to her horror she saw Ivy rushing forward her pale green -dress all ablaze. - -Snatching off the warm cloak she had been wearing as she stood at the -wings Evereld flung it about the terrified girl, and exerting all her -strength almost hurled Ivy to the ground, dismayed to see how the flames -were rising towards her face. - -“Don’t try to get up,” she cried, as Ivy mad with fear and pain would -have leapt to her feet again. “Roll over and we shall crush out the -fire.” - -It could have been only two minutes yet it seemed to them hours before -others hearing the screams came to the rescue, and by that time Evereld -had succeeded in stifling the flames. Macneillie learning directly he -came off the stage that something was amiss hurried up to them and was -dismayed to find what had happened. - -“Go at once and get hold of Dr. Grey,” he said turning to the business -manager who had been the first to come up. “He is in the front row of -the dress circle. Brinton,” he added turning to the Duke of Venice, -who was the next to appear, “you will help me to lift her into her -dressing-room.” - -“It is so small and crowded,” said Evereld. “Would not the green room be -better? she must be carried down the stairs sooner or later.” - -“Yes, quite true. Give me your cloak, Brinton, we will throw it over -her, and do you go first, Evereld, and see that no one is in the way. We -shall get her safely to the green room before the end of the act.” - -Ivy’s moans as they carried her were drowned in the applause which -followed the end of the Trial Scene. And Evereld, not pausing to realise -that she was trembling from head to foot, went on before to make ready -a place where they could lay her down, and thanks to the promptitude of -the business manager the doctor was on the spot almost as soon as they -were. - -Ralph, strolling up the stage a few minutes later, having heard nothing -that had passed, was rudely recalled to the present as he approached the -little group of people round the green room door. “The doctor has just -gone in,” he heard some one say, and the words threw him into a sudden -panic of terror. - -“Let me get by,” he said. “What’s the matter?” - -“You can’t go in,” said several voices! “Ivy Grant has been awfully -burnt, they say Mrs. Denmead managed to get the fire out.” - -“Where is my wife?” said Ralph distractedly. - -“She is in the green room helping. It’s no good my dear boy. I tell you -no one can go in.” - -Ralph, sick with anxiety for Evereld, and only longing to get her out -of the room, seemed on the point of taking the speaker by the collar and -thrusting him aside, when to his relief the door opened and Macneillie -came out. They all made way for him and heard him giving orders for a -messenger to be sent at once for the ambulance, then before a single -question could be put to him by Ralph, the Assistant stage manager came -up to discuss the arrangements that were to be made for the last act. -Fortunately Ivy’s understudy happened to be present so that no very -great delay was to be feared, and when this matter had been disposed of, -Helen Orme who had good naturedly hurried away to dress in order that -she might be free to offer her help, came hastening back and begged -leave to go in and do what she could for Ivy. - -“Send Evereld to me,” was Ralph’s parting injunction, and Helen Orme, -feeling very sorry for him, went in and finding that the preliminary -dressing of Ivy’s burns was over, admitted him on her own authority. - -It was a kindly meant act but under the circumstances a little risky, -for at the first sight of him Evereld’s composure began to give way. The -doctor noticed it at once. - -“Now, Mrs. Denmead,” he said cheerfully. “Let this lady take your place -for a minute, and you go and sit down. I shall be ready to dress that -hand of yours directly.” - -“Oh!” moaned Ivy who had spoken very little since they had carried her -down. “Is Evereld hurt?” - -“Just a little,” said the doctor. “But she won’t grudge that, for she -has saved your life.” - -“Do you think you could just manage to get me home,” whispered Evereld, -suddenly realising that her strength would hold out no longer and that -she could only agitate and harm Ivy by staying. - -“Yes, darling,” said Ralph, “of course I can.” - -But the cheery doctor had overheard and was beside them in a minute. - -“Where are you staying?” he said crossing the room to them. “In -Kingsmead Terrace? I will drive you there at once in my carriage. Wait -for a minute and I will bring it round to the stage door. My little -patient here will do well enough now, and before long they will carry -her to the hospital in the ambulance. Just one word with you, Mr. -Denmead.” - -Ralph followed him out of the room. - -“Now kindly pilot me through these passages,” said the doctor, having -put a brief question or two as to Evereld. “Your part is not quite -finished is it? Another scene yet if I remember right. You must leave me -to see your wife safely home, and don’t be over anxious. Of course, it’s -an unfortunate thing that she has had this fearful shock, but there is -no reason why she should not get on well enough. Have you a decent sort -of landlady with a head on her shoulders?” - -“She is a capable sort of woman,” said Ralph, “but----” - -“All right. That will do very well for the present. Here’s my -carriage----” - -He gave directions to the coachman, and in a few minutes time Ralph had -put his wife into the brougham and with a heavy heart had turned back -into the theatre to get through the rest of his work as best he could. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV - - - “God! do not let my loved one die, - - But rather wait until the time - - That I am grown in purity - - Enough to enter thy pure clime.” - - Lowell. - -|When Ivy from time to time opened her eyes in that dreadful interval of -waiting for the ambulance which seemed to her almost age-long, she saw -a curious succession of faces. First there had been the cheerful doctor, -and Evereld with her brave blue eyes and firm little mouth. Then those -two faces had mysteriously disappeared, and the wrinkled and careworn -features of the wardrobe woman had greeted her instead, and Helen Orme -dressed as Nerissa bent over her and asked her if she suffered much. - -After that Myra Brinton had stooped and kissed her, to her great -astonishment, and all the foolish little quarrels of the past died out -under the influence of that great uniter of human beings--pain. Ralph -came too with kindly inquiries, and she roused herself to ask again -after Evereld. - -“You are sure the doctor told the truth?” she asked doubtfully. “Was she -really not badly burnt?” - -“No, not badly,” said Ralph. “Only one hand blistered and her wrist -scorched.” - -The summons came just at that minute for Myra and Helen Orme, and he -seized the opportunity to escape, fearful lest she should ask further -questions. He stood at the wings with his friend George Mowbray who was -playing Antonio, watching in a dreamy way the ill-arranged dress which -had been hastily contrived for Ivy’s understudy. - -He would have missed the cue for his entrance had not George Mowbray -pushed him forward, and it seemed to him that it was not his own voice -but the voice of somebody else that uttered Bassanio’s speeches, -while all the time he himself was away with Evereld, though his body -mechanically went through the business of his part. Macneillie watched -him with some anxiety, but before the play ended, the arrival of the -ambulance and the necessity of seeing Ivy safely transferred to it drove -all else from the manager’s mind. He refused to allow anyone but himself -to take her to the hospital, feeling that she was under his charge, and -troubled to remember that the poor child had not a relation in the world -who could now befriend her. - -“Do your best to get well quickly, my dear,” he said in his kindly -voice when he took leave of her. “And don’t fret as to the future. You -shall come back to the company whenever you like.” - -Returning to the theatre he found the scene struck and all the house in -darkness save for the light by the stage door. - -“Is Mr. Denmead still in his dressing-room?” he inquired. - -“No sir,” said the door-keeper. “He has been gone some time and Mr. and -Mrs. Brinton with him.” - -Macneillie ran upstairs to speak a word to Ivy’s understudy as to -the dresses needed later in the week, then he walked slowly back to -Kingsmead Terrace, but although he rang repeatedly no one came to answer -the door. - -He was just meditating a burglarious entrance by the kitchen window when -at last he heard footsteps approaching and the latch was raised. - -Myra Brinton softly opened to him; her face was pale and anxious. - -“Oh, is it you!” she exclaimed. “I hoped it was the nurse. Tom has gone -to try and get hold of one. Evereld’s child is born and the doctor seems -terribly anxious about her.” - -Macneillie was a true Scotsman and seldom said much when he was moved. -He stalked on into the sitting room and began to pace to and fro in -silence. - -Evereld had grown almost like a daughter to him and the thought of her -peril and of Ralph’s frightful anxiety brought a choking sensation to -his throat. - -“What of the child?” he asked presently. - -“It is a boy,” said Myra. “Of course extremely small; they gave him -to me in the next room and I have done what I could for him, the -maidservant is seeing to him now, and the others are in with Evereld. -Hark! there is someone coming downstairs.” - -Macneillie went out into the passage and encountered Ralph who looked as -if years had passed over his head since they last met. - -“They want another doctor,” he said snatching his hat from the stand. - -“Give me the name and address and I will go,” said Macneillie. - -“You have not had your supper,” objected Ralph. “And, as it is, we are -turning the whole house upside down for you.” - -“What matter!” said Macneillie. “Go back to Evereld, my boy, I will see -to this for you.” - -Ralph protested no further, indeed his one desire was to return to his -wife, but catching sight of Myra, he paused to inquire after the child. - -“Evereld keeps asking if it is all right,” he said. “And the doctor, who -would say anything to quiet her, assures her it is all it ought to be. -Do you think there is really a hope that it will live?” - -“I know so little about such things,” said Myra, with a sick remembrance -of the jealous feelings that had stirred within her on first learning of -Evereld’s hopes. “He is the tiniest little fellow I ever saw, but there -seems nothing amiss with him. Hark! there is a ring at the door bell. -It must be the nurse at last. We will see what she says to him.” - -Ralph, who had vaguely expected a sort of Mrs. Gamp, was relieved to see -a comely middle-aged woman with a refined and sensible face, and that -wonderful air of composure and capable quietness which makes a trained -nurse so unlike an amateur. - -She praised all that Myra had done and declared that with care the -child would do well enough, and Ralph, looking for the first time at the -little doll-like face of his son felt a sudden sense of hope and joy and -relief which carried him through the dark hours of that night of anxiety -and suspense. - -For all night long Evereld lay between life and death. The younger -doctor who had been called in despaired of saving her, and Ralph knew -it, though no one actually put the thought into words. He knew it by the -man’s face, and by the sound of effort in the voice of his first friend, -cheery Doctor Grey. Evereld was dying from exhaustion, and from the -terrible shock she had undergone. - -Still like a true Denmead he clung to hope, and held his fear at arm’s -length; every word of encouragement that fell from Dr. Grey’s lips -helping him to keep up. - -Her age was in her favour, her patience, her great firmness and courage -all would stand her in good stead; so said the old doctor; and Ralph -hoped against hope until at last about sunrise a change set in. Even -the younger doctor grew sanguine. Evereld’s hold upon life was evidently -growing firmer. She looked up at Ralph and smiled. - -“What day is it?” she asked, for pain knows no time limits and she had -no notion whether hours or days had gone by. - -“It is Tuesday morning,” he said stooping down to kiss her, a rapturous -sense of relief filling his heart. - -She seemed to meditate for a few minutes, and obediently took the gruel -the nurse brought her. - -“Why!” she exclaimed presently. “It is your first night in Hamlet, and -you will be tired out. Go and rest, darling.” - -“The best rest is to see you growing better,” he said tenderly. - -After another interval she asked about the child. - -“Do you want to see him?” asked the young doctor, hailing as a good sign -her return of interest. - -“Not now, later on” she said quietly. “I will try to sleep first. I’m -sure I could sleep if you would go and rest, Ralph.” - -“Quite right, you are a wise little woman, Mrs. Denmead,” said Dr. -Grey. - -Ralph allowed himself to be taken off by the younger doctor, seeing that -they thought it best he should go. They paused on the way down to visit -the next room, where the good-natured landlady sat in a rocking-chair by -the fire nursing the latest descendant of Sir Ralph Denmead the Crusader -who, instead of being born in a stately castle, had first seen the light -in Kingsmead Terrace at a lodging house specially reserved for what the -landlady termed “Theat’icals.” - -Ralph could only thank her for all her help, but he was blessed with the -power of expression and the good soul felt fully rewarded for what she -had gone through. - -“Don’t you mention it, sir, it’s nothing but a pleasure,” she said. -“Mrs. Brinton she was here till one o’clock, and a very pleasant spoken -lady she is and handy with the child. And, says I to her, the finest -grown man I ever see in my life, six foot two in his stocking feet, was -not a morsel bigger than this baby to start with. A fine set up man -he was as you could wish till he lost his leg along of frost bites and -under-feeding in the Crimea.” - -Ralph looked at the funny little bundle swathed in flannel and almost -laughed at the thought of his possible development into a military hero -of six foot two, losing a leg for his country’s glory! But the mention -of military life made him think of Bridget, and he determined to -telegraph to her at once. - -Down in the sitting-room they found Macneillie solacing himself with -Shakspere and a pipe, and delighted to hear the more favourable report. - -“You have been up all night, Governor,” said Ralph regretfully, when the -doctor had gone. - -“Well, yes, I was afraid you might need me,” said Macneillie. “I had -hardly dared to hope for this good news. Come, sit down and eat, boy, -you are nearly played out. I brewed some coffee for you, but I don’t -know whether it is fit to drink now.” - -Ralph obeyed, eating like a hungry school boy, and his face gradually -assumed a less ghastly hue. - -“What time is rehearsal?” he asked glancing at his watch. “Hullo! I -forgot to wind it, and it has run down.” - -“It’s now eight,” said Macneillie. “Rehearsal is at eleven, but you -won’t be needed. I am going to play Hamlet.” - -“No, Governor,” said Ralph emphatically. “I shall be all right after -a little sleep, and it was almost the first thing Evereld thought of. -Isn’t she a model actor’s wife?” - -He knew well that to play Hamlet was almost more than Macneillie could -endure, for long ago the Manager had told him that he had acted it every -night before Christine Greville’s wedding, and that it had become so -bound up with all the mental misery he had gone through at that time -that he had never dared to attempt it again. - -“Ah, she remembered it,” said Macneillie with a smile. “That was very -like Evereld. I would put off the performance if possible, but it -is promised for three nights and it will be very difficult to manage -anything else, specially as Ivy Grant is _hors de combat_, too, and her -understudy such a novice. No, we will give the play; I have spent most -of the night in company with the Danish prince and this evening he and I -will patch up our ancient quarrel.” - -But Ralph was not to be borne down by these arguments, and at last -Macneillie agreed to a compromise. The play had already been rehearsed -for some time. Ralph should be excused from attendance that morning, and -if all were well should play the part as arranged. - -“Now no more of this argle-bargle as we say in Scotland. To bed with -you, or we shall have you breaking down this evening,” said Macneillie. -“What? a letter you must write?” - -“Only to Mrs. Hereford, who you know had promised to house Evereld -during her illness.” - -“I will see to it,” said Macneillie. “And you want this telegram to go -to that nice old Irish body, the soldier’s widow? Well, leave them to -me, and get along with you, do. Follow the excellent example of that son -of yours, and spend your time in sleeping.” - -Ralph took the advice very literally and for the next eight hours slept -profoundly. He was roused at last to a consciousness that someone was -standing beside his bed, and looking up sleepily was vaguely astonished -to see Bridget’s well-known face. Was he a boy again in Sir Matthew’s -house? And was Bridget as usual coming in to rouse him that he might -not incur his guardian’s wrath by being late for breakfast? His heavy -eyelids drooped again, when he was suddenly startled back to full -recollection by the sound of a wailing baby in the room below. - -“Why, that must be the boy,” he reflected. “And I am a family man,--and -Sir Matthew has gone to Jericho! What news, Bridget?” he exclaimed -anxiously. “How is my wife?” - -“She is doing nicely, sir, God bless her sweet soul! Your dinner is -ready, Mr. Ralph, and after that, why you can be coming in to see -mistress. She has had two good sleeps, thank God.” - -Bridget was in her element with the sole care of the little doll-like -baby. - -“It’s exactly like you, sir, bless it,” she remarked when Ralph paused -on his way to the theatre to take another look at his small son. - -“Well, really, Bridget! You can’t expect me to take that for a -compliment,” he said laughing. “He has no eyes to speak of--just a -couple of slits--and as for his face, it seems to be all nose, with just -a little margin of pink puckers.” - -“Ah, it’s always the outsiders that can see the likeness,” said Bridget. - -“Look here upon this picture, and on this,” quoted Ralph merrily. “You -will send me off to play Hamlet in a very humble and chastened mood, -Bridget. I never thought I was quite so ugly.” - -As a matter of fact the great strain he had passed through, and the -present relief, quite blunted the feeling of intense nervousness which -usually overwhelmed him when for the first time he played an important -character. All his fellow actors too were in sympathy with him, and it -did his heart good to hear what they said as to Evereld’s prompt courage -and her plucky rescue of Ivy Grant. The news from the hospital was also -cheering. Ivy was going on as well as could be expected, and although -her burns were severe, she was likely to be able to resume her work in -two or three months’ time, and thanks to Evereld she was not at all -disfigured. - -Ralph’s long and patient study of his part bore excellent fruit. He -gave a really striking representation of Hamlet’s lovable and strangely -complex character; and Macneillie watched his pupil with satisfaction, -feeling to-night more than he had ever done before that Ralph had in him -the makings of a really great actor. - -“If only that brave little wife of his is spared,” he thought to -himself, “his future is assured. But he is the sort of man who might be -altogether paralysed by a great sorrow. I should fancy it was the early -loss of his wife which turned the Vicar of Whinhaven into a recluse, and -according to Ralph it was certainly a great trouble and disappointment -which finally killed the poor man. What develops one kind of nature -ruins another.” - -In the course of the next few days there was a great deal of anxiety -both on account of Evereld and of the child. In the midst of it there -suddenly appeared upon the scenes the one person who was most capable of -cheering and helping them all. - -Mrs. Hereford, with her sweet bright face, the youthfulness and vivacity -of which contrasted so curiously with her prematurely grey hair, took -them all by surprise and was quietly announced one afternoon at the -house in Kingsmead Terrace. - -“How good of you to come!” cried Ralph, feeling as if the mere sight of -her had lifted a load from his mind. - -“And how is Evereld?” she asked. “They told me at the door she was -better, but I wasn’t sure how much the little servant knew.” - -“She is better to-day,” said Ralph with a sigh. “But all last night we -were terribly anxious again, I think it was worrying over the child’s -illness.” - -“He is very delicate I am afraid,” said Mrs. Hereford. - -“Yes, but they are hopeful about him now. Yesterday they thought him -dying, and I had to rush out for a clergyman to get him christened.” - -“And to go off to your work in the evening I suppose not knowing how -things would be when you came back.” - -“Yes,” said Ralph. “That was the worst part of all. It was my third -appearance as Hamlet, and I all but broke down.” - -“I well remember what an agony it used to be to sing in public when -Dermot or Molly were dangerously ill,” said Mrs. Hereford. “And talking -of Dermot reminds me of what I came to propose this afternoon. He is -much stronger but the doctor doesn’t care for him to be in London just -yet. I think of taking a house here till the Easter recess, and when -Evereld can be moved we think it would be a capital plan if she came to -us here instead of in town. I am not going to be defrauded of my visitor -by this provoking catastrophe. I have been looking this afternoon at a -furnished house which is to let in Lansdowne Crescent, and if all goes -well I don’t see why in a fortnight or three weeks’ time Evereld and -her baby should not come to us there. I suppose you will have to move on -elsewhere with the company?” - -“Yes,” said Ralph, “I must leave next Monday, but luckily we shall only -be at Bristol so I can run over pretty often.” - -“And we shall always be delighted to have you for your Sundays later -on,” said Mrs. Hereford, “don’t you think it would be better for Evereld -to come to us? She will be rather lonely here.” - -“Oh, it would be the best thing in the world for her to be with -you,” said Ralph. “But it will be disarranging all your plans I am -afraid,--and putting you to so much trouble.” - -“Not at all,” said Mrs. Hereford. “Evereld and I shall both be widowed -during the week, that is the only drawback; but husbands must work. And -in any case I should have had to take Dermot somewhere, for he is the -last boy to take care of himself and will do the most mad things if he -hasn’t a sister to look after him. I tell him it is becoming such a tax -that I shall really have to take to matchmaking and select him a nice -capable wife who would see that he wore his great-coat in an east wind, -and didn’t always sit in a direct draught. Ah, here is Mr. Macneillie, -we must tell him of our plans.” - -Macneillie rang for tea, and then they discussed the future arrangements -of which he cordially approved. - -“And how about the poor little thing who was burnt? Is she getting on -well?” asked Mrs. Hereford. - -“I have just been to see her,” said Macneillie. “Miss Orme and I took -her some flowers. She is suffering a great deal still poor child, but -they say she is wonderfully patient.” - -“I don’t seem to remember her. Was she with you at Southbourne?” - -“No, she has only been with us a year,” said Macneillie. “And was -getting on remarkably well. I hope she will be fit to act by Easter. She -had a very narrow escape, and owed her life to Mrs. Denmead’s presence -of mind and courage! They will be greater friends than ever after this.” - -“I should like to go and see her,” said Mrs. Hereford. “Or is she hardly -up to visitors yet?” - -“Oh, she would like to see you,” said Ralph, “for she has heard so much -about you.” - -“I am not going to ask to see Evereld to-day, for I am quite sure she -ought to be kept absolutely quiet,” said Mrs. Hereford. “You must tell -her how much I look forward to having her later on. Suppose we walk -round to the hospital now. There will just be time before my return -train.” - -Her cheery sensible talk did more for Ralph than anything else could -have done; he poured out all his anxieties to her, and found in her -motherly wisdom and her hopeful words exactly what he needed to tide him -over the difficulties which overwhelmed him. - -“What is it about her?” he thought to himself, as he paced up and down -outside the hospital while she paid her visit to Ivy. “She seems to me -just like a gleam of sunshine on a dark day, or a fresh breeze in the -summer. I have met plenty of Irish women who were friendly and pleasant -and delightful to talk to, but it isn’t a mere matter of charm with -her,--she seems to have a heart wide enough to take in every one that is -in trouble.” - -Doreen Hereford did not find it difficult to make room in her heart for -one so helpless and forlorn as Ivy. The merest glance at the wistful -face in the hospital ward was sufficient. And Ivy responded to her -at once and felt all the comfort of her presence. For Doreen never -patronised people, she mothered them; and between these two forms of -helpfulness there lies a world of difference. - -“Tell me a little more about that poor child,” she said to Ralph as they -walked to the station. “You have known her for a long time, have you -not.” - -“Yes, her grandfather used to give me elocution lessons, she has been -on the stage since she was ten and has had rather a hard apprenticeship. -Evereld has taken a great fancy to her and she needs friends, poor girl, -for she is quite alone in the world. The old Professor died just after -our Scotch company broke up.” - -“I have been wondering what she will do when she leaves the hospital,” - said Mrs. Hereford. “Would Evereld like it if I asked her to stay with -us too? Or wouldn’t that work well?” - -“I am sure she would like it,” said Ralph. “But will you have room for -them all?” - -“Oh yes,” she said laughing. “It’s a big house, and besides we Irish -people know how to stow away large numbers. I want somehow to see more -of little Miss Grant, there is something very winning about her. Talk it -over by and bye with Evereld and see what she thinks.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI - - -“_The comfort which poor human beings want in such a world as this is -not the comfort of ease, but the comfort of strength_.” - -C. Kingsley. - -|Evereld thought the whole plan a most delightful one, and if anything -could have consoled her for the parting with Ralph on Monday it would -have been the prospect of spending the time of her convalescence with -Bride O’Ryan and Mrs. Hereford, and of knowing that Ivy was not to be -left out in the cold but was to enjoy just the same hospitality and -care. - -On the Sunday she was allowed to see Myra Brinton for the first time. -Perhaps the events of the week had done more for Myra than for -anyone else; she had been so horrified to discover what mischief her -sentimental fancy for Ralph, her jealousy of Evereld and her quarrel -with Ivy had wrought, that she had taken herself thoroughly in hand, and -had learnt a lesson she would never forget. As for the baby, it played -no small part in her education, and Bridget was always delighted that -she should come in and make much of it. - -“I don’t know how to thank you enough,” said Evereld looking up at her -gratefully. “They have all told me how good and helpful you were last -Monday, when no one had time to think much of Baby Dick.” - -“Is he to be called Dick?” said Myra willing to turn the conversation -from herself. - -“Yes, after my brother who died. Have you seen Ivy yet?” - -“Oh, several times,” said Myra. “I wanted just to tell you that -everything is quite right between us again. I was very wrong, Evereld, -to tell you what I did at Mardentown. It was all a mistake and I little -thought what it would lead to. If poor Ivy had not been in a hurry to be -out of my way before I came back to the dressing-room, I do believe the -accident would never have happened. My horrible gossip might have been -the death of both of you. I can never forget that.” - -“Don’t let us ever talk of it again,” said Evereld. “We shall all -three be closer friends for the rest of our lives just because this has -happened. That’s the only thing that matters now. And Myra, I wanted to -ask you to be Dick’s Godmother. You had all the trouble of him at first, -and so he seems rightly to belong to you. Mr. Macneillie has promised to -be one of the Godfathers.” - -This was the finishing touch to the reconciliation and a very happy -thought on the part of the little mother. Nothing could have pleased -Myra more, and she left Bath a much happier and a much better woman. - -Evereld made herself as happy as she could with her baby and with old -Bridget as companions, but her convalescence was tedious, and she was -unspeakably glad when at length the day arrived for her removal to the -Hereford’s house in Lansdowne Crescent. - -The beautiful view of the Somersetshire hills and of the grey city in -the valley below, which she gained from her window, the cheerful sense -of family life going on all about her, the companionship of Bride -O’Ryan, and the comfort of having Mrs. Hereford always at hand to advise -her about Dick and to share all her anxieties, seemed exactly what she -needed. - -Her voice recovered its tone, her cheeks regained their fresh bright -colour, and she became once more just a girl again, ready to enjoy life -in her own quiet fashion. - -“I could almost fancy we were back at school,” said Bride cheerfully. - -“When, as at present I’m in the shade with the light behind me,” quoted -Evereld merrily. “My hands are about the worst part of me now, they are -so horribly white, otherwise you must own that I am quite presentable. -How strange it seems though to think of the life at Southbourne. It -was so happy while it lasted, but the thought of going back to it is -dreadful.” - -“Instead you spend half the day in playing with Dick,” said Bride -teasingly. “The amount of time you waste on that child is appalling.” - -“I’m not going to be one of those horrid modern mothers who never have -time to see their own babies,” said Evereld. “It would have been wrong -to have had him at all if I didn’t mean to be his best friend from the -very beginning right through his life.” - -“Do you mean him to be an actor?” asked Bride, looking at the funny -little face nestled close to Evereld and wondering what it would develop -into. - -“I should like it if he has all that is needed to make one,” said -Evereld, “but who can prophesy whether he has any special gift, or -whether he has patience for all the drudgery it involves?” - -“Tell me what you really think of the life, now that you have had some -experience of it,” said Bride. “Quite candidly, don’t you find it very -monotonous?” - -“No, I have found it very interesting,” said Evereld. “I can fancy -though that it must be trying to do nothing but one play for many -hundreds of nights. In a company like ours you see we get plenty of -variety.” - -“And you don’t mind the moving about week by week?” - -“Oh, sometimes it is tiresome, but there are many advantages. Mr. -Macneillie knows a host of interesting people, all over the country, and -they are generally very hospitable to us; besides I like getting to know -fresh places, and as a rule the journeys are not very long or tiring. -Sometimes I used to get a little bored by the incessant talk about -things connected with the stage. But that would be just the same in any -other profession. Don’t you remember how at the chateau we used to get -so weary of the talk between Mr. Magnay and his two artist friends? They -say it is exactly the same among authors, when two or three of them are -together they can’t help talking shop. And as to clergymen, why they are -proverbial! I suppose Kingsley was the only one who ever did entirely -banish ‘clerical shop’ from his home talk.” - -“Well, I think you are very wonderful people to be able to travel about -for so long without losing your tempers or quarrelling like the Kilkenny -cats,” said Bride. “There’s nothing on earth so trying to the temper -as going about with people. I suppose that’s why they always make an -unfortunate married couple travel on the continent. They learn in that -way what sort of life is in store for them.” - -Evereld laughed. “You know we do now and then quarrel a little, but as -a rule we are all very friendly. There is only one thing I cannot stand, -and I hope we shall never have such an infliction again.” - -“What is that?” said Bride smiling at her friend’s vehemence. - -“A wealthy amateur who thinks he can act but can’t,” said Evereld. “Oh, -if you knew what we have endured all the autumn from an empty-headed -fellow, who thought himself a genius!” - -“What did he do?” said Bride. - -“What did he not do! He was insufferably rude to Mr. Macneillie, he -hated Ralph because he wanted the Juvenile Lead himself, he treated all -the other men as though they were beneath contempt, he persecuted all -the ladies of the company with tiresome attentions, and he was always -dragging into the conversation the names of titled people of his -acquaintance, or dropping coroneted envelopes in a casual way. Somehow -he contrived to set us all at sixes and sevens, and there was joy -throughout the company when at last something offended him and he -suddenly brought his engagement to an end.” - -Bride laughed heartily as she heard of the stratagem by which the -Manager had contrived to bring about this much desired event. - -“Who would ever think that Mr. Macneillie had so much fun in him as you -describe,” she said. “His face is grave almost to sternness.” - -“Yes, but when it does light up he hardly looks like the same man,” said -Evereld. “I don’t think he would ever have stood the wear and tear of -his life if it hadn’t been for his strong vein of humour.” - -And with that she fell to musing on the strange fact which most people -discover sooner or later, that it is not the prosperous and happy -people who as a rule are blessed with this divine gift of a sense of the -humourous, but the people whose lives are clouded with care and anxiety, -or those who have to go about the world with an aching heart, or to bear -the consequences of another’s sin. To such as these often enough, by -some mysterious law of compensation, there comes a power, not only -of feeling the pathos of life more acutely, but of perceiving in -everything--even in matters connected with their own sorrows--the subtle -touches of humour which keep life healthy and pure. - -She noticed it very much in Dermot O’Ryan, who young as he was had -passed through a hard apprenticeship of ill health, misfortune, -political imprisonment, and misunderstanding that to one of his -temperament was excessively hard to bear. - -He was the only one of the O’Ryans who had any literary tastes, and now -being cut off by his recent illness from active political life he was -busy with a Memoir of his father, a well-known man in the Fenian rising -of ‘65, who had died from the effects of his subsequent imprisonment. - -Dermot was a thorough Kelt, and Evereld thought his sweet-tempered, -philosophic patience, made him a most delightful companion. They had -liked each other at Southbourne, and had become firm friends during -Evereld’s stay at Auvergne, so that they quickly fell into very -easy terms of intimacy. They were sitting together in the large sunny -drawing-room and Bride was reading a page of the Memoir upon which -Dermot wanted a special criticism, when Mrs. Hereford returned from the -hospital bringing Ivy with her. Dermot looked up rather curiously to see -the girl of whom he had heard so much, but instead of a beautiful and -striking face which he could either have admired or criticised, he saw -a little childish creature, with startled blue-grey eyes and a wistful -face which was not exactly pretty but was somehow more fascinating than -if it had possessed more regular features. - -At sight of Evereld, Ivy forgot everything and ran across the room to -greet her; she was so small and graceful and light that it seemed almost -as if, like the birds, she had special air cells in her bones, for her -movements had in them something altogether unusual so that merely to -watch her limbs was keen delight. - -She had, too, an eager quick way of talking, and by the time she had -been introduced to Dermot he felt that the scrap of a hand put into his -had carried away his heart. - -“I have heard of you from Mrs. Denmead,” she said. “You were one of the -imprisoned patriots.” - -“Oh, most of us have a turn at that sort of thing,” he said smiling. -“It’s part of an Irishman’s training.” Bride made some remark about the -manuscript, and the talk became general, Ivy entering this new world -with a sense of keen interest, and quite in the humour to study Irish -history with Dermot as schoolmaster. - -During her illness she had had more leisure to think than had ever -before been the case. For five weeks there had been nothing to do, but -to keep quiet and to recover as steadily as might be. At first she had -suffered too much to make any use of the time, but later on, when she -was convalescent, there were long hours when she learnt more of the real -truth of things than she had hitherto grasped. The mere physical pain -seemed afterwards to fit her to understand what had hitherto been -a riddle to her, and the strong feeling for Evereld which grew and -deepened in her heart did wonders for her. All her nature seemed to have -become more tender and sweet; and whereas in time past she would have -flirted violently with Dermot and played with him as a cat plays with -a mouse, she seemed now to have laid aside all her silly little -affectations and coquetries, and to be capable of realising that love is -not a game, or a pastime, or a selfish having, but rather the entrance -to all that is most sacred, the mutual sacrifice of self, the nearest -approach of humanity to the life divine. - -Dermot made no secret of his admiration for the little actress, it was -quite patent to all observers, but his devotion was so unlike anything -she had hitherto come across in life that Ivy herself was never startled -by it. She quietly drifted into love with him, waking into an altogether -new world as she did so, a world far removed from the reach of men like -Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes with their compliments, and their presents, and -their so-called love, which she knew all the time to be nothing but -thinly-veiled selfishness. - -At last one day, when Ivy was out driving with Mrs. Hereford, Dermot -seized the opportunity of a confidential talk with Evereld as she sat at -work by the fire. - -“I want you to give me your advice,” he began, throwing down his pen and -drawing a little nearer to her. “Do you think there is any hope at all -for me with Miss Grant? I am sure you know without any telling that I -fell in love with her the moment she came here. Do you think there is -any hope for me?” - -“That depends,” said Evereld thoughtfully. - -“Depends on what?” he asked eagerly. - -“Well, you see Ivy really cares for her profession and is just beginning -to succeed in it. I don’t think she would consent to retire.” - -“I could never allow my wife to remain on the stage,” said Dermot his -face clouding. - -“Then I don’t think you have any business to go to the theatre,” - said Evereld. “Every woman you see on the stage is somebody’s wife or -somebody’s daughter.” - -“If one realised that, the disgusting things which amuse some audiences -would fail for want of support,” said Dermot musingly. “Not that I -imagine for a moment that Miss Grant would ever accept an engagement of -which she really disapproved. Doreen would agree with her as to sticking -to her profession, and perhaps she is right.” - -“Having got on so well while she is young,” said Evereld, “for she won’t -be eighteen till May, there seems every prospect of her soon getting -to a really good position. And there is a sort of fascination about -her--she is always popular.” - -“You mean that I shall have a host of rivals.” - -“Possibly, but you are early in the field and indeed I think you stand a -very good chance.” - -“Do you think it would be wrong if I spoke to her now? Would it spoil -the rest of this time for her?” - -“Well that would depend on the answer she gave you,” said Evereld -laughing. “But indeed I think Ivy is just the sort of girl who would be -happier if engaged while she is quite young. You see she is much in the -position I was in--quite alone in the world with no relations and but -few friends.” - -So Dermot, who detested waiting and was never at a loss for words, -seized an early opportunity of urging his suit, and Max Hereford, coming -down from town on the following Saturday, was greeted by his wife with -the news that the two were just engaged. - -“I told you what the result would be when you hospitably invited that -little actress,” he said laughing. “There never was such a matchmaker as -you are, mavourneen. I knew something had happened the moment I caught -sight of your face.” - -“They are so happy,” she said smiling, “and Ivy is so gentle and sweet; -Dermot will be exactly the right sort of husband for her I do believe. -And she will make him just the capable, brisk, bright little wife that -such a dreamy philosopher needs.” - -“But I do hope they are not going to marry upon Dermot’s penwork,” said -Max Hereford. “He is making a good income now, but of course one can’t -tell when he may be laid up, for I fear he will never be strong.” - -“Oh, they are quite content to wait for five or six years,” said Mrs. -Hereford. “And I am thankful to say Dermot’s Eastern ideas as to wives -are being overcome by Ivy’s practical good sense. She won’t hear of -giving up her work, and in a talk I had with her the other day she spoke -so sensibly of professional life, which she knows pretty thoroughly, -that I am sure she is right about it. She has the makings of a very -fine character in her, and I shall not be surprised if Dermot’s marriage -proves as great a success as Michael’s has done.” - -“We shall now not be happy until Mollie and Bride are arranged for,” - said Max Hereford teasingly, “and then there are our own children coming -on, so you have your work cut out for you, dear. By and bye there will -be match-making for the nieces and nephews, and after that no doubt a -few grandchildren coming on. So you will be able to keep your hand in.” - -“And isn’t it the least I can be doing then, since my own married life -has been so happy?” she said laughing. Ivy, who had not yet seen Mr. -Hereford, stood rather in awe of him and looked up apprehensively when -her future brother-in-law came into the drawing-room where she was -helping Dermot with some proofs. However his greeting was so kindly and -his congratulations to Dermot sounded so genuine that her fears were -soon set at rest; she felt that the family had fully adopted her and -that she was no longer one of the waifs of the world. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII - - -“_The grace of God, the light and life that flow from His indwelling, -can lift the very weariest and hardest-driven soul into a dignity of -endurance, a radiance of faith, a simplicity of love, far above all that -this world can give or take away_.” Dean Paget. - -|But perhaps no one so thoroughly rejoiced in the news of the engagement -as Myra Brinton. It was Ivy herself who first told her, when she and -Evereld with Bridget and Dick in attendance rejoined the company at -Worcester. Ralph had of course heard all about it the first Sunday -he had visited them at Bath, but he had kept his own counsel, for Ivy -preferred telling her own news herself both to Macneillie and to her -friends in the company. - -Nothing could so completely have restored peace and harmony between Myra -and Ivy, all the past mistakes and disagreements faded into oblivion, -and the two became once more excellent friends. - -As for little Dick he soon became the darling of the whole company. -Thanks to Bridget’s good management he throve wonderfully, spent most -of his time in sleeping, seldom cried, and behaved with discretion -on journeys, to the immense satisfaction of his mother, who proudly -reflected that not even the most crabbed old bachelor in the company -could ever complain that Dick was in the way. - -Like a true Denmead he was thoroughly well-bred and had a way of -accommodating himself to all surroundings; but Evereld saw he would run -an excellent chance of being spoilt as soon as he grew a little older, -for everyone made much of him and he received votive offerings in such -profusion that it became difficult to pack them. Even the low comedy man -broke his rule of silence so far as to inquire occasionally after his -health, and at Christmas presented him with a magnificent red and blue -clown who shook his head to solemn music. - -As to Macneillie, though he had always professed total indifference -to children, he was completely subjugated by the wiles of his Godson. -Either from insight into character, or from some consideration of the -strong hands and arms which held him so delightfully, Dick preferred the -manager to anyone else in the world; his father’s long slender hands and -taper fingers were not to be compared for a moment with the comfort of -the highlander’s firm and comfortable grasp. And Macneillie found it -impossible to resist the subtle flattery of this small worshipper who -was always ready to laugh and shout with glee at the mere sight of -him. In his darkest hours the little elf would often cajole him into -a temporary forgetfulness, seeming indeed to take a special delight in -beguiling him into a romp, whenever his clouded brow betokened that -his own great trouble and the bitter thought of Christine’s lonely and -difficult life were weighing him down. - -On the whole the years which followed the birth of Ralph’s child were -as happy as any Macneillie had known since Christine’s marriage, and as -tranquil as his life was ever likely to be. Ralph and Evereld were like -a son and daughter to him, and both were able to do much to help him in -the busy and harassing days which fall to the lot of most managers. - -Still there was no denying that his private troubles had more or less -shattered his health; he worked on bravely, as had always been his -custom, but now and then an intolerable sense of weariness crept over -him and he would wonder how much longer he could keep going. - -At last, soon after Dick had celebrated his second birthday, the manager -suddenly broke down. - -There was nothing which could definitely account for his failure; he had -indeed been very busy with preparations for the Shaksperian Performances -at Stratford-on-Avon, which were that year to be given by his company -during the birthday week. But hard work seldom does people any harm. It -was rather that he had for years been bearing a load which overtaxed his -strength and at last, from sheer exhaustion, nature gave way. - -His old enemy, utter sleeplessness, returned to torment him, and there -was nothing for it but to obey the doctor’s orders and go to Scotland -for rest and change. - -“You are looking sorely fagged, Hugh,” was his mother’s comment when -on the evening of his arrival at Callander they sat together by the -fireside. It was some months since she had seen him and she was quick to -note that he was hollow-cheeked and that his face, as she expressed it, -“looked all eyes.” - -“Scottish air will soon cure me,” he said with forced cheerfulness. “I -shall sleep to-night.” - -“Ah lad,” she said with a sigh, “and what reason is there that you -should not be always breathing your native air? If you had but chosen -the calling I would have had you choose, how different all might have -been.” - -“Yes, we might now have been sitting in the most comfortable Manse,” - said Macneillie, a gleam of humour lighting up his grave face. “Instead -of a lean and hard-worked actor, roaming from place to place, I might -have been a portly minister revered by half the neighbourhood.” - -“I believe you are tired of your wandering life after all,” she said, -scrutinizing his careworn face with her keen eyes. - -“Deadly tired,” he admitted with a sigh. “But what has that to do with -it? Are not half the manses in the land filled with weary men who would -give anything for a change in the dull routine of the work they are -called to do? It is the same with all of us, Mother. However much we -love our profession there must be hard times now and again, and somehow -we have got to live through them like men.” - -She did not reply, but silently knitted away at one of his socks, -thinking to herself how different his life would have been had she had -the ordering of it. He should have come to great honour, should have -been a noted preacher filling a high position in Edinburgh, he should -have married well, and about her in her old age troops of grandchildren -should have played. As it was, his life had she felt been wrecked by the -luckless taste for dramatic art which had puzzled her so much from his -childhood upwards. She laid all his misfortunes to that strange -and unaccountable passion for acting which she was wholly unable -to comprehend. It was this which had brought him into contact with -Christine Greville, this which had debarred him from marriage, this -which had for years prevented him from settling down, and forced him to -lead the life of a wanderer. - -“Hugh,” she said, “is it even now too late? Could you not give up acting -and do something more worthy of your powers?” - -He started as though someone had struck him a blow. - -“Give up my profession?” he said in amazement. “Why no, mother, I could -never do that. I am tired out and in a grumbling mood but you must not -take me too literally. My vocation has saved me again and again from -making utter shipwreck. Depend upon it no other work is as you would say -‘more worthy’ of me.” - -She urged it no more; but the old sore feeling that his mother could not -understand his point of view, that she still in her heart desired him -to take up work for which he was wholly unfitted, came back to mar the -entire peace of Macneillie’s holiday. - -On the Saturday before Holy Week he could no longer resist the restless -craving for change which took possession of him as his strength -gradually returned. And taking leave of his mother he left Callander and -travelled down to Stratford, intending there to await the arrival of his -company later on. - -It was a mild bright afternoon in mid April when he reached the quiet -little town. It seemed to sleep tranquilly in the golden sunshine, -scarcely a breath of air stirred the trees, the beautiful spire of the -stately old church rose into the bluest of skies, and the green fields -flecked with daisies seemed to be just the right setting for a picture -so fair and peaceful. The pastoral character of the scenery somehow -suited Macneillie’s mood better even than the rugged mountains of his -own land. Surely in this quiet loveliness, rich in associations with -the great Master he could gain the rest and the ease he so grievously -needed! - -He would spend his days on the river, would not allow any business -anxieties or arrangements for the following week to invade his repose; -Shakspere and Shakspere’s country should hearten him for the future--the -quiet of Holy Week should lift him up out of the depression which sought -to drag him back into its dreary torture chambers. - -So he thought to himself on the evening of his arrival; forgetting that -“through the shadow of an agony cometh redemption”;--never dreaming -that in this most tranquil place he was to be confronted with the worst -ordeal of his whole life. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII - - - “World’s use is cold--world’s love is vain,-- - - World’s cruelty is bitter bane; - - But pain is not the fruit of pain.” - - E. B. Browning. - -|If life during the past three years had been difficult for Macneillie -it had been tenfold more difficult for Christine Greville. As everyone -had foreseen, her position called for a strength of character which she -did not possess, for a power of endurance which she was only learning -by slow degrees, and for that sound judgment and prompt womanly wisdom -which had never been her strong point. - -She had indeed resigned the cares and anxieties of Management, but this -also meant that she was obliged to put up with whatever arrangements -commended themselves to Barry Sterne at the theatre; and though he and -his wife had always been good friends to her she was often unable to -approve of his way of looking at things. - -They had nearly come to a serious disagreement when he engaged Dudley -the comedian assuring her that the man had quite lived down his past. -And though time had more or less reconciled her to this belief, she was -never quite without the instinct which had made Myra Kay shrink from the -man in Scotland. She grew to feel a little more confidence in him when -one day he happened to mention Ralph Denmead in her presence. It was not -so much what he said, but rather his tone and expression when referring -to Ralph. - -“So young Denmead is to play Orlando at Stratford next month, I see,” he -observed one morning before rehearsal. “That boy will do well if I’m not -mistaken. There was a touch of genius about him even when I knew him as -a half-starved novice in Scotland.” - -“Did you know him then?” said Christine for the first time volunteering -an unnecessary remark to Dudley. “He used to tell me when I was acting -with him in Edinburgh what straits he had been reduced to during the -spring.” - -“Yes, we had a rough time, but he was always a plucky, goodnatured -fellow ready to take the fortune of war. I’m glad he has fallen on his -feet. Macneillie has been the making of him.” - -“They say Macneillie’s health has broken down,” said another actor -strolling up. “He has gone to Scotland to recruit.” - -“He has been roaming about the world too long,” remarked a third. “I -wonder he doesn’t give up his travelling company and settle in town. It -would be better for him in every way.” - -“Well he’s doing very good work,” said Dudley. “As a matter of fact -his company and Lorimer’s are the only training schools we have for the -stage. How can the rising generation learn otherwise in these days of -long runs?” - -The arrival of Barry Sterne checked the conversation at this moment and -Christine turned away sick at heart, to get through her work as well as -she could to the tune of those haunting words--“His health has broken -down!” - -Was it true? Or had some lying paragraph in a newspaper set afloat a -false report? - -Her whole nature seemed to rise up in rebellion against the miserable -ignorance of his movements to which she was doomed. It tortured her to -think that dozens of people who were wholly indifferent to him knew all, -while she was racked with anxiety and fear on his behalf. - -She went home feeling wretched beyond expression; even Charlie’s eager -greeting could not bring a smile to her face or ease her pain. - -“Auntie,” he exclaimed, “there’s a lady in the drawing-room waiting -to see you. She has been here a long time, and she would wait for you. -Susan says she looks as if she were in great trouble.” - -“What name did she give?” asked Christine, her mind still full of Hugh -Macneillie’s illness, and a terror seizing her that some bearer of ill -news had come. - -Dugald Linklater handed her a card which bore a name quite unknown to -her,--Mrs. Bouvery. She rose with a sigh of weariness. - -“Don’t wait for me, Charlie,” she said, “I am not hungry and will -interview this lady first.” - -Everything in Christine’s drawing-room was in the perfection of taste, -there were no bright colours; no incongruous mixtures, the prevailing -tint was a quiet low-toned blue: birds sang in the window, and -everywhere her love of growing plants manifested itself. Nothing could -have been more restful and harmonious than the effect of the whole, and -probably no one could have seemed more tranquil and self-possessed than -the graceful fair-haired woman who came forward to greet her visitor, -though all the time beneath the surface her restless heart was full of -passionate pain. - -“I am sorry to have kept you waiting so long,” she said, her clear -musical voice making each syllable a separate delight to the ear. As -she spoke she looked wonderingly into the hard grief-worn face of the -elderly lady who had risen as she entered and had coldly acknowledged -her greeting. - -There was an uncomfortable pause. - -“Can I do anything for you?” said Christine, wondering whether her -visitor had called for a subscription, or whether she was perhaps the -mother of some stage-struck girl come for advice? - -“Yes,” said Mrs. Bouvery, “you can listen to what I have to tell you. -You have broken my daughter’s heart madam, you have ruined her life.” - -Nervous terror began to fill Christine’s mind. Surely this lady must be -mad. She instinctively measured the distance from the place where she -was sitting to the door. - -“I do not understand you,” she faltered. “There must be some mistake. I -do not even know your name.” - -“Your name unfortunately is only too familiar to us, however,” said her -visitor remorselessly. “My daughter was engaged to be married to Captain -Karey and until he had the misfortune to see you on the stage she was -perfectly happy. From that day however, all her misery dated. He was -infatuated about you and you lured him on to his death. - -“Madam,” said Christine pale with indignation, “you do me a very great -wrong. I never encouraged Captain Karey. On the contrary his persistent -attentions annoyed me very much.” - -“Oh, so you say! so they all say!” said Mrs. Bouvery choking back a sob. -“But I don’t believe a word of it. You actresses are all alike; as long -as your vanity is satisfied you don’t care what wretchedness you cause -to others.” - -“Is it possible you really believe that I encouraged a mere boy who -must have been at least fifteen years my junior?” said Christine -incredulously. “The moment I saw there was the least risk of anything -serious, I would have nothing more to do with him. Every one of the -presents he tried to give me were returned immediately. What more could -I do?” - -“You could retire from a profession which is unfit for any woman, you -could refuse any longer to make your beauty a snare and a peril to men.” - -“I think,” said Christine quietly, but with a ring of indignation in her -voice, “you forget that some of the very best of women have been on the -stage. Is art to be crippled, and are we all to retire to nunneries, -because some men are weak fools and some men vicious knaves?” - -“I do not care to argue with you,” said her visitor coldly, “The fact -remains that you have spoilt my daughter’s whole life.” - -“Indeed I am very sorry for her,” said Christine with a sigh. “I can’t -blame myself for what has happened, but I can feel very much grieved -about it.” - -“Whether you blame yourself or not,” said Mrs. Bouvery, “Captain -Karey’s death will be laid to your account at the last day.” - -“His death?” cried Christine with dilated eyes. “What do you mean? I had -heard nothing.” - -“Oh you had not seen it in the papers? Yes, he died three days ago from -an over-dose of chloral--it was brought in as ‘death by misadventure.’ -I do not envy you your feelings at this moment. It was a sad day for him -when he first saw you, for him and for my poor daughter.” - -Christine did not speak a word. She was horror-struck by the news so -abruptly told her; it was no time to assert her own blamelessness, nay -she could pardon the poor grief-stricken woman for reproaching her so -bitterly, for insulting her by such cruel, false imputations. The admirer -whose love letters had so greatly annoyed her, whose infatuation had -for some time past been difficult to baffle, had been driven out of his -senses by his unhappy and overmastering passion, and had died leaving -the girl who had loved him to her desolate sorrow. - -Had Mrs. Bouvery been less hard and bitter, Christine could have opened -her heart to her, and made her understand how distorted a view of the -case she had taken; as it was they parted almost in silence and she -could only resolve to find out a little more about the daughter and if -possible to write to her later on. - -But for many days after that the story haunted her and made her -miserable. Afterwards too, in her depression, the thought of Mrs. -Bouvery’s cruel words returned to her. - -“Had I not been a solitary woman she would never have dared to attack -me like that,” she reflected with tears in her eyes. “A woman without a -protector is at the mercy of anyone who chooses to torment her. Were -I not worse than widowed, Lord Rosscourt and men of his type would be -unable to persecute me with attentions that are insults. They would not -dare to send me letters which one can hardly glance at without feeling -defiled.” - -It happened that among her best and most trusted friends was a certain -literary man named Conway Sartoris. She had known him and the sensible -middle-aged sister who kept house for him for the last ten years, and -they had been the first to discern how very miserable was her married -life. During the difficult years that followed her separation their -entirely unaltered friendship had been a great comfort to her. Conway -Sartoris was not only a brilliant writer and an advanced thinker, but a -most delightful companion, full of dry humour, and shrewd common sense; -while his sister had a genuine affection for Christine and always gave -her a warm welcome at their pretty old-fashioned house in Westminster. -She was dining with them on the following Sunday and found it a great -relief to tell them of the tragedy with which so unwittingly she had -become connected, and of Mrs. Bouvery’s interview. - -Alas! in seeking comfort she only met with fresh trouble. For the next -evening on her return from the theatre she found a long letter from -Conway Sartoris in which he frankly admitted that his friendship had -some time ago deepened into love, that he was sure her life would always -be difficult and perilous without a protector, and that he would do his -utmost to make her happy. In blank dismay Christine read his proposal -that they should enter into a union which would virtually be a marriage; -he quoted instances in which such unions had been after a time condoned -by society and had proved eminently happy, and he argued very plausibly -that the best way to bring about a speedy reform of the present unjust -law under which she suffered was to add another instance to the cases in -which it had been deliberately and conscientiously broken. - -His pleading, as far as he himself was concerned, proved of course quite -useless. Christine could only write in reply that her friendship and -respect for him must always remain unaltered, but that her heart was -still with the lover of her youth--the man who through her own weakness -and ambition had been so cruelly sacrificed years ago. - -To this she received a very straightforward and kindly answer, and -Conway Sartoris entreated her not to allow what had passed in any way -to affect their friendship. But this was more easily said than done. His -avowal had put an end to the perfect ease and rest of their intercourse -and she felt more than ever alone in the world. - -Another result of this episode was that his arguments were constantly -recurring to her mind. Surely there was great force in the suggestion -he had brought forward in his masterly clear-headed way? Were there not -bound to be exceptions to every rule? Was not Hugh Macneillie’s notion -of obedience even to an unjust law, because it was the law of the land, -an overstrained nicety? It might be a counsel of perfection, but surely -it could not be the actual duty of each citizen? Hugh had such an -element of austerity about his life; kind and genial and tolerant as -he was with regard to others his own notions of right and wrong were -so rigid. He was certainly old-fashioned, not up to date, not able to -accommodate himself to _fin de siècle_ conditions. - -“I will not let him wreck his life!” she thought, pacing with agitated -steps up and down her room. “My heart is breaking for want of him, and -he is ill and alone. What do I care for the tongues of narrow-minded, -conventional people who know nothing of our real story? ‘Let them rave!’ -He is mine and I am his. All the unfair unequal laws in the world can’t -alter that.” - -Just then she happened to notice a letter upon the mantel-piece which by -some oversight she had left unopened. - -“What is this?” she exclaimed glancing through it. “An invitation from -Mrs. Hereford to lunch on Sunday, to meet Ralph Denmead and his wife? -Yes, I will go, from them I may at any rate learn how Hugh is.” - -Her stay at Monkton Verney had led to her becoming a friend of the -Herefords; she had an unbounded respect for them both, and at their -house in Grosvenor Square she invariably enjoyed herself. Charlie too, -liked nothing better than to go there with her, and there was something -in the atmosphere of the household which was curiously refreshing and -invigorating. They were busy people but they never bored others with -their work, and always seemed to have time for merriment, and for keen -appreciation of the interests of their friends. - -On this Sunday however she was more taken up with the Denmeads than with -her host and hostess. There was something in the mere happiness of the -young husband and wife that appealed to her, and she had a long talk -with them and heard all that she craved to know. Macneillie, they judged -by his letters, was still far from well, and even the visit to his own -country had failed to do him much good. He was to go on the following -day to Stratford and for the sake of quiet would stay just outside the -town at a curious old-fashioned house called The Swan’s Nest. He would -remain there probably until the Birthday week when they were to rejoin -him for the performances at the Memorial Theatre. - -Then Evereld had much to say about the Manager’s kindness to them, -of Dick’s devotion to him, and all the many little details which her -womanly instinct taught her would be to Christine what bread is to -the starving. It was all told naturally and simply and as a matter of -course, there was never any uncomfortable consciousness that they knew -all about her past and could guess how bitter was her present. It was -only when thinking it over afterwards that Christine felt sure that the -Denmeads knew the whole truth, and she loved them for their tact and -consideration. - -But all through the night that followed she was haunted by the thought -of Hugh Macneillie ill and alone, unable even to find comfort in his -mother’s society,--beyond the cure even of his native land. - -It is during wakeful nights that burdens usually grow unbearable. And -Christine had now reached the point when every consideration but the one -prevailing idea is crowded out of the mind. - -“I cannot let him suffer any more,” she thought. “At all costs this -intolerable state of things must and shall be ended. I am free all this -week, free till Easter Monday. To-morrow I will go down to Leamington -with Charlie and the servants, and the next day I will see him.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX - - - “Greatly to do is great, but greater still - - Greatly to suffer.” - - J. Noel Paton. - -|The following Tuesday proved to be as fine a day as Christine could -have wished. Charlie was delighted to fall in with her suggestion of -driving from Leamington to Warwick, and she left him with Linklater and -his beloved camera to spend a long afternoon in seeing the castle, the -church and the many picturesque places to be found in the old town. - -“I have to pay a call in the neighbourhood,” she explained, “and will -meet you here at six o’clock. See that he has plenty to eat, Linklater, -for we made a very early lunch.” - -When they were safely within the castle gates she ordered a Victoria at -the hotel and drove in to Stratford. Up to that very moment she had felt -eager and alert, ready to dare anything in her desperation. But now when -there was no longer anything to do, she lay back in the carriage feeling -utterly spent, unable to find the least comfort in the soft spring -air, or in the beautiful expanse of country, or in the hedge-rows just -bursting into leaf, or in the joyous song of the birds. It was not until -they were close to Shakspere’s town that her spirit returned to her once -more, and as they passed the Roman Catholic Church she sat up and called -to her driver. - -“I will get out here,” she said adjusting her white gossamer travelling -veil. “You can drive on and put up at the Shakspere Hotel until I come -there.” - -The man obeyed and she walked on until upon the left she saw Clopton’s -Bridge, at the further side of which she knew the Swan’s Nest was -situated. As usual she was dressed with scrupulous quietness, there was -nothing in her black serge coat and skirt and sailor hat to distinguish -her from hundreds of other women, and no passer-by would have recognised -her through her veil. - -Nevertheless her heart failed her somewhat when the little old-fashioned -inn with its red brick walls and tiled roof came into sight. She fully -realised that she was taking a desperate step. - -But then did not desperate diseases require desperate remedies? And had -not Hugh Macneillie in the letter he wrote her three and a half years -ago entreated her to let him serve her if ever she found herself in a -difficulty? - -No one else could help her now. He only could shield her and make her -life worth living. And was not he ill and in need of her? Was she not -fully justified in seeking him? She had paused involuntarily on the -bridge lost in thought and now just for a moment the exceeding beauty of -the view drew her attention away from her perplexities. - -The silvery Avon, crossed a little further down by an old bridge of -red brick, the irregular buildings of the little town, the finely -proportioned Memorial theatre standing in its gardens upon the river’s -brink; facing it a lovely pastoral bit of green meadows, and budding -trees, and in the distance the old church spire with rooks circling -about it. - -In the opposite direction lay peaceful fields, and all along the bank -pollard willows overhung the stream which curved round in a way that -delighted her eye. Just at the bend of the river, moored to a willow -tree, a small golden-brown boat was to be seen. It was empty but on the -bank above it lay the figure of a man with his head propped on his arm -and a book in his hand. She could not distinguish his features at that -distance but from something in his attitude she at once knew that it was -Hugh Macneillie. - -Moreover she could see a corner of the plaid which he had invariably -taken about with him, the dark blue and green of the Macneil tartan with -its thin alternate cross lines of white and yellow. It was the very same -one that in old days had often been spread over her knees on some cold -wintry railway journey. - -Somehow the sight of this restored her failing heart; she swiftly made -her way down to the river-side and youth and hope seemed to come back -to her as her feet touched the springy turf and passed lightly over the -white and gold of the daisies. - -Macneillie, just glancing up from his book, saw a lady approaching clad -in the costume which is almost a uniform; he devoutly hoped, after the -fashion of celebrities on a holiday, that she would not recognise him. - -Christine could so well read his thoughts and understand his slightest -gesture that she could hardly help laughing. She put up her veil and -walked straight towards him, her brown eyes full of that soft love-light -which for years he had not seen in them. As she paused close to him he -involuntarily looked up once more, and with a cry sprang to his feet. - -“Christine!” he exclaimed taking both her hands in his. “Is it indeed -you!” - -Just for one exquisite moment he forgot everything, was only conscious -that she was beside him, and that they loved each other, with a -love which surpassed even the first bliss of the early days of their -betrothal. The next moment, with a horrible revulsion, he remembered the -barrier that lay between them. Neither of them spoke; in the stillness -they were each conscious of the clear birdlike whistle of an errand -boy crossing the bridge. He had caught up one of the prettiest airs in -“Haddon Hall”--“To thine own heart be true”! - -“Hugh,” she said softly, “you told me if ever a time came when there was -no one else who could help me more fitly that I was to come to you. I am -driven almost desperate and I have come to claim your promise. Where can -we talk quietly?” - -“If you will not find it too cold I could row you up the river towards -Charlcote,” he said. “Later in the week Stratford will be full of -excursionists, but there is no one on the river this afternoon, we shall -be quite unmolested.” - -She thought this an excellent plan and let him help her into the boat -and spread the plaid over her knees. - -“It was by this dear old tartan that I recognised you, at least chiefly -by that,” she said. - -“Like its owner it has seen its best days,” said Macneillie with a -smile. “But I have the same feeling for it that the fellow in Gounod’s -song had for his old coat, - - ‘Mon viel ami - - Ne nous séparons pas.’” - -And he sighed a little as he remembered how in the days of their -betrothal he had often taken her under his “plaidie.” - -A strange, dreamy, unreal feeling crept over Christine as she leant back -in the stern, while Macneillie with his strong arms rowed her up the -winding river. She almost wished his strokes had not been so long and -steady, for it seemed to her as if this heaven of peace and repose would -end too swiftly. At last he paused. - -“We couldn’t well find a more lovely place than this,” he said glancing -over his shoulder and dexterously guiding the boat in between the grassy -bank and the branches of an overhanging willow tree. - -“I never saw such a wonderful colour as these new spring shoots of the -willow,” said Christine, as he drew in his oars and sat down beside her -in the stern. - -Not a breath of wind stirred the leaves, the flies came out and made -a cheerful droning sound as though summer had already come, a lark was -singing far up in the blue vault above, and everywhere the quiet of -perfect peace seemed to brood. - -Macneillie felt that longer silence was perilous, he had learned to -allow himself scant leisure when temptation was rife. - -“Tell me now what your trouble is,” he said quietly. - -“Oh!” she cried vehemently, “it seems like sacrilege even to speak of it -in such a place as this where all is so peaceful.” - -Macneillie, who was very far from being at peace, smiled a little -involuntarily. - -“The place is well enough,” he said glancing round. “But now that we are -actually among the ‘pendent boughs’ it reminds me rather too much of - - ‘There is a willow grows aslant a brook.’ - -It might be the identical spot where Ophelia was drowned.” - -“I wonder if it is,” she said diverted for a minute from her own -anxieties. “Poor Ophelia! Somehow I have never cared for acting that -part of late years. You spoiled me for all other Hamlets. I have often -wondered since, Hugh, how you contrived to get through that last season -in London.” - -“Well it was a rough time,” said Macneillie, “for, like the Danish -Prince, - - ‘In my heart there was a kind of fighting - - That would not let me sleep.’ - -By the end of the season I was as nearly mad as Hamlet feigned to be. -But no more of that. It is of the present we must talk not of the past. -How can I help you? Has anyone been molesting you?” - -“Yes,” she faltered. “I will tell you all, and then you will -understand.” - -So in her musical voice, and with that extraordinary charm of manner -which made her irresistible, she told him simply and truthfully all the -difficulties she had had to contend with. Lastly she told him of Conway -Sartoris and of the arguments he had used in his letter. - -“They seem to me quite unanswerable,” she said, “and he is a man -everyone respects, he is far more intellectual than we are, and he -doesn’t merely theorise, he knows the difficulties of real life. The -more I think of it, the more it seems to me that you and I are wrecking -our lives and suffering so cruelly all for a mistaken idea,--a sort of -fetish-worship for the law of the land.” - -Macneillie had grown very pale, his hands trembled, but from long force -of habit his voice was well under control. - -“Sin is lawlessness,” he quoted in a low tone. - -“Yes, yes,” she said quickly. “But this law that parts us, that makes -our lives a hell--you say it is an unjust law and ought to be reformed. -You said that in your letter.” - -“I long for its reform with all my heart,” he replied. “And the greatest -of living statesmen and the most devoted of English Churchmen did his -utmost in 1857 to prevent this wicked double standard of morality from -ever finding a place in the Divorce Law. He said he would deliberately -prefer an increase in the number of cases of divorce to the acceptance -of this shameful inequality between men and women.” - -“And are we patiently and tamely to go on enduring it?” she cried. “Why, -surely, all reforms have been won by those who were not afraid to break -the bad laws that had no business to exist. Think of your Covenanters -who gloriously broke the law and saved their country from tyranny! -Almost all heroes and martyrs have broken the law when it deserved to be -broken.” - -“Yes, that is true,” he said. “But they only broke it out of obedience -to a higher law, they did not break it for their own gain. My dearest,” - he took her hand and held it closely in his, “though this law cries -aloud for reform, let us be law-abiding citizens, and wait.” - -Her eyes filled with tears, her voice quivered pitifully when after -awhile she spoke. - -“You talk of waiting, but when one sees how truth and justice are set at -naught in parliament,--how with people agonising and dying, and with -so much that is wrong to be righted our representatives will haggle -miserably for months and years over useless questions, how from sheer -spite they will waste the time of the nation, how from party jealousy -they will thwart measures,--the thought of waiting grows intolerable.” - -“But reform is bound to come,” said Macneillie, “most of the fair minded -people who have studied the matter and who know anything of practical -life desire it, we have against us only the narrow minded and the men of -vicious life.” - -“You say _only!_” exclaimed Christine with a laugh that was a sob. “But -it is just the narrow good and the vicious bad who work all the misery -of the world. Oh, Hugh! I am not strong and brave like you, I am weak -and tired and worn out. I cannot live longer without you. I have tried -to bear it but I have come to the end of my strength.” - -She covered her face with her hands, he could see great tears slowly -falling between her slender white fingers, and the sight wrung his -heart. Yet he did not respond to her appeal. It was not because he -failed to understand that bitter cry of exhaustion, it was because -he understood it so well, had been indeed for the last few weeks so -drearily conscious of just that same feeling that he could endure no -longer, that his strength was gone. It was well that Christine could not -see his face, for the agonising struggle which was going on within him -was only too clearly visible. In the intense stillness of the calm sunny -afternoon it seemed to him that all nature was at rest save themselves, -and as in moments of great physical pain some very slight detail will -attract the sufferer’s attention, so now, while he passed through -the most cruel ordeal of his life, Macneillie was watching half -unconsciously the pretty movements of a little water-rat which had run -up the stem of a bush growing close to the river, and was evidently -enjoying itself to the best of its ability. The birds, too, were singing -as though in a perfect ecstasy of joy. - -Their song contrasted mockingly with the torturing thoughts which filled -his mind, and yet nevertheless it was through the joyousness of these -lesser creatures that his help was to come. For it carried him back to -the thought of a great Teacher who, when speaking to “an innumerable -multitude of people,” average men and women, tempest-tossed as he was -now, had told them that not one single bird was forgotten by God, and -had said, “Fear not, ye are of more value than many sparrows.” - -With that highest courage which in times of dire dismay can rise from -what seems like certain defeat, and kindle hope and strength in the -hearts of others, and win in a desperate fight, Macneillie gripped the -words to his heart and was strong once more, with that trust in God -which is man’s righteousness. - -“I know exactly what you mean,” he said, as Christine at length looked -up and dried her tears. “Many a time I have felt at the end of my -strength. It’s just a device of the devil’s own making. Depend upon it, -God won’t take away His gift just when it is most needed. Is it likely -He would do that?” - -“It seems to me that the devil rules,” said Christine. “I can believe in -little but evil in the wretched life I have had to live. Here, with you, -it is different, I seem another being altogether. You can make me good.” - -There was truth in what she said. He had always had over her the best -possible influence. Without each other they were incomplete. - -“And yet,” he said, “it is just because I so love and honour you that -the arguments of Conway Sartoris which you mentioned just now, clever -and plausible though they are, seem contemptible. Shall I let the one I -love best in all the world bear shame and reproach? Shall you and I who -have tried all these years to be a credit to the profession give such -a handle to its enemies? Shall we dare to bring down upon innocent -children the curse of illegitimacy? And all because we were too weakly -impatient to wait--or too cowardly to suffer? Forgive me, my dear one, -I put these things in a blunt way, but are they not things we must think -out clearly if we would come safely through this ordeal?” - -She looked up in his face, it was singularly beautiful just at the -minute, in spite of the havoc which time and suffering had wrought in -it. She fancied that he would wear that look of manly courage, of noble -strength in his resurrection body. The thought seemed to give her new -life. Quietly, indeed with a calmness which surprised herself, she -slipped her hand into his; it was done spontaneously as a child slips -its hand into that of a trusted companion. - -“You are right, Hugh, quite right,” she said. “We will wait. You must -forgive me for having come here to-day.” - -“You were only keeping your promise,” he said, “and perhaps to talk -things out was best for both of us.” - -He was silent for a few minutes, wondering what could be done to render -her life a little more bearable. What was it that had been his own -greatest relief during the last few years? Well, undoubtedly, it had -been the companionship of Ralph and his wife and little Dick. They were -a very fascinating trio and carried about with them an atmosphere of -youth and brightness which was pleasant enough to middle-aged folk -sorely burdened with care and trouble. A sudden idea flashed into his -mind. Many people are ready to assert that they would lay down their -lives for those they love. Macneillie seldom protested in words but had -a way of quietly giving up his most treasured possessions, so quietly, -indeed, that most people hardly noticed that he did it at all. - -“And now,” he said, “I am going to ask you to do something for me. Do -you recollect a young fellow who was acting with you at Edinburgh four -summers ago--Ralph Denmead by name?” - -“Why yes, to be sure. I met him only last Sunday at the Herefords. What -a nice fellow he seems, and I lost my heart to his dear little wife.” - -“I am glad you saw them both, they are a delightful couple. Well now, -could you possibly get him a London engagement? Would Barry Sterne have -any opening for him? It seems to me that there is a very good chance -just now for a young romantic actor. We have no really satisfactory -Romeo or Orlando.” - -“But surely you are in no hurry to part with him? I hear he is very -popular everywhere.” - -“For myself I am in no hurry,” said Macneillie. “But I should be glad -for him to get a London engagement, he deserves it, and then this -wandering life is a little hard on his wife and child. They had better -settle down, and if they were somewhere in your neighbourhood you would -perhaps befriend them. Evereld is a dear little woman, you would like -her, and she has the greatest admiration for you.” - -Christine’s face brightened up, it pleased her greatly that he should -have asked her to do something for him; she resolved to leave no stone -unturned and to do her utmost for his friends. - -“I should like to have them near me; you can’t think how lonely it -is often,” she said. “If it were not for my work and for Charlie’s -companionship I don’t think I could have endured it all this time. The -best plan would be for Barry Sterne to see him act. I wonder whether -there would be a chance of getting him to ran down for one of the -performances in the Memorial Week?” - -“That is a good idea,” said Macneillie. “By the bye, Sterne will -scarcely remember it, but the boy did go to him some years ago when he -first made up his mind to be an actor. I have often heard him describe -the interview. He got cold comfort from Sterne and a most discouraging -letter from me. But nothing daunts your real genius. He plodded on, and -starved and struggled till things took a turn. And some day if I am not -much mistaken he will be one of our leading actors.” - -“His own opinion is that he owes everything to you,” said Christine with -a smile. “I heard a great deal about you on Sunday from both of them. -I shall be so glad if I can really do anything for people you care for, -Hugh. The Denmeads will be quite a new object in life for me.” - -Those words and the look which went with them were Macneillie’s comfort -when, shortly after, he parted with Christine. But to stay longer at -Stratford with nothing to do had become impossible for him. The river -was a haunted place, he dared not go on it again, everything which on -his arrival had seemed so peaceful bore upon it now the ineffaceable -stamp of the bitter struggle he had passed through. - -To go back to his work was directly against the doctor’s orders, but go -somewhere he must. He packed his portmanteau, and tried to think of any -place in the world he wished to see, but could not care even to -return to his own country. All things were “weary, stale, flat and -unprofitable.” - -“Fate shall decide,” he said to himself with the ghost of a smile -playing about his lips. And dragging out an ancient atlas from the pile -of books on the sitting-room table, he opened at the map of Europe and -solemnly spun a threepenny bit. After threatening to come to an end in -the middle of the German Ocean it finally settled down in Holland. - -“Via Harwich and the Hook,” said Macneillie pocketing the arbiter of his -fate. “So be it. I will run across and see if the bulbs are coming into -bloom.” - - - - -CHAPTER XL - - - “Be noble! and the nobleness that lies - - In other men, sleeping, but never dead - - Will rise in majesty to meet thine own; - - Then wilt thou see it gleam in many eyes, - - Then will pure light around thy path be shed, - - And thou wilt never more be sad and lone.”--Lowell. - -|The entire change of scene, the vigour of his own mind, and the sturdy -resolution with which he laid aside care and anxiety soon restored -Macneillie to a great extent. He recovered his power of sleeping, and -returned to Stratford to find Ralph and Evereld already settled there -and awaiting him with a warmth of welcome which did his heart good. To -hear him telling comical stories of his adventures among the Dutch as -they lingered over the supper table that first evening, no one would -have believed that he had passed through any ordeal whatever, and he -seemed quite ready for all the hard work that lay before him. - -Indeed Ivy Grant thought him unnecessarily vigorous. - -“It’s all very well for Mr. Macneillie who has been enjoying a holiday -all these weeks, but it’s rather hard on us,” she protested, “to be kept -rehearsing every day till four o’clock, just when we wanted a little -free time, too.” - -For Ivy was rejoicing in the presence of Dermot and Bride O’Ryan, who -had come down for the Shaksperian performances, Bride for pleasure, -and Dermot chiefly to see Ivy and to write a series of articles for his -paper. - -Evereld was delighted to have her friend with her and thoroughly enjoyed -her first experience of the Memorial week. Stratford had naturally very -happy associations for her, and though the weather was not quite so -perfect as it had been during their brief honeymoon, it did not affect -the audiences which were always large and enthusiastic. - -One evening towards the end of the week Bride and Evereld were as usual -setting off together for the theatre. There had been rain during the -day but the evening was bright and clear so that there was nothing to -prevent them from going by the river. - -“There is something so delicious in just stepping into the ‘Miranda’ -and being rowed to the very door,” said Evereld as she took her place -in that same boat in which only a little while before Macneillie -and Christine had had their last interview. “It must be like this at -Venice.” - -“Minus the Shaksperian associations and plus the smells,” said Bride -with a smile. “Here come these vicious swans that look so picturesque -and are really so bad tempered. One of them nearly made an end of Dick -the other day, according to Bridget.” - -They glided on peacefully, watching the mellow sunset sky and the church -spire and the stately trees surrounding it until the landlord rowed them -up to the steps in the garden surrounding the theatre, and here as they -climbed the grassy bank they were surprised to come across Macneillie -walking to and fro with someone they did not recognise. Evereld wondered -much how it came that he was deep in conversation, for it was nearly -time for the performance to begin. He seemed somewhat relieved when he -caught sight of her and introduced Mr. Barry Sterne, then telling her to -see that the attendants gave him a good place, and arranging to meet -him later on, he hurried to the Stage door, leaving Evereld and Bride to -enjoy the talk of the new comer. - -“This looks something like Shakspere worship,” he remarked glancing -round the perfectly built theatre which was already well filled. “I wish -I had here with me the curious old fossil I met to-day in the train. -There were a couple of Americans plying him with questions about -Stratford; they set upon him the moment we left Euston, and ‘Wanted to -know’ everything. The old gentleman couldn’t get in a word edgeways for -some time, what with the tunnels and the sharp fire of questions. At -last he remarked stiffly, ‘I have never read any of Shakspere’s plays -myself, but I have always understood that he was a most immoral writer.’ -You should have seen the faces of the two Yankees! It was as good as -a play. And the old fellow was quite unaware that he had said anything -extraordinary and blandly went on reading a religious newspaper!” - -The play was “As You Like It,” and for the first time Ivy was to play -the part of Celia and Ralph was to make his first appearance as Orlando. -Evereld wondered much what Barry Sterne thought of the performance. He -was rather silent at the close of the second act and she was half -afraid that he had not approved of it until she found that he had been -listening to the criticisms of the people immediately behind them. - -“It is to me about the most amusing thing in the world to hear the -comments of the public,” he said to Evereld. “Your amateur is always -such a merciless critic. The less he knows the more scathing will be -his fault finding. Now Macneillie’s melancholy Jaques is about as fine a -piece of acting as one could wish to see, I don’t know anyone who makes -so much of the character. But those wise-acres behind are carping away -because they think it shows what cultured mortals they are.” - -“It is much the same at the Academy,” said Evereld. “The less people -know about painting the more severe are their comments.” - -“If Lear wrote a modern version of his nonsense alphabet it ought to -be ‘C was the carping cantankerous critic who cavilled and canted -of Culture,’” said Barry Sterne with a laugh. “Your husband makes an -excellent Orlando. I hear, too, that his Romeo is very good. I suppose -you have often seen him in that part?” - -“Oh, yes, very often. The last time,” she smiled at the remembrance, -“was in the autumn up in the north of England; I shall never forget it. -Exactly opposite the theatre on a bit of waste ground, a wild beast show -was being held, and it had the most noisy band imaginable. All through -the Balcony scene it was thundering out ‘The man that broke the bank -at Monte Carlo.’ And the next night Hamlet had to soliloquise to the -strains of ‘Daisy Bell.’ It was the funniest thing I ever heard!” - -Barry Sterne capped this story with a reminiscence of the days when he -had been in a travelling company, and by the end of the evening Evereld -was ready to consider him the best raconteur she had ever met. - -He went round afterwards to Macneillie’s dressing-room and Evereld was -escorted home by Dermot and Bride, who would not however accept her -invitation to supper as they were already engaged to meet Ivy at the -Brintons’. The night had turned chilly. Evereld was glad to find a fire -awaiting them, and she curled herself up comfortably in an armchair -waiting for the return of the men-folk and finishing Black’s charming -story “Judith Shakspere.” - -“How long they are to-night!” she exclaimed, when the last page was -turned and Judith whose grave she had seen in the chancel of Stratford -church only that morning, had been left happily with her lover Tom -Quiney. “I shall starve if they don’t come soon. What a fire this is for -toast! I will make some to pass the time.” - -After a while steps were heard on the stairs and in came Macneillie and -Ralph with apologies for having kept her so long. Macneillie, who was a -man with a strong shrinking from any sort of change in his surroundings, -felt a pang as he reflected that soon there would be no bright-faced -little housekeeper waiting to welcome him, and making a home out of each -place they stayed at in their wandering life. He stood warming himself -by the fire noticing dreamily the mute caress which passed between -husband and wife, the funny way in which Evereld divided her attention -between the perfect toasting of a particular slice of bread, and the -discussion of the way in which Orlando had carried Adam in the forest -banquet scene, and then her half anxious glance in his direction which -seemed to say, “I know you are tired and out of spirits but you shall -not be bothered with questions, you shall be fed.” - -She made them laugh at supper over Barry Sterne’s travelling companion -who had been sure that Shakspere was a most immoral writer, but she -could see that something was troubling Ralph, for instead of being the -life of the party he was silent and abstracted. - -Macneillie soon solved the mystery, and turning to her with one of his -humourous smiles, said, “I am sure you would think to look at him that -he had dismally failed or had been half slaughtered by the critics. I -assure you, my dear, it’s nothing of the sort. He has just had the offer -of a very good London engagement.” - -“What, from Mr. Sterne?” asked Evereld in amazement. - -“Yes, they brought out a new piece you know on Easter Monday and it -seems that Jack Carrington is again going to prove Ralph’s good genius -by failing altogether to get hold of the part he has to play. The fact -is, Carrington is excellent as far as he goes, but his range is limited, -he feels that he will never succeed in this play and Sterne sees it too. -They are parting quite amicably, and he wants Ralph to take his place.” - -“I can’t leave you, Governor,” said Ralph with a vibration in his voice -which made the tears start to Evereld’s eyes. - -“Oh no,” she said eagerly. “Don’t let us go--why we belong to you now.” - -“My dear child,” said Macneillie, “don’t you go and encourage him in -refusing an offer which he ought to jump at. We have been arguing the -matter ever since we parted with Barry Sterne at the station and nothing -can I get out of Ralph but protests which quite take me back to Mrs. -Micawber. The fact is you two read Dickens to such an extent that you -are quite saturated with him. This is an excellent offer and ought to be -accepted.” - -“But I never will, no I never will desert Mr. Macneillie!” quoted -Evereld merrily. “Why are you so anxious to get rid of us? You always -pretend that you miss us when we are away.” - -“So I do, my dear, there’s no pretence about it,” said Macneillie, “but -joking apart, it really would be madness to refuse such a chance as this -just because we are the best of friends and are very happy together. -Moreover there are two special reasons why I want you to accept it. The -first I will tell you now, and the second shall be for Ralph presently. -I don’t deny that I shall miss you horribly, but I shall be happier in -the long run to think that you have a home of your own, and I should -always reproach myself if Ralph neglected a chance which will probably -lead on to fortune. You and I must consider what is best for his career. -If he were my own son I should insist on his going, as it is I can only -strongly advise it.” - -They talked for some little time over the proposed change, and then -Evereld went to her room leaving the men to argue the matter out at -still greater length over their pipes. In her own mind she began to have -some vague suspicion of the reason why he was so anxious for them to -accept the offer, and later on Ralph confirmed her in this idea. She was -still brushing out her sunny brown hair when he came in. - -“Well darling, I believe we shall have to go,” he said. “Hateful as it -will be to leave Macneillie, it is of course a step upward, and he seems -really anxious that we should not lose such a chance. Moreover it is not -alone of us that he is thinking. It is of Miss Greville.” - -“I felt somehow that it was, and yet what difference can it make to -her?” said Evereld wonderingly. “I admire her more than I can tell you, -but of what possible use can we be to her?” - -“Well it’s hard to say, but she seems to have told Macneillie that -she had taken a great fancy to you the other day when we met her at the -Herefords, and then I think he said something about the possibility of -some opening in London for me, and naturally she would like to help his -friends. Then too from what he told me she must be awfully lonely, and -though she tries to lead as retired a life as possible yet difficulties -are always cropping up.” - -“Where does she live?”. - -“She has had a flat in Victoria Street, but is leaving, Barry Sterne -told us. I think he said she had got another flat at Chelsea.” - -“Could we afford to live in such a neighbourhood as Chelsea?” - -“Yes, I think we might if we can find anything suitable, my salary will -be better than it is now, and we could furnish by degrees.” - -“Oh, Ralph! what fun!” cried Evereld her eyes lighting up at the -prospect of furnishing, for she was a true woman. - -“We would do it very, very economically. We would begin like Traddles -and Sophy ‘on a Britannia metal footing;’ there would always be the -Memorial spoons for visitors, you know.” - -And thus Macneillie’s plot prospered exceedingly, and though the wrench -of parting was hard, Ralph and Evereld soon settled down very happily -in their new quarters, a snug little flat at the very top of the same -building at Chelsea in which Christine Greville occupied the first -floor, and she could see as much or as little of them as she liked. She -liked to see a great deal of them as it happened, and Evereld and Dick -were always ready to come in and companionise Charlie, while Ralph -proved himself a most trusty knight-errant, and the happiness of the -young husband and wife cheered Christine as it had cheered Macneillie. -Those whose lives have been clouded by some grievous trouble are -supposed theoretically to hate the sight of happiness; but that is -merely a popular fallacy. With the great majority it is an intense -relief to come across happiness, the mere sight of it does good, and the -happy confer on the sorrowful a real boon by their mere existence. - - - - -CHAPTER XLI - - - “As Thou hast found me ready to Thy call, - - Which stationed me to watch the outer wall, - - And, quitting joys and hopes that once were mine, - - To pace with patient steps this narrow line - - Oh! may it be that, coming soon or late, - - Thou still shalt find Thy soldier at the gate, - - Who then may follow Thee till sight needs not to prove, - - And faith will be dissolved in knowledge of Thy love.” - - G. J. Romanes. - -|It was in July, while Macneillie was spending his summer holiday at -Callander, that his mother’s sudden death made him more than ever alone -in the world. They had passed together a particularly happy fortnight, -and though he could see that she was gradually getting more infirm she -had never known a day’s illness, and her loss came as a terrible shock -to him. - -Ralph and Evereld were able to come down to the funeral, for the London -season was just over and he was glad to have them with him for ten days -before he started once more on tour. He was thinking of selling the -house and furniture, but Ralph who knew what pains he had spent in -building it, and how sad the dispersal of all his old home belongings -must be, persuaded him to leave things much as they were and content -himself with letting it as a furnished house for the summer months. - -For a time the presence of the Denmeads cheered him a good deal. He -enjoyed hearing every detail of their life in London, and he insisted -on taking them to the Pass of Leny that he might show Evereld the exact -spot where he had first come across her husband. Each morning, too, they -used to tramp up the road leading to the well and Ralph would read -aloud from “Marius the Epicurean,” while Evereld made a sketch which -Macneillie had long desired:--the rough moorland road in the foreground -leading to the crest of the hill; on either side a stretch of purple -heather; the hint of a valley down below where Callander lay hidden and, -in the distance, a range of blue Scottish mountains which he said would -make him breathe “caller” air only to look at. - -“I shall take it with me wherever I go,” he said. “There is no reason -why wayfaring men shouldn’t have a few possessions of their own. Besides -I have foresworn the travelling clock. It is no good to me since you -have gone, for I can never remember to wind it, so there is one thing -less to pack.” - -“It was here in this identical place that you coached me that summer -after I was ill,” said Ralph. “I connect it with Florizel, and Claudio, -and Fabian, and with that Scotch play Miss Greville was acting in at -Edinburgh.” - -“Yes, and taking him altogether he was a very amenable pupil,” said -Macneillie smiling at Evereld. “I wish I could say as much for his -successor.” - -But unfortunately a second Ralph Denmead proved hard to find. And -Macneillie had a very discouraging time of it all through August and -September. The weather was unusually hot and even in the watering-places -that they visited the audiences were seldom good. Then came a spell of -very wet weather, but the houses were still poor, and it seemed that no -one cared for Shakspere, that old English Comedy ceased to attract and -that the restless spirits of modern people required something much more -highly seasoned. - -Nourished on skimmed newspaper, hashed review articles, minced magazines -in the form of summaries, and short stories of dubious morality, was -it likely that their brains could be in a condition to receive good -wholesome literary food? - -Macneillie had long been aware that a wave of evil tendency was passing -over literature and the drama, he had struggled on, never allowing it -to influence his choice of plays, sure that in time the “evil on itself -would back recoil,” and faithful to his own conviction of what was a -manager’s duty. But he began now to think that, before the force of this -wave of uncleanness had spent itself, it would altogether submerge his -fortune and leave him a ruined man. - -One of the things that tried him most severely was the timidity of -those who should have been his best supporters. The clergy with a few -noteworthy exceptions fulminated against the evil plays but failed -to support the good. He knew that hundreds of them would troop to -Washington’s theatre when they went to London, but they were generally -conspicuous by their absence from the theatres in their own towns -where their presence might really have done much good. Personally they -respected him and spoke of him in warm terms, but very few of them -at all understood how hard a fight this man was making in a time of -exceptional difficulty, or how bitter it was to him when those, from -whom he reasonably expected much, held aloof. - -It was quite the end of September when the Macneillie Company found -themselves once more at Liverpool. They were giving the plays they -had performed at Stratford during the Memorial week, and this made -Macneillie feel the loss of Ralph more acutely than ever. To turn -straight from a pupil who had been extraordinarily receptive, always -good-humoured, always ready to study, and grudging no pains in the -effort to please his instructor and conquer his own faults, to a man of -exactly the opposite type, was hard indeed. It was all the more annoying -to Macneillie because Ralph’s successor had excellent abilities but -was cursed with the conviction that he already knew everything a little -better than the Manager; he had moreover been born with one of those -touchy and wayward natures that are so hard to deal with. He lived in -a perpetual state of taking offence, and though Macneillie apparently -ignored this and went quietly on his way, it nevertheless chafed him a -good deal. - -Then, too, all the many vicissitudes of a travelling company--the -illness of one, the quarrels of another--seemed to worry him more now -that he was alone and had no one to discuss things with. The very rooms -he occupied in Seymour Street were full of memories to him; he had -stayed there more than once with Ralph and Evereld, it had been there -that they had first come to him after their marriage, and the place -looked horribly blank without them. - -By the Thursday morning of their stay he was in the lowest spirits. For -three nights they had played to wretchedly bad houses owing to counter -attractions elsewhere; his old trouble of sleeplessness was returning -and he felt ill and horribly depressed as he walked down through the wet -dingy streets to the Shakspere Theatre. There was a rehearsal of Romeo -and Juliet, and the insolent manner and insufferable conceit of the -Juvenile Lead proved just the last straw. After going through some great -agony in life, and going through it well and bravely we are sadly apt to -break down under some quite trifling strain. A petty thing will irritate -us absurdly in the reaction after great distress, and Macneillie lost -his temper now and scolded the offending actor right royally. When an -habitually quiet, self-restrained man does lose his temper he usually -does it with great thoroughness. Romeo was impressed as he might have -been by a sudden thunder storm on a winter’s day, but those who really -knew the Manager were troubled at such an unwonted scene, and Ivy -glanced at him with the conviction that his health was again breaking -down. - -It was an uncomfortable rehearsal and Macneillie went back to Seymour -Street doubly depressed. His thoughts turned to that April afternoon at -Stratford on the river. He had been strong then, but - - “It is very good for strength - - To know that someone needs you to be strong.” - -Christine’s presence, though in one sense it had been his most severe -trial, had been in another an incentive to endure. To-day, in his -lonely room with food before him which he could not touch, with a -brain exhausted by want of rest, and harassed by a hundred cares and -annoyances, he came perilously near to yielding. For that was the worst -of it. The struggle was not one to be gone through once and for all, -it was constantly recurring. And always he had the consciousness that -Christine’s reverence for law was weaker than his own, that she would -quickly yield to his lightest word. It was moreover so fatally easy to -go to her, so hard to be loyal to that shamefully unfair law of the land -which should be reformed. - -To check his thoughts he took up one of the London papers. The first -thing that met his eye was the announcement that Sir Matthew Mactavish -had died in the distant place of refuge which he had succeeded in -gaining. And almost immediately afterwards he noticed a paragraph in -which was a brief account of the marriage of the Honourable Herbert -Vane-Ffoulkes to Lady Dunlop-Tyars, widow of the late Sir John -Dunlop-Tyars, Bart. - -He smiled a little over the memories evoked by those names, but the dark -cloud soon stole over him once more. - -“Villains can die,” he thought to himself, “and empty-headed fools can -marry, but I must still drag on this death in life!” - -Then fiends’ voices began to urge him to give up: mocking fiends who -jeered at his obsolete notions of right and wrong: practical fiends -who would have had him cease a vain endeavor to keep up an impossible -standard of morality, and from thenceforth pander to the depraved taste -of the public; shrewd fiends who argued plausibly enough that his health -was breaking down and that it was high time to yield. - -Macneillie with an effort roused himself and for a while baffled them by -taking a brisk walk; it was cold and wet and dreary but the exercise -was a relief and by the time he had reached the Seaforth Sands he -had regained his composure. The struggle was for the time over, but -existence looked to him as wretched, as cheerless, as that wild desolate -country at the entrance to the Mersey. The rain too began to come -down remorselessly, and he made his way to the station of the electric -railway and returned by the docks to the city. As he was walking along -Church Street he chanced to come across Ralph’s friend George Mowbray. - -“I am just going to the Art Gallery,” he observed. “Bicycling is -hopeless to-day, the tires do nothing but slip.” - -“I’ll come with you,” said Macneillie, not because he cared in the least -to see the pictures, but from sheer dread of having spare time on his -hands. - -He had never before contrived to see the Walker Art Gallery and as -he wandered drearily round the place, seeing yet hardly heeding the -treasures it contains, his attention was at length arrested by Poynter’s -well-known picture “Faithful unto Death.” He was of course familiar -with the story of the sentinel of Pompeii whose skeleton was discovered, -hundreds of years later, standing on guard at his gate. But he never -realised till he saw that picture how awful must have been the man’s -temptation to escape and save himself as all the rest were doing. Behind -him were only two or three flying figures, most of the citizens must -already have fled; but before him, and drawing very near, was the awful -lurid glow which meant certain death. The sentinel stood facing it, he -was perfectly upright, perfectly calm, only in the strong tension of the -muscles of the hand one could see how instinctively he gripped the sword -which could now avail him nothing. In his dilated eyes there was no -abject terror but a great awe, an intensely human look of dread of -the swiftly approaching fiery foe. It would have been an easy thing to -desert his post and disobey orders. Had it ever come into his mind as -he gazed across the campagna to Vesuvius that self preservation was -permissible under such circumstances? That a soldier need not always -obey his captain’s orders? Perhaps it had, but nevertheless he had stood -firm and had died in what no doubt seemed a useless fashion, out of -reverence to mere law, never dreaming that his example would give -courage and strength to millions of people in the ages to come. - -Macneillie turned away thoughtfully, his mind at work on that old, old -problem of evil and suffering, of the possible gain to others through -the inexplicable pain of the world. - -The thought of it haunted him as he wrote business letters in his lonely -room, as he went about his work that night at the theatre, as he looked -with a sense of dull disappointment and depression at the rows of empty -stalls, and reflected how much hard toil and careful preparation had -been thrown away on an enterprise by which he was daily losing money. -Someone brought an evening paper into the green room, he glanced -hurriedly at an account of the new play shortly to be produced by Barry -Sterne; he read a few lines as to the part Christine was to take, and -was pleased by a brief allusion to the success Ralph had had in the -summer. But as he went back to his rooms a weary distaste for his work -in the provinces came over him, he longed as he had never longed before -to be back in London, to be working once more with his old comrades. - -The dismal rain still fell in a drizzle, the flaring lights in the -public house at the corner of Wild Street were reflected garishly in the -wet pavement. A little further on as he crossed London Road he came upon -a small crowd grouped about a tram car, and paused listlessly to see -what was wrong. The horses were vainly struggling to make good their -footing on the slippery road; they stumbled and plunged and strained, -but the uphill way was too much for them, the car slipped back and for a -minute the passengers seemed in some peril. - -Macneillie drew nearer and spoke to the conductor who was at the horses’ -heads doing his utmost to urge them on. - -“Is the load too heavy for them?” said Macneillie. - -“Bless you, no sir,” said the man, “they’ve done it scores of times, but -it’s a strain on ’em when the road’s slippery, and this ’ere roan ’e’es -afraid of coming down. It’s just panic sir, nothing more, ’e can do it -fast enough.” - -Macneillie stroked the neck of the frightened horse, he had a fellow -feeling for it. - -“We can’t have the line blocked or the passengers upset,” said the -driver, with an oath which appeared to refresh him greatly. “Come on -mate, he must do it. Take the whip and keep alongside of him thrashing -him as we go.” - -At last with much ado the car was in motion once more, and the poor -roan, kicking and plunging, was dragged and flogged up the hill. - -“Oh, how could you let them be so cruel, Mr. Macneillie!” said Ivy who, -on her way back to her rooms with Helen Orme, had witnessed the same -scene. - -“Well my dear, I liked it as little as you did,” said the Manager. “But -what was to be done? The load was not too great, it was merely that the -horse was frightened, and there was no persuading it that it would not -come to grief. Like the rest of us it would insist on thinking of the -hill in front of it, instead of concentrating its mind on the next -step. You see while you anathematised the driver I, like the melancholy -Jaques, did ‘moralize this spectacle.’” - -They laughed and bade him good night, but Ivy looked rather anxiously -after him as, having seen them to their door, he recrossed Seymour -Street to his lodgings a little further up. - -“Nell,” she said to her companion, “how very ill Mr. Macneillie looks -to-night. I think he will break down altogether.” - -“Oh, I hope not,” said Helen Orme. “I think he is only depressed. He has -lost his mother lately you see, and besides I’m sure there is plenty to -account for depression with such houses as we have had lately.” - -Meanwhile Macneillie had reached his desolate rooms. He had been -thinking of the Stratford performances, of Ralph’s brilliant success, of -the crowded theatre;--it seemed to him that he ought now to have found a -sweet-faced little housekeeper sitting by the fire and making toast, that -there ought to have been a welcoming glance from Evereld’s truthful -blue eyes. Instead there was an empty room and a fireless grate and -a solitary meal awaiting him. He sat down and ate dutifully but quite -without appetite. He forced himself to remember how much better it was -that Ralph and Evereld should be near Christine; but the more he thought -the more that horrible craving to be there too assailed him. - -And presently, for the first time in his life, a feeling of deadly -faintness came over him; he staggered into his bedroom. The gas was -turned low, the window which was at the back of the house had been left -wide open, he breathed more freely and leant for some minutes against -the shutter, vaguely conscious of the night sky and of the dark outline -of the neighbouring buildings. In his eyes there was the same look -of awe--of a great human dread--which makes the eyes of the Pompeian -sentinel so pathetic. He had endured long and patiently, had thought -little of the effect on himself, but now the dread of an utter failure -of health seized him, and he knew that it was no idle fancy but a very -real peril which must be bravely faced. - -And yet better, a thousand times better, the wreck of body and mind than -the failure to be a law-abiding citizen. Better this cruel absence from -the woman he loved than faithlessness to what he knew to be right. - -“There is not a pin to choose between me and that tram-car horse!” - he reflected, pulling down the blind and turning up the gas with a -humourous smile flickering even then about his pale lips. “The way is -slippery and there’s a hill to be climbed,--it is collar work, but a -step at a time may do it safely after all. Anyhow I will put ‘a stiff -back to a stubborn brae.’” - -He paused for a minute to look at Evereld’s water colour sketch of the -moorland road, and to breathe “caller” air as he glanced at the heather -and at the blue mountains beyond the hidden valley. - -He would go on patiently as a wayfaring man should do; and perchance in -time--oh, how he longed and prayed for that time!--the unjust law would -be reformed, and he and Christine might find rest and a home in that -hidden valley of the future. In any case no one could rob them of their -inheritance beyond. - -Not, however, until he turned the picture over and read the quotation -from “Marius the Epicurean” which he had written at Callander on the -back of it, did his usual look of quiet strength return to him. - -The words were these:--“Must not the whole world around have faded away -from him altogether, had he been left for one moment really alone in it? -In his deepest apparent solitude there had been rich entertainment. It -was as if there were not one only, but two wayfarers, side by side.” - -THE END - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Wayfaring Men, by Edna Lyall - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAYFARING MEN *** - -***** This file should be named 54100-0.txt or 54100-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/1/0/54100/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -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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